#i dont have a “good” reason

[spookberry]

post trick or treating activity

[hinamie]

bunch of portraits

[obsob]

oooooooooough i love you i love you i love you!!!! hand in loving hand !!!!!!

[cam-the-orange-cat]

I don't really know how to explain it tbh, but I'll give it a go

When I was little, I wanted to be a NASCAR driver. My dad would put these old beat up muscle cars in our driveway and I'd grow up helping him fix them. I fell in love with the smell of burning rubber, the feel of oil between my fingers, the hum of a roaring engine. My grandfather took me to race tracks, and my love shifted from the mechanics, the engineering of these machines to the running of them. I got a shirt signed by a female racer who shared my first name, and I idolized her. I raced go-karts and never felt freer than when I was on a track going fast. Years later, when I started driving cars, that feeling... it never left me. And I still don't know how to explain it. Exhilaration? Awe? Contentment? I don't know. I'm just happy when I'm behind a wheel.

I'm not a NASCAR driver, and I've lost a lot of my engine knowledge (an embarrassing amount; if you don't use it, you lose it). But it's still a funny little dream of mine. I guess everyone has their passions, something they are inexplicably drawn toward and inseparable from, and driving is mine.

Sometimes I get this itch. I'm on the road, and I have an urge to just... keep driving. It's like wanderlust, but the destination couldn't matter any less. I just want to drive forever.

People who like driving are actually weirdos to me

[cowardlykrow]

“Not my circus, not my monkeys”… Except those are his monkeys and they are the circus

[u3pxx]

KIM KITSURAGI - “Is that. My kineema.”

COMPOSURE [Medium: Success] - Something in him is about to break, *big time*.

EMPATHY - And it’s not going to be pretty, do something!

- DRAMA [Formidable] - Everything is fine!

- “Sure is.”

DRAMA [Formidable: Failure] - Surely he’s aware that he’s not the *only* person in the world who owns a Kineema?

YOU - “Is it really *yours*? I mean, plenty of people have their own Kineemas, right? Like working men, government offices, uh, firefighters I guess, maybe even animal control people? Exactly! A million different people who could’ve driven it into the uh…”

DRAMA - Pause, my liege! Ixnay on the Ineemakay!

YOU - “It could even be our *mysterious* joyrider!”

KIM KITSURAGI - Your frenzied babbling falls deaf to the lieutenant's ears. Instead, he approaches the broken vehicle, sunken in the ice. He moves with a caution and gentleness you haven’t seen him display before.

INLAND EMPIRE - It must be cold and lonely down there, in the icy water. Maybe he could sense its sorrow, calling to him…

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) [Easy: Success] - His hands, which are always stiffly placed behind his back, are trembling.

ENDURANCE - This is the shuffle of a tired, tired man.

HALF LIGHT - He’s going to do something drastic because of you. Oh god, terrible! You’re a terrible liar! You can’t look at this, you just can’t!

VOLITION [Formidable: Success] - It's not *you* who drove his kineema into the sea. You have plenty of faults, but this one is decidedly not yours.

KIM KITSURAGI - He kneels down with his head bowed, casting his face in shadow. He plants a hand on the ice to stabilize himself, squinting to get a better view of the motor carriage. “Detective, it says ‘57’ on it.”

YOU - Sweat drips down your brow, and you feel a terrible headache coming. “Maybe our joyrider has an affinity for that number?”

LOGIC - He's not stupid, he knows that it's not that.

KIM KITSURAGI - “57.”

YOU - “What about 57?”, you brace yourself.

KIM KITSURAGI - “Precinct 57.”

YOU - You wince. “Kim, look-”

KIM KITSURAGI - “When I woke up in the Whirling-in-Rags with no memory of what happened during the days before, I've taken note that something of mine has gone missing.” He grits his teeth. "A very. Important. Something."

He runs his hands over his face, messing his already unkempt hair in the process. Regret creeps up on his features. “God. Fuck. They’re going to fire me over this, they’re not going to hear me out.”

EMPATHY - Desperation settles in the lieutenant's tone. Sadly, you find yourself in agreement, even if you don’t want it to be the truth.

YOU - “People are more valuable than machines, Kim.”

KIM KITSURAGI - “Not people like me.” He rasps.

YOU - “…”

KIM KITSURAGI - Before you can say anything more, you fail to notice the lieutenant carefully walking onto the edge of the ice. He looks over the frigid water, a dizzying blue that mirrors and distorts his exhausted face back to him.

YOU - “Kim?”

KIM KITSURAGI - Seconds pass as he looks to be contemplating something. Out of nowhere, he casually takes another step where the ice ends and the sea begins. It happens all too quick for the lieutenant to even voice a call for help— if he even wanted to — his body plunging into the cold water before your eyes.

YOU - “KIM!!!!”

uhhh bonus stuff? sorry i have swap au brainworms pfttt

(im not sure what skills kim has at the moment so rn he only has narration as his inner monologue ok whoops, i would like to keep harry as the guy who thinks in dialogue trees so im still figuring it out pfttt)

also, this was done bc i wanted to expand on these old scribbles of mine, just like an idea, i just think that he'd be having an even worse time wheezes

[solarpunkani]

Hot 4am take but I feel like if we want to get people more interested in making their yards a more habitable space for wildlife like insects, we have to acknowledge that ‘Don’t want bugs in your house’ is still a 100% fair and valid point of view. ‘Loves nature’ and ‘doesn’t want roaches spiders and mosquitoes in the house’ aren’t opposites.

And with that in mind, when we propose to people that spraying pesticides around houses is Not A Good Idea, Actually, I feel like we need to give an alternative asides from ‘deal with it.’

[cubbihue]

“He knows Timmy will come around eventually. It's only a matter of waiting for his clock to run out. And HP is very patient.” Hey uh.. WHAT DOES THAT MEAN HIS CLOCK TO RUN OUT is he waiting for Timmy to become a full fairy (Pixie?) and when that happens Timmy forgets about being a human entirely?

Sometimes Timmy wonders why he has grudges against certain fairies. Some of them, he can understand- like his dislike of Dr. Rip Studwell. But other ones, like with Cupid, it's a bit of a blur.

He must've been a very very vindictive 10 year old! Ah, well! Timmy's learned that he has to pick and choose his own battles wisely.

And uh. Fighting with the man who decides his paycheck and vacation days is not a battle worth choosing. Talk about a hostile work environment!!

Bitties Series: [Start] > [Previous] > [Next]

[starry-bi-sky]

Blood Blossom Au: Baby's First Commissioner Meeting :)

TL:DR This Post: Danny (orphan) gets poisoned with blood blossom extract by Vlad. He runs away from him and ends up under the care of one Pre-Robin Battinson Batman! Starry is loudly pushing her batdad agenda.

(Also known as "Late At Night, When The Nightingale Sings" on my ao3!)

This was a fun rough idea I've been sitting on for weeks, thinking about how Commissioner Gordon and Nightingale's first meeting might go.

---------------

Commissioner Gordon likes to think that he's adjusting to the new normal of Gotham very well, -- the new normal being grown men running around dressed like bats, in military-grade strength body armor, committing acts of vigilantism, -- and slowly, little by little, he was no longer being surprised when this new normal pops up out of the shadows like the world's most terrifying daisy. His shaving lifespan thanks him for it.

....

The kid is a surprise though.

Granted, he seemed to be a surprise to the Bat too.

There's been a string of murders lately, -- which, in Gotham, is kind of like saying there's been another storm during monsoon season. And there's just been another; in some dilapidated building down in south Gotham, with the broken, boarded-up windows and mildew-crawling walls to match. The victim is a man in his thirties, multiple gunshot wounds to the chest, left in the center of the room for the blood to pool out around him.

The place is already secured when he arrives, the building swarmed with officers and the forensic detectives. The Bat emerges shortly after he does -- or, he might've been here the whole time, hiding someplace dark and shadowy. For his own sanity, Gordon doesn't think about it too hard.

The kid is a surprise, and he appears like a bolt of lightning.

He shows up in the middle of a conversation Gordon is having with the Bat.

A whistle, sharp and loud, slicing through the air, meant for open air rather than a confined space. Gordon's ears pierce and protest the sound, and the solemn, murmured chatter floating through the room abruptly cuts off like the swing of a gavel. As he turns towards the sound -- as they all do -- he swears, up and down, that he sees Batman's shoulders jump, just slightly.

At the source, perched on the window, is a boy. A boy in a gray-blue scarf and an oversized black hoodie, one that hangs off his frame and has ace bandages wrapped around the wrists in some attempt to cinch the sleeves. The hood is up, big like the rest of it, and threatens to swallow the upper half of the boy's face whole in the fabric. What upper half Gordon can see, is smeared with some kind of opaque, black face paint. He's holding onto the side of the frame with one hand, on his hip is a grappling hook. A familiar grappling hook.

Gordon has multiple questions, and his officers tense up.

Martinez puffs up, brows furrowing as his face shapes into a frown. Shoulders rolling back. "You can't be here, kid--"

The reaction is immediate, like a spark to gunpowder, the boy yanks his fingers from his mouth and his mouth twists into a scowl. Head snapping over to Officer Martinez, his hood manages to stay on but Gordon swears that as he bares his teeth, the glint makes them look sharper than they should be. His voice is rasp and quiet and harsh; snappish in its hissing; "Put a fuckin sock in it, Martinez. I'm not stayin."

Martinez reels back, and the boy immediately veers his attention off him. Like a switch, his demeanor drops. Despite half his face being covered, his mouth twists into a cringing, apologetic smile. Slanted and off-beat, embarrassed. It'd be disarming if this wasn't Gotham, and if he didn't just hiss at Martinez like he was about to bite his head off.

"Sorry." He whispers, voice deceptively polite and softer now. Gordon has to strain his ears to hear him. "I was looking for him."

He points his finger towards-- Gordon? No, Gordon follows the direction, and finds himself looking at -- the Bat.

The Bat, who always looks stiff as a pole, now looks even stiffer. Somehow. Well, the explains the grappling hook attached to the boy's waist.

"What are you doing here?" The Bat says, gruff and unable to completely smother the stumble of surprise in his tone.

The boy still holds a sheepish smile, and slips off the window ledge. His feet hit the creaky boards with a near-silent thud, the Batman finds his feet and rapidly begins crossing the room.

Gordon notes the slight tremble in the boy's legs as he straightens. He adjusts his scarf, which droops close to his knees now that he's standing, and slings a backpack -- how long has had that? -- off his shoulders. When the Bat reaches his side, he does as he always does, and looms over the boy like a spectre. A threatening mass of shadows cloaked in all-consuming black. Standing next to him, the boy looks teeny in comparison.

The Bat is a man who terrifies even the most hardened criminals, Gordon has seen grown men shiver in fear at the mention of his name. And yet when the boy looks up at him, he doesn't even flinch.

Instead, his sheepish smile melts away like ice under the sun, holding only traces of his previous embarrassment. It remains as a shadow on his face, a small upturn at the corners of his mouth. The boy pushes his hood back just enough to reveal glinting, ice-flint eyes surrounded in tar-black face paint. He holds the backpack up with one arm. "You forgot this."

[hellenhighwater]

look guys I'm gonna be honest--i love dogs but the tactile experience of petting a cat is better 99% of the time. Cat fur is so much softer and less greasy and just generally better than most dog fur. IDK if there's some ideal chinchilla dog out there that I have yet to lay hands on but man, dog fur textures are whack. Cats, at least when they're healthy, are so reliably smooth and silky.

[bananafire11]

Tw buggy bugs

Centipede got your tongue?

Plus a doodle

[kakapim]

One hilarious thing about detco movies is that they usually play an anti-piracy warning beforehand, and it's always so ironic when Kaito appears in them. I firmly believe Kaito would want you to pirate as much as possible actually

[hinamie]

sidelong

[lesbianyosano]

oh also another thing that bugs me about how kunikida gets characterized is how often poeple describe him as someone super polite who never swears lmao. he has one of the most vulgar speech patterns in the series, the most of the ada for sure. he only uses honorifics for fukuzawa, ranpo and yosano, being direct and unofficial with the others, regularly calls atsushi "brat" and uses familiar/rude pronouns (like ore/omae/kisama) and people think he'd tell someone off for saying fuck

[miwtual]

im so fucking tired of the disrespect gifmakers get on the gifmaker website

[dredgesnails]

after watching most povs for session 3 of wild life i think there are two crucial errors nearly everyone who died to their snails made (other than just, like, panicking or not figuring things out quick enough at the start)

the first was to assume there was some way of defeating the snails and experimenting with all manner of things (a wall between them, drowning them, going to the nether etc etc) which ultimately lead to them realising the hard way that there's no way to kill the snails. the second was rapidly moving from one side of the map to the other in an attempt to run from the snails, resulting in players losing sight of their snails thus leading to them being blindsided a number of times (tango...). there were a few other reasons of course, but i think almost most deaths can be attributed to one of these two things.

if you look at the five who didn't die to their snails too, they figured out pretty quickly the best ways to stay safe. gem and joel actually managed to get a wall and cowpen built just by keeping their snails close enough to keep an eye on at all times, and they might have experimented with a few things but they were vigilant enough about it to stay safe. lizzie went mining (on her own!!!) and managed not to die (and also didn't nearly die the way grian and mumbo did). cleo and scott moved across the map a lot more than these three but iirc they didn't try to kill or hinder their snails, they just made sure they stayed away from them at all times.