I need codependent Danny/Jason as a little treat (for me) and I love the idea of them having some sort of instant connection the moment they meet (bc ghost stuff idk)
Danny who's been dropped in Gotham with no way home (alt universe??) and he's been here for 36 hours and having a Very bad time senses a liminal being and immediately latches onto them heedless of the fact that his new best friend is shooting at some seedy guys in an alley and goes off about how stressed he is and how he can't make it back to the ghost zone and what a bad day he's been having (and it's important to note Danny is a littol ghost boy literally hanging off of Jason's neck as he floats aimlessly) and Jason is like "who are you??" And Danny is like "oh sorry I'm Danny lol" and then just continues lamenting his woes
And honestly ? This might as well happen. Nothing about this Danny guy(is he human?) gives Jason a bad vibe and tbh he's never felt more calm and level headed before so he just keeps up his usual Red Hood patrol and doesn't even think about it when he heads back to a safehouse and feeds Danny dinner (breakfast) before crashing for half the day
The only thing I actually need is Jason meeting up with the bats for some sort of Intel meeting and they're like "uhhh who's that" and Jason is like "that's Danny." And does not elaborate (very ".... What do you have there?" "A smoothie" vibes)
And it takes them a while to realize that these two have known each other for less than 12 hours and are literally attached at the hip
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[ “SOMEBODY TOLD ME”]:
BREAKING MY BACK JUST TO KNOW YOUR NAME. SEVENTEEN TRACKS AND I’VE HAD IT WITH THIS GAME. A BREAKIN’ MY BACK JUST TO KNOW YOUR NAME—BUT HEAVEN AIN’T CLOSE IN A PLACE LIKE THIS.
— The Killers, Hot Fuss (2004)
Princess Rhaenyra’s insolence is wearing her stepmother’s patience thin. Queen Alicent is not ten years her senior, but even during her own sixteenth year, she cannot recall herself behaving so brazenly. She would never burst into courtly discussions in nothing but gilded armor and the underskirts of her riding leathers, awash in blood. (She would never be spotted in blood that was not her own, anyway. Alicent has never picked up a sword, not one that belonged to her.) Nevermind that Rhaenyra is attending to diplomatic affairs with bared teeth and scales, no—the crux of the matter is just that, her affairs. Rhaenyra is the Realm’s Delight, a beauty incomparable to any fair maiden, Alicent included. She indulges herself with appetite of a spoiled child, the confidence of man, and the pickings befitting only to her royal blood. Criston Cole. Daemon Targaryen. Harwin Strong. Laena Velaryon. She’s full of love, isn’t she? That selfish, foolish girl. What does Rhaenyra Targaryen know of love, of duty? She is a child in so many ways—she thinks killing makes her a man, thinks the throne is hers despite being a woman, thinks she can have her knight and her uncle and her protector and Laena Velaryon in one fail swoop. She’s wrong. She doesn’t know herself half as well as Alicent does. Alicent, who sees her for what she truly is, who wants to see all of her and more of her and none of her. Alicent has been stolen into the Keep by her own father—both of their fathers—but Rhaenyra is the key to this place, is the window to everything barred. Rhaenyra Targaryen has a dragon. Rhaenyra can fly.
That’s what Rhaenyra had promised her once, with her lips pulled back in a grin, exposing the white of her teeth like the violently radiant creature she was. “Perhaps when you grow tired of plotting against me, we shall ride on dragonback together,” she had said. The tease.
Alicent had yanked her into an empty corridor by the silk of her sleeve, ready to chastise her for her ill behavior. Conversing with the lords and ladies of the court at a feast was one thing, but chattering about her bloody encounters in battle over the pudding tureen were another. The lord at her elbow was going green. Alicent’s own face was likely red; her heart raced whenever Rhaenyra got like this. Alicent had never seen the battlefield—only seen battered men in dented armor and the slumps of corpses lined along dirt roads in the aftermath of war—but her own imagination terrified her like nothing else.
(Rhaenyra is better with a sword than half of the knights in Westeros, and more lovely than the lot. Her reign has not yet begun, but already the commoners flock to her—lured in by tales of her beauty and fine hair—and soldiers would follow her into battle. Alicent would not follow, but she would watch and bite her nails down to the quick.
She thinks of the figure Rhaenyra cuts in full armor, the heat in her gaze underneath the slots of her helmet. Alicent remembers the weight of her own hand in Rhaenyra’s—which was gloved—when the princess rode up to the spectators box and grasped it in her own, bringing Alicent’s knuckles to her lips. She thinks of Rhaenyra murdered in the sky, skewered with another man’s sword, plummeting to the ground, torn in half, streaking crimson across the clouds. Alicent would scream, or cry. She might laugh. She would throw herself from the window of her tower. Rhaenyra’s bloody exploits terrified Alicent for reasons she could not identify, and excited her for reasons she refused to.)
“I’d sooner be confined to the castle for the rest of my days than get on the back of that bloody lizard,” Alicent scoffed. Rhaenyra only tucked her hand over Alicent’s, where it was resting on her forearm. She flexed her fingers, moving to release her grip on the dark fabric, but Rhaenyra intertwined their fingers and held them fast.
“You’re confined already. You are already accustomed to such a thing. I know you. But—”
“But you forget yourself. You think you’re invulnerable, Rhaenyra. You don’t know who you are.” Alicent intends for it to be a sneer, but instead it comes out quietly, and too gentle for disdain. She can’t know. Rhaenyra is as trapped as she is, but they’re trapped together. They belong together. She belongs with Alicent.
“I am Rhaenyra Targaryen, Heir to the Iron Throne and all of Westeros. I am a dragonrider. I am—I am your daughter. In a way. Your sister, too. Your enemy. Your sword, your shield.”
“And what am I?” What else is left for me? Alicent wonders.
“My Queen. For now.” Rhaenyra cocks her head, and the gleam in her eyes burns like fire raining down. “When I am Queen, you will be my lady.”
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hi! this is Insomniac Anon here!!! I noticed on some of ur artworks (specifically the unique magic posters), that u have a textured look to em, like paper or grain ... i wanted to ask how u get that effect? is it a brush, a filter, or like an overlay/png u use ... ? pls tell me!! ;v; I really like how the texture looks, so i wanted to know how 2 do it since ure a very big inspo 2 me LAWL ... I've been doing art practices in diff styles i find, so, i wanted to know a bit more how you do it :^D
thank you! :D :D :D it's usually photos/textures of paper that I've messed around with; I have a bunch of free/paid/ones I took myself. anytime I see good photos of paper I add it to the collection...it is my weakness. 😔
I mostly use Photoshop, but this should work in any program that supports blending modes (also I did this in like an hour to use as an example, please forgive it :')
image by itself before texturing:
with the texture pasted in (for this one I'm using this public domain one from Pexels):
then mess around with the blending mode to see how it looks -- in this case I went with overlay, but soft light and hard light are usually good ones too, it really depends on the texture:
then with a bunch of messing around with opacity/colors/saturation/levels/adding in a bit more texture until I like how it looks:
et voilà, texture! (waves hands)
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i am soooo normal thinking about the way they were holding hands
i'm 100% fine and okay thinking about lottie cradling laura lee's hand against her chest (the way that lottie would then do every time she tried to calm somebody even 25 years later)
and i feel absolutely sane thinking about lottie almost desperately rubbing her thumb over laura lee's hand
and that's without even mentioning that lottie's probably wearing laura lee's dress, that laura lee helped her put it on, that laura lee fixed lottie's hair when the dress was done, that she was keeping a hand on her the entire time, the way they held each other afterward... i'm normal and sane about allll of it
(i'm lying btw)
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genuinely so many of you want to be leftist and "punk" and countercultural soooooo bad but you refuse to become comfortable with the concept of people taking drugs for fun because they like it and not because they were somehow tricked or forced into it without knowing what they were getting themselves into
you'll be like "addiction is a disease!!" but think you're better than those degenerate stoners because you only drink energy drinks and white claws and would never touch "illegal drugs"
many if not most drugs CAN be consumed completely safely with almost 0 risk to the user and even if that werent true and all drugs were extremely dangerous you still wouldn't be better than those of us who love doing drugs recreationally
lighten up and grow up. get offline, talk to real adults, and stop being shocked to discover that they enjoy doing stuff that adults do like have sex and do drugs and even listen to rock and roll
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