#“Call the police”?

[goddess-of-graphite]

The Great Notes App Exodus: Like A Hit-and-Run

When jazz hits somebody on the road late at night, her first instinct is of course to call an ambulance.

… is what she would like to say, but she took one look at this boy covered in grave dirt and wearing funeral clothes and smelling like death and could only think of her brother.

Because maybe other people wouldn’t notice the mark of someone touched by death, but Jazz was liminal - and more than that, she was a princess of the realm of the dead. There were things, when you were so deeply connected to the ghost zone, that you just knew.

-

Danny, for his part, didn’t ever expect to become a mentor, but he can’t look at this budding halfa and let him struggle through all the things Danny had to learn on the fly at fourteen.

So.

He takes the traumatised, amnesiac fifteen-year-old under his metaphorical ghostly wing.

This will definitely only end well.

[captainjonnitkessler]

Sometimes I wish we would start calling out the performative radicalism on this site for the poser bullshit it is. "Remember, it's always morally correct to kill a cop!" "Don't forget to firebomb your local government office!" "Wow, it sure would be a shame if these instructions on how to make a molotov cocktail got spread around!"

Okay. But you're not killing cops or firebombing government offices. You are posting on a dying microblogging website to a carefully-curated echo chamber that has radicalized itself into thinking that taking the absolute most extreme position on any subject is praxis but that anyone discussing the most practical way to effect actual change is your sworn enemy. You do not have the street cred OR the activist cred to be talking about killing cops, babe.

[shotmrmiller]

being called simon's work wife by johnny is all fun and games til you start spotting the man you've never formally met in the corner of your eye.

imagine being told by a pig-headed superior to make yourself useful and go get him some coffee only to immediately start apologizing, words spilling out of his pathetic mouth like water because your johnny-proclaimed husband's looming right behind you in guard dog mode.

you mumble out a thank you, even though you're not sure what for and he just tugs your name tag.

no one talks to my wife like that.

(forget about trying to clarify that it's work wife, he's got selective hearing.)

i think it's cute til it's not. til you're at a bar, drunk, and he shows up and takes you home. you wake up in a bed that smells of gunpowder and carbolic soap, in a shirt 3x your size and a pair of oversized sweats. when you check your phone, your friend's text reads, your husband is a scary man.

(there's a fucking ring on your finger, too.)

[samble-moved]

post itself

false flags

trans/adjacent tags

accessibility features

tumblr live post (thanks for the link, @problemnyatic)

flashing / strobing / lights

unblockable flashing ad

buying ad free

staff @/macmanx guilt trip

list of staff + more issues

[bloom161]

This might be a hot take but can Mrs.Flood just be Mrs.Flood who knows what a TARDIS is cause she lived in London all her life, where alien shit is happening at least once a year and is always accompanied by the doctor and a strange police box.

Yk the doc aren’t as subtle as they think they are, word gets around as to what the box actually is.

[dotpip]

Redraw of my very first comic that’s just over a year old.

[cestacruz]

Heyy, time for the troubles with the other two twins

[Part 2]

[Stanford and kid Stanley/Original]

Anyway! Good times with Stanley and Stanford, and sorry stan, but Ford has a little something to do

[rixalynn]

I’m crying 😭

[anim-ttrpgs]

(Exerpt from Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy.)

[ghostbsuter]

"I can see dead people." He mentions with a shrug, using the chopsticks to fish more noodles into his mouth.

Dick stares at him. "Huh."

"Is that why you help?" He asks, getting more spring rolls.

"Yeah. Once someone becomes a ghost, word gets out quick, and they come to me. Always tatling about unfairness and justice." The kid waves the words around, rolling his eyes.

Dick just pretens to he uninterested, despite his mind racing at the new info. He is piecing past moments together, every shadow leaping away, every note with tips, leads and—

Huh.

"Do you... like it? Doing all that?" Richard approaches thus carefully, brows furrowed at the kid opposite of him.

Danny moves his head, giving a 'so-so' answer. "It's not much to like, I can see ghosts, and they know it and use it. If it brings them to peace or whatever– well, that's just a plus."

Dick stares. He places his chopsticks down and looks at Danny worried.

In turn, the kid sighs. "Sometimes gifts become curses the longer you have it."

And Dick understands.

Mind made up, he throws a pair of keys at the kid, watching fondly as the other catches them with confusion.

"Next time use these, instead of entering through the window."

Danny mock-salutes with a shit eating grin. "Yes, Officer grayson."

[tapakah0]

[bookshopbentley]

something i noticed is that whenever crowley and aziraphale do have physical touch it’s always ( ? ) aziraphale initiating it . it’s aziraphale who occasionally puts his hand on crowley’s chest , arm , back , whatever to guide him . it’s aziraphale resting his hand on crowley’s arm to tell him something . it’s aziraphale took crowley’s hand to dance , something crowley would have never done otherwise . but the kiss . that is the first time crowley has been the one to initiate physical contact . the first time . and as far as he knows , the last .

[jjsanguine]

August: I legitimately feel I might die if you break up with me for real

Sara after kissing him one last time: it'll pass

[electoons]

I love the college of winterhold. everyone there is casually deranged and there's like an alarming number of students and staff who threaten you immediately when they meet you. it's always one of the first questlines I do. which makes it even funnier when you get made the arch-mage of the college. I'm level 12 and got through this questline knowing exactly 3 spells. what do you mean you want me to lead the college. this school CANNOT be an accredited institution

[megamindsupremacy]

Kinda obsessed w how Ganke was 0% on board to be Miles’ guy in the chair. Kid was Thee #1 Spiderman fan in the first movie but he absolutely refuses to get roped into this shit now. King of setting healthy boundaries.

[heavenbarnes]

“He’s here again.”

You could swear the girl from reception says it like she knows something. Like there’s some swirling inside joke that everyone was in on,

except you.

Instead, you were left with that swirling feeling in your stomach as the elevator traveled to reception. A swirling that should’ve been laced with fear, but wasn’t.

One that was gripping tight in your stomach as the doors opened and you were eclipsed by a sun wearing blue tradesman’s clothes.

Ugly bastard.

Mean face with a shorn head, snarled lip and cauliflower ears. Tattooed arms like battering rams and tree trunk legs leading to steel cap boots like anvils.

And he was here for you.

“Um- I’m not actually in facilities.”

You could’ve cursed yourself for sounding so small. You’ve lead meetings, addressed crowds, argued points with a voice like cracked thunder.

But he takes one step towards you and,

“B-but that’s okay, I’ll take you.”

And he doesn’t say a word, just grunts as he steps into the lift with you and you feel the tension spring.

He never says a word.

He met you for the first time three years ago, the girl from facilities was on maternity leave and you happened to be the lucky duck who sat beside the reception door.

Three years later you’d changed floors and you hadn’t even seen him for at least six months. But he still asks for you.

“He always asks for you.”

You’d shushed your colleague, boasting about being helpful and having a tendency to be in office more often than not.

“Probably doesn’t want to remember another name.”

“Then how do you explain the time he refused the job when you were off sick?”

You don’t explain it, you actually try not to think about it.

When the doors open on the floor with the broken toilet, he follows you along the hall like a dog.

Like a hound.

The floor shakes every time he puts his boot on it and he actually manages to make you feel very small against picture windows.

Your colleagues look away when he walks past.

The sign for the ladies toilet at the end of the hall is like a beacon of hope, you can let him in and leave him be and then pretend to be on a phone call when it’s time for him to leave.

Until you get inside.

The sound of running water from the broken cistern echoes off the walls as you show him to the cubicle.

“It’s that one.”

He gives you a look that says “no shit” before he lowers his head to step through the stall door. He must hear your shoes scuff against the floor as you break for your exit.

“Stay put.”

You tell yourself you’re just shocked it’s the first time you’ve heard his voice. He’s British, Mancunian you reckon. Caught you by surprise.

That’s why you obediently spin on your heel and press your back to the wall.

No other reason.

You listen to the sound of grating porcelain as he removes the cistern lid and messes about with the flushing mechanism.

Your eyes catch him in the mirror, watching the way his back flexes under his work shirt as he reaches a bloody great paw into the water.

“Piece of shit.”

Second thing you’ve ever heard him say. Granted, it’s under his breath but he definitely said it. You try not to show any expression lest he have eyes in the back of his head.

Wouldn’t put it past him.

The sound of running water stops but you can tell by the huffing and puffing that he’s not fixed it, you can tell by his next outburst he’s not even close.

“Cunt of a thing.”

You almost let a smile slip onto your face before you’re blanching at the sound of your name.

“In ‘ere.”

He’s the mutt, he’s the hound with sharp teeth and clipped ears. He’s mean and he’s nasty and he’s not good with others, definitely not house trained.

But it’s you whose ears prick up at his call and immediately walk to join him in the small space. Show dog.

A retriever, running towards the sound of a gun.

The cubicle is small enough as is but with Simon (the embroidered patch on his shirt tells you, he’s never actually given you his name) in here it feels like a coffin.

You end up with your back to the wall again, this time with his elbow all but digging into your stomach. He’s got pieces of the flusher in his hand and he’s sending them your way.

Obedience in spades, you’re letting him place the dirty parts right in the flat of your hand.

Getting you as dirty as the rest of him.

“Oh, okay.”

You catch him look at you out the corner of his eye before he huffs, again, and reaches right back into the cistern.

He almost looks disappointed, dissatisfied- like he’d hope you’d put up more of a fight with him. Like you’d shove the metal right into his chest and really give him something to huff about.

But you leave your hand out stretched and let him pick from it at his leisure. Take from you as he pleases.

(He wonders if that’s a transferable skill)

To your delight (and his dismay) the toilet is back in perfect order and after three test flushes you can both leave the tiny fluorescent cave you’d been inhabiting for the last fifteen minutes.

“Um, do you need to go back upstairs or are you good to go?”

He dries his hands on the thighs of his trousers before he stares at you blankly. He snarls his lip in a way the makes the scar above it stretch and you wonder if it hurts him.

(If it does, you wonder if that’s why he does it)

He turns without warning and suddenly it’s you following him back down the hall. Struggling to keep up, pretty pampered little dog following this great big mutt around on his heels.

“Need t’go down to my van- I’ll show you.”

You could probably stop walking here. It would’ve been very easy for you to break to your desk and honestly? He probably would’ve let you.

“Oh, you don’t need me to access the garage.”

But you’re following him to the elevator anyway and you think you see that same air of disappointment drift across his features as he realises how easy you’ve made yourself.

“Don’t tell me what I don’t need.”