#ITS CRAZY

[fakeosphere]

Ahehehwhahwhehe can you believe they believe this shit and that it won't just make drugs more expensive and difficult to access than usual

[livepoultryfreshkilled]

tumblr reacting to the kendrick/drake beef like

[koko2unite]

I cant be a firefighter because I be doing this kind of shit with my teammate instead of clearing the fires

[zombie-bait]

Only good things happen to Harrowhark Nonagesimus

[sappyspeare]

and just when you think you've hit rock bottom, you start hyperfixating on a guy named kevin

[lyinginthesnow]

thinking abt that line in dundee when logan says shiv makes boogie men out of the clothes she dumps on her bedroom floor. always has.

[kevindavidday]

aftg bonus content spoilers

after tkm the perception of andrew becomes so reliant on his personality through neil's love-tinted eyes, and there's such little about betsy that we know because neil avoids her like the plague. and then you get her pov.

you get her pov at one of the most damaging points in the series. and andrew minyard, in the middle of it all, still trying so hard to be seen as strong and unaffected, trying to look past all of it, and his mother, the truest, realest one he'll ever have, tells him: listen to me. i am proud of you.

and for a moment this indeterminably strong character is just a boy. he's just a twenty-ish year old boy looking at his mother, upset and possibly even afraid, before saying: everyone knows now, bee.

[ojbrush]

OJ and his paws . 🧡

Yap warning in the tags

[sk3tch404]

All I ever wanted was for you to finally belong to me.

Before and after pics be like

[namespara]

Jean Vicquemare is a man in a long list of pathetic, loyal, lets-one-person-walk-all-over-him, angry and sad fuckfaces of characters i cant get enough of

He's clinically depressed. He calls harry a repugnant, stinky alcoholic every two seconds. He has spent years at his side cleaning up his messes. He says he doesn't believe that Harry can get better. He covers for him every single time hoping he will, and still does. He's his satellite-officer, his goddamn partner. Harry doesn't even remember that he had one, let alone what his initials stand for. Jean is a fucking sad, bitter police officer who has busted his balls for this man out of whatever flavour love you want to read into it, and can't stop cursing him out for his seemingly wasted effort, and yet he still tries. He should haunt the narrative, but all he gets is haunted by it. He has five minutes of screentime but ties together an entire lifetime Harry has forgotten in one encounter. He's a tragedy. What a sad fuck. I love him.

[rosenclaws]

The Hugh Jackman Babygirl to daddy to DILF pipeline needs to be studied

[cap10wilson]

it really takes me by surprise when someone doesn’t see the connection between steve rogers and bucky barnes and they’re just like “yeah they were really good friends” like, actually dum dum dugan and sam wilson and tony stark and natasha romanoff were steve’s friends, whatever there was between him and bucky was an entirely other thing

[erosyrup]

the girls of Les Misérables 💞✨️

—

snatched the photo ref from @24601orwhatever , tysm <3:

[phantomskeep]

WIP Wednesday - Fun In Funeral

For my DCxDP Dead On Main thief!Danny fic, Putting The "Fun" Back In "Funeral". Best read while listening to Ascensionism by Sleep Token

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“I am not a cat boy!” The boy wearing a cat skull protested.

“Then what are you, a discount Catwoman?” Jason asked as he prowled closer to the pouting thief.

“I don’t even know who that is!” Cat Boy continued to lie. “This,�� he gestured to the bone-colored mask covering his face, Lazarus green eyes narrowing in distaste, “Is a fashion statement. Nothing more, nothing less. I just- I don’t even know why it’s a cat!”

None of that really made sense to Hood, but keeping a criminal monologuing? Part of Robin 101 - the more they’re distracted, the better chance at them messing up. “So why a cat, then?”

“I just said I don’t know!”

Hood didn’t respond, catching the cat-themed-thief’s stance relaxing by a miniscule amount. With no hesitation, Jason lunged forward - fully intending to football-style tackle the pouting figure into the concrete roof.

In the next few seconds, Jason would recount later to the rest of the Birds and Bats, he had no idea what happened.

He was in the air - arms outstretched to wrap around the other’s torso in a mockery of a hug. He saw the thief’s eyes widen, a startled yelp leaving his mouth. When Hood flew closer to the occultly-dressed thief, it was like a rush of sparkling heat bubbled up through his lung, tearing viciously at his esophagus before laying stagnant in his covered mouth. Already caught off guard, Jason sputtered - failing to land the tackle onto the lithe man in front of him. Instead, Jason fell a few inches short of the man, on his knees with his gloved hands clutching desperately at his throat and chest.

The other didn’t hesitate to dance out of Hood’s reach as the helmeted vigilante coughed in a vain attempt to clear his airways from the heat-sparkle-power-danger that welled inside him. Not-Catwoman stood to the side, head cocked like a curious crow inspecting a shiny coin. While Hood was still doubled over catching his breath, the thief wisely used the opportunity to glide further out of reach.

“I’m almost scared to ask if you’re okay,” Catboy’s voice echoed around them. “But then again… You did just try to shoot me.”

“It was just a warning shot.” Hood coughed out, his words scratchy as he forced them past the invisible sludge that lodged itself in his throat. The Pit Rage stirred in the back of his mind, slowly creeping to the area it used to occupy and whisper. “Give back whatever you stole before I shoot you for real.”

The cloaked man rocked on his heels, jutting his hip out and tapping at his chin with a clothed finger. Hood couldn’t see Catboy’s full expression, but he had long since perfected the art of reading masked individuals when he was thirteen and still wearing Dick’s old scaly panties. The person in front of him was practically radiating smug little sibling vibes.

“How about,” the modulated voice drew out. “I don’t, and I continue on with my extremely successful handjob!”

Jason spluttered in confusion, caught halfway between howling in laughter or rage, as the cat-themed thief jumped off the museum’s roof. The sound of a grapple rang out as the little criminal soared into the polluted Gotham skies. The Rage screamed, pushing Jason’s limbs to take off without a second thought. Green overcame his vision as the high came tearing back in full force, dragging Jason down like a man caught in an undertow. His body gave chase to the masked individual running from the museum, racing across the darkened rooftops in hot pursuit.

The Pit Rage stuck its greedy claws into Jason’s mind and pulled. What happened around him became a green-tinted blur - flying after the thief’s form, firing pot shots when the two were parkouring along the Gotham skyline, a strained voice shouting as the bullets missed. The overwhelming sensation of rage-rage-chase-friend-predator-rage-fight-fear-play-rAGE drowned out any sense of rational thought. It was like Jason was in the backseat again, watching as he lost control of his life as the choices he made as a teen came back to haunt him in divine punishment. He fought against it, just like he did when the Rage took his body to the Titans Tower. Like when he was so beneath the power of the Pit that he took out everything on a highschool kid. All the progress he had made over the last three years - washed away because of a man in a catsuit.

The mere hours he had of quiet peace almost made fighting against the Rage so much harder - Jason knew what it was like again, to not have to battle against his own thoughts every second of the day. To not look at a single act of kindness as some convoluted plot to trap him like a feral, rabid dog. The void in his chest, a grief-stained black hole of bad decisions, warred with the Rage for its own spot in the young man’s own tale of self-sought retribution against himself.

This? This was Jason’s own personal hell. To be alone, trapped inside his mind, while his body was controlled by a green-tinted monster. When his actions were no longer dictated by himself and the worst parts of him came out to play.

When Jason finally wrestled back control, kicking and screaming and fighting his own thoughts like it was the only thing he knew how to do, he found himself leaning against someone’s rooftop greenhouse, alone. The cloaked thief was nowhere in sight, and the ex-crime lord hesitated against nosing around for hints of where he might have absconded off to.

Based on a familiar stretch of cargo cranes, he deduced that he ended up between Gotham University and the docks. The black-haired man took a moment to himself, checking to see how many rounds he had fired (eight, he had emptied an entire clip, because of course he did) and if there was any blood clinging to his uniform (not his, never his, why was it never him–). When he wasn’t able to find anything, Jason forcefully shook out his body, trying to get rid of the built-up tension and stress. It helped him relax, marginally, but did nothing for the painful pressure behind his eyes pounding in time with his heart. The Pit Demon lounged in the back of his brain, oozing an air of self-satisfaction that made Jason want to claw at his own head until it stopped.

“Fuck,” he muttered, shoulders sagging. This entire situation was… not good. Jason didn’t even want to think about talking to the rest of the Bats about this, but. It had been a long time since an episode that bad. He didn’t know if he could control himself if something else set him off, but he wasn’t prideful enough to risk innocent people to a Rage-filled Red Hood.

[livelovecaliforniadreams]