#I’d rather have it

[strawlessandbraless]

Friend: I really think it’s time for you to move on from destiel and your supernatural obsession

Me:

[black-quadrant]

sometimes all you need is one passionate person who goes berserk for your work to keep you creating

[dumbledorathexplora]

🥺🥺🥺🥺

[bathtubjohnny]

*Sigh* good for them 😔

[thefandomfires]

I think Channing Tatum did great as Gambit and having an actor who loves/will do right by the character is good actually

[manwrre]

*regulus finally tells evan about his crush on a particular gryffindor*

evan: so is it lupin?

regulus: no……i like james.

evan: …….potter….? he’s kinda fucking dumb, don’t you think?

regulus: he’s not d- listen, he’s hard to read. he’s mysterious.

evan: i don’t think he can read.

regulus: you never know what’s going on inside his head!

evan: i don’t even think he knows what’s going on inside his head…

[im-still-watching-anime]

trucy: hang on polly you have a hair on you—oh, it’s long and…blonde. again.

apollo, internally: oh my god they’re all going to think i’m STRAIGHT and that i’m sleeping with a WOMAN

trucy, athena, and wright all thinking: oh that’s for sure klavier’s :/

[britcision]

Indie ttrpg designers

We seem to be back in the “dnd sucks why don’t you just play Other Games (yours)” and I have a single question for you in return

Do I get to roll a d20?

Because I like the d20

That shape pleases me

I do not wish to roll a random amount of d6s or d8s or any of them other fuckers

I wish to roll the d20 because icosahedrons please me

I will also accept d12 but the other shapes all have less mouthfeel so if that’s what your game’s based on, it is not for me

I’d also prefer more than four stats but I’m not gonna lie it is the shape of the math rocks so like

Rec your d20 based indie ttrpgs friends cuz every single one I’ve opened is them little cube fuckers or the double pyramid and I Require Round

[justalittleguest]

Chronic Headache Trio

I stole the Killer headache thing from @voidzphere btw. Hi.

[stuckinapril]

Just a girl who wants to be her mother’s daughter in the ways that matter

[aibidil]

Why you should wear your ring splints while crafting

Hypermobile hands suffer from a number of painful issues, the most common of which is swan neck deformity, which I have in index and pinky fingers. This is when hyperextension of the PIP (middle joint) damages the tendons, which pull on the DIP (top) joint, making that point downward.

It doesn’t cause me much pain (yet?), though sometimes it causes locking/snapping of the joint, so I often end up not wearing my ring splints on those fingers, even though I know I probably should for long-term reasons. So I was curious about how the ring splints would affect hand movement while knitting, and I recorded it with and without the ring splints.

The way this type of ring splint works is preventing hyperextension of the PIP. These photos show it pretty well in my left index finger. With the splint, I can still bend the top of my finger at the DIP (because I’m using it), but the PIP doesn’t collapse down. It doesn’t seem as important on the right hand with knitting (or on the thumbs).

(This type of splint doesn’t help a separate issue, which you can kind of see here, at the thumb MCP. I think it’s subluxating? It looks like an indentation in these pics but it only happens when I push the thumb forward. I have a thumb splint with an MCP stabilizer and extends down into the palm, but I tried it and it didn’t stop the subluxation.)

Related: holding a pencil. You need splinting on the DIP joint this time. Hot tip: my rings from my pinky PIP fit my index DIP, so when I’m writing I can just move it over.

Sharing because I went to a hand orthopedist about this and when I asked what I needed to do to reduce progression of deformity and preserve function, he literally was like 🤷🏻 I really don’t think they know what to do with young people in whom these problems aren’t associated with arthritis and hand weakness.

[bluehairmisfit]

Btw, what sparked this:

Not to make “tag vent sunday” a thing but Idk how I can go from having a great string of days where I feel happy and confident to just. Randomly fucking dropping. And feeling like the actual worst.

[agathasvidal]

biggest takeaway from episode seven is that lilia believes in agatha. she has seen what is waiting for them at the end of the road. she has seen that agatha has to make a decision - fall into her supposed wicked ways, or become the good witch, just like teen tells agatha to “prove” that the wicked witch of the west is based on her.

“when she calls you a coward, hit the deck” lilia is choosing to save agatha’s life, despite every thing agatha has done to suggest she doesn’t care at all for lilia’s wellbeing. despite being warned by her mother’s own ghost about her.

rio is the “original green witch”. the ORIGINAL. we would take this as her being the original earth witch, but can we also take it another way? we have just been told WHO rio is. rio is the wicked witch. the green witch. the blueprint for the wicked witch of the west.

agatha has to choose to join her, or not.

[robjn93]

we need tim drake to have an organic friendgroup far away from the bats. not necessarily bringing back old characters but at least have a genuine group of people in his life he cares about. his entire character relied on having a clear distinction between tim drake and robin, on keeping organic relationships as tim drake intact while also adhering to his job as robin the boy wonder. ‘red robin tim’ neglecting that side of the character, neglecting tim drake to the point of becoming ‘tim wayne’ and cutting away all ties not just with the bats but also with his friends served as such a nice tool to see how this line he spent his whole life preserving became blurrier and blurrier without him noticing until it broke him. him having friends as tim drake and away from the bats is such a necessary tool to understand who tim is and to write him properly.

[leclerc-s]

lord please take all of ferrari’s and max’s bad luck and give it to mclaren

[stararch4ngelqueen]

A Compromise

—

Time Written - 12:44 p.m

Jason Todd/pregnantfem!reader

(Again, if you don’t like how rugged he looks, bite me)

“Y’know, sometimes you stink when you come back,” you say, making him both aware of your presence behind him, attempting some form of amusement to break the ice.

His fingers halt on the buckles on his gun harness upon hearing your voice, his back facing the doorway from where he sat on the bed. He doesn’t turn around, not moving in response to what you say. You hadn’t spoken much to him since the night before, and this is what you say?

Of course he knows he stinks. After every patrol, he reeks of wet dirt, filthy water from putrid puddles lining the alleyways, and blood. Or something similar with a rusty, metallic tinge, and that’s not exactly a clean scent.

Jason halted his actions, not sure how to answer that. Sure, maybe he’s not all that hygienic when he’s out on a mission, but that’s a normal thing right? That’s what he comes home for, for nice hot showers and time with his girl.

He grumbles silently to himself, knowing you only make such comments to annoy him. Given the tension between you both was a still little rough, maybe you weren’t as angry as before, given how you started talking to him again.

“Do I? Only sometimes?” He sounds oh so surprised whilst peeking a glance over his shoulder, a sheepish grin playing across his face. One that he couldn’t hold back when he sees you there, all ready for bed while he was gearing up for ‘work.’

“More like all the time, right?” he adds, his tone dripping with a light hint of sarcasm as he pulled his gloves on.

“A good eighty percent,” You muster up another comment, your fingers fiddling with your shirt.

"Eighty, Doll?" He sighs heavily, his arm crossed over his chest in mock distress over this. How he was choosing to act this way slightly caught you by surprise, given you had limited view of what he was doing.

Of course he wouldn’t admit it yet, but he had missed the way you would tease him about variously stupid things—your attitude was what he really enjoyed the most about you.

“So you’re saying I don’t smell about two out of ten times?” he counters confidently, gazing up as if in deep thought. “Not a horrible percentage. Not great though, either.”

A faint tongue click erupted from the front door, causing a tickle in the corner of his lip.

"Why not just say I always stink, huh?" he asks, his tone slightly playful, a faint smile growing his face.

"I guess I could take a bath, but.." Jason trails off, exaggerating his shrugging shoulders. "You do know I'm a guy, right? Baths aren't my thing."

You then scoff, rolling your eyes after his little arrogant display. How does Jason manage to be so frustrating with his undivided attempt at cocky humor?

“Sure, whatever.” You mumble, lightly settling a hand on your protruding stomach.

Jason stood from his perch on the edge of the bed, fully taking in your slouched stance along the doorway. Fresh out of a shower, hair styled for sleep, wearing a purposefully oversized shirt to accommodate your expanding bump you mindlessly nestled along your palm.

He sighs, unable to help feeling a little more guilty by the second. His gaze lingered along your bump, slightly chewing on the inner corner of his cheek.

“Fine, Fine. When I get back I’ll go take a damn bath.” He groans as if it’s a massive chore thrown on his shoulders while reaching for his jacket. “But only because you asked.”

“Jason,” you gruff, watching him put on another sly grin before adjusting the rest of his uniform, tugging his jacket over his shoulders.

"And I still think baths aren't necessary. Showers? Sure, soaps are a necessity. But baths? Complete waste of time."

“That’s not what I’m—“ you start, but ultimately stop and sigh.

His unnecessary ranting just proved he was sidetracking off the topic that hung over both your heads. The reason you both yelled at each other the entire night before he vanished from your sight. The reason you were left in an empty house until his usual return around six in the morning, but even then silence was the main music that filled the space.

Safety; the whole topic had been about Jason’s safety.

He knows you’re concerned every day he heads out the door each night. He knows you want him to be safe, or as safe as he can possibly manage whilst carrying two guns and a plethora of hidden knives on his person.

He remembers being so frustrated, so damn angry, though he even wasn’t sure what had brought it on. You weren’t even hostile when you sat down with him to talk about it, never raised your voice once until he did it first.

He remembered how much he wanted to make you understand that he has to be out there. Very very few people in Gotham do what Jason does, but truly, no one does exactly what he does.

Straightening yourself, you glance off to the side, fighting back an irritating groan before sighing in defeat.

“Look Jay, I’m not gonna push it.” You look him in the eyes, taking your genuine, honest approach, just like you had done before all hell had broken loose. “Just understand, I just want you to be more careful, okay? That’s all I wanted.”

Doing what he does never guarantees he comes home unscathed. His sides still ached from deep bruises along his ribs, a gash along his back was still tightly shut with dissolvable stitches. The clean cut along his lower right cheek was still secured with butterfly bandaids.

You only suggested he stayed home to rest. To recover, to heal. You never called him weak, though he was weak minded to take your words the wrong way.

“No, I get it,” Jason mumbles, his brow furling as he approaches, heavy combat boots creaking against the floor. “You’re right. About all of it.”

He wasn’t ashamed to admit it, despite the conflict rattling in his brain. It’s not just them anymore. The two of you’ve come so far together, your biggest worry was the two of you not being on the same page.

Jason moves a hand towards your stomach, gently rubbing his palm around the most precious part of of your body.

All he just wants is for you to understand that he’s not the same Jason he was all those years ago, not the Jason you remember. Not the man who allowed his anger to slaughter crime lords and take a role into a drug ring.

He’s much better than that. He struggles, yes, but he tries.

“I just want you and the baby to be safe,” He states, watching your brows soften with a slow nod.

“I know you do.” You whisper with understandable certainty. Not once did that doubt ever cross your mind, and it never will.

He can’t help but smile, his forehead resting against yours. So close together that your noses touch.

Now, last night feels like an eternity ago. Jason didn’t storm out of the house with a bubbling bottle of unfit rage, you didn’t cling to your phone and have trouble sleeping over his whereabouts throughout the night.

“You worry about me, babe. I appreciate that more than you can know.” He murmurs, exhaling softly through his nose. “But this is … think about this being another way I can take care of you. Of us, alright?”

You blink, swallowing slowly before nodding in acceptance. Your eyes flutter, the bottom of your throat slightly burning, but you maintain your composure.

Jason was going to keep doing what he does; continue being Red Hood, continue keeping you safe. That’s just the way it was going to have to be, even after the baby becomes a babbling bundle in your arms.

“You could just stay here tonight at least. Hang out with us instead,” you casually insist, raising a hand to stroke his uninjured cheek. “We can order in pizza, find something on Netflix. Cuddle under a thousand sherpa blankets.”

Jason exhales, tilting his head back with closed eyes.

What he would give to drop it all and commit to such a tempting suggestion. Really, he would.

If what he did wasn’t do damn important, if they didn’t live in such a crooked city, taking up your offer would be a lot better than a chest of ten grand abandoned on the street.

“Another time, princess. I can always make it up to you.” He smiles back down at you, settling both hands on each side of your hips.

“How do I smell, by the way?” he questions. “Because if I smell so bad you aren’t going to kiss me.”

Your response was to smile and playfully shove his shoulder, only for his hands to hold you closer, fingers squeezing your plush body.

“That’s mean, Mister Todd.”

He laughs, slowly leading to a snicker. “Don’t deny it—I know you.”

His voice lowers towards the end of his sentence, leaning closer to kiss you. With an additional squeeze, Jason feels your arms lock around the back of his neck in a warm embrace.

Your soft bump lightly pressed against his lower waist, nudging against the buckle of his gear belt. In a few more months, their growing baby would be putting physical distance between them, resorting in him picturing more intimate methods he could hug you as closely as possible.

A emphasizing reminder of his priorities for fighting crime nearly almost every night.

“I’m thinking it’ll be a boy,” you whisper, watching his head lower to settle against your shoulder, his gaze trailing straight down in between your bodies.

“Think he’ll wanna take after me?” He asks, heavy lidded eyes flickering up towards yours in question.

“Well, boy or girl, I would hope they have your eyes,” you reply, enjoying the warmth and comfort of him against you. Just having him close made your heartbeat relax, having you feel nearly good about life. Just for a minute.

“In attitude? I would absolutely think so.”

Jason smiles, returning his attention back towards your bump. He tries to make that thought more comforting, but he’s nervous and tense just as you are at the end of the day.

He hopes they turn out as warm as you are. Warm, comforting, happy and safe. A safety Jason adores every single time he comes back to you, a comfort that made him regret leaving you alone the other night.

You’re his weakness, and he knows it.

“You can make it up by bringing back pizza.” You suggest, hearing him snort.

“Doll, What kind of pizza place is open at five?”

You purse your lips. Valid point.

“I guess Benny’s will work,” you mumble, hands trailing over his shoulders. “Or you’re not allowed back in the house.”

A short smirk invades Jason’s face. He had to come home with a maple sausage breakfast sandwich from a local diner, or face the wrath of locked doors and windows.

Luckily for him, Benny’s opens at five in the morning. Four on weekends.

Jason exaggerates another exhale through his nose, thankful he didn’t slip on his mask as he spares a kiss on your right temple. Whatever you want, even if it was the keys to the Batmobile or the rights to a planet, it’s yours, as long as he gets to come home to you.

“I gotcha, mama.”