#i have way too many of these

[chappellrroan]

[fckwinnchrstopher]

*Eddie TRYING to help Chris with his math hw*

Eddie: Oh, that's a triangle. Next question.

Chris: No, you have to prove it.

Eddie: PROVE IT?! IT HAS THREE POINTY THINGS IT'S A TRIANGLE!

[alverrann]

Happy Miami Vice Day, folks! It's 2:15am where I'm at and so we're gonna start off strong with some good old-fashioned h/c.

I hope y'all enjoy it, cuz this is only the beginning, lol

---

“Tubbs!” Sonny’s shout alerted him only seconds before he felt the sting. It was a burning punch to the gut, and on pure instinct he shoved Harley away, stumbling backwards as the man came at him again. He tripped and fell, hitting his head on the way down and hurting his wrists as he caught himself.

There was a gunshot, and Harley fell, a scream echoing in the background with more gunfire. Years of experience had Tubbs dragging himself behind the garbage bin - likely where he'd hit his head - ducking down and hissing at the pain in his abdomen. He put a hand on it, and it came away bloody - he’d been stabbed.

The sounds of shooting had ended at some point, and Tubbs looked up when he realized that Sonny was calling his name. "Put your hand over it, Tubbs." Sonny's face was a pale ghost, flickering like a candle flame, and Tubbs looked down at the blood covering his hands. "C'mon, pal. Put your hand over it; put pressure on it." Pressure? Tubbs put his hand back over the sting, pressing down hesitantly. He hissed when the pain became worse, but Sonny spoke before he could do anything more. "That's it, just like that. Don't take your hand off."

The sting and the pain had both been so sudden, and it almost felt like he was seeing double; his vision was tunneling as a voice from farther down the alley called Harley's name. Some part of Tubbs was very annoyed, because this was one of his favorite shirts and suits, and here he was lying in a trash-strewn alleyway, bleeding all over it. A hysterical part of his mind was happy to remember that Sonny wasn’t wearing white today, at least …

Where was Sonny?

The report of a gun had Tubbs jerking back, huddling into the side of the dumpster that he was using for cover as he looked towards the source. It was his partner, of course, tucked neatly into a small alcove with his gun in hand.

Oh right. They were under attack. Harley was lying in the alleyway between them, blood pooling under his unmoving form, knife still in hand. Sonny must have shot him after he'd stabbed Tubbs, and the thought had him refocusing on his partner.

Sonny’s eyes – when he wasn’t peeking around his corner – were on Tubbs, and belatedly Rico realized that his gun was on the ground a few feet to his right. His mind felt like molasses, but he knew that if he could get it and give his partner covering fire, then they could get Ricket as well. Ricket, who had stopped yelling and shooting, for the moment.

Tubbs moved slowly, his right hand lifting from the sting in his abdomen to stretch towards his gun, grunting at the pain it caused. “Rico, keep your hand on it, buddy. Don’t worry about anything else – just keep the pressure on it.” Sonny's rough voice was pleading, and Tubbs reluctantly replaced his hand, instantly relieving the strain.

“You come out, cop, an’ I’ll blow you away!” Ricket began to shout again as Rico pushed down on the stinging pain. Sonny needed his help. But he was cold, and the sting was starting to throb.

“Your friend is dead, Ricket! It’s just you and us, and we ain’t lettin’ you go anywhere, man!” Sonny’s voice cracked a little as he shouted, and Tubbs stared down at his stomach. His right hand was over the top of the wound, but if he switched and put pressure with his left hand, then he could pick up his gun with the other one. With slow and deliberate movements, he began to do just that. “Tubbs, quit movin’!” Sonny’s hissed words were all but drowned out by Ricket's furious and desperate response.

“I know Harley got one of you pigs! You wanna go help ‘im, then let me go!”

Tubbs pushed down with his left hand, noticing that the blood seemed warmer, and the pain was getting worse. He slowly picked up his gun with his right hand, and Sonny yelled back,

“If my partner dies then you’ll be in a lot more trouble, pal!” He looked furious, his face still swimming in Tubbs' view. Tubbs kept his left hand on his abdomen as he slowly pushed his legs underneath him, forcing himself into a crouch despite the burst of pain that ensued. It brought him slightly out of his stupor, and he met Crockett’s glare with one of his own. Sonny’s mouth was opening, no doubt to tell him how stupid he was being, but Tubbs refused to hear it. He popped up from his crouch in a blaze of agony, shooting towards the other end of the alley blindly for a moment before going back down just as quickly. Ricket was spraying bullets in Tubbs' direction, and Sonny took the opportunity to peek out and take a couple of shots.

The alley fell silent.

Tubbs collapsed back down against the garbage can, almost choking as he struggled to breathe through the agony that seemed to envelop his stomach. A pattering of feet, and Sonny was there, his hand covering Tubbs’ and pushing down much, much harder than Tubbs had been. Tubbs gasped at the pain, and Sonny pulled him away from the garbage, leaning Tubbs back against his chest while removing his jacket. “You’re an idiot, you know that?” His harsh voice and words belied the gentleness with which he tucked the thin fabric around Tubbs, whose chuckle became a dry cough.

“Didn’t … see the knife.”

“Just hang tight, Rico. Ambulance is already on the way.” Sonny’s voice softened a little, and Tubbs realized that he was extremely tired.

“R- Ricket?”

“Dead.” Sonny didn’t sound nearly as apologetic as he might have, and for some reason it was funny to Tubbs. As soon as he laughed, however, he stopped with a groan.

“Harley too?”

“Yeah.” There was a long moment of silence, and then Sonny said, “You’re not fallin’ asleep on me now, are ya?”

“Shouldn’t’ve … made me so comfortable.” He breathed out, and Sonny was the one to laugh as sirens sounded in the distance, a short sound.

“Next time I’ll just leave ya lyin’ there, then.”

“Thanks.” Rico meant it.

“Anytime, pal.”

[acorviart]

not to sound like a boomer, but I need some people to learn how to write emails in a semi-professional (at the very least) format so you're not cold emailing a business/potential employer/any other stranger about formal matters in the exact same way you'd DM a close friend on instagram

the formality/language can loosen up in the email chain once you've established a rapport and you match the other person if they're being less formal, but please don't have the very first email you send a stranger be written in all lowercase ultra-casual sms slang with no greeting or signature and a billion emojis

[ruushes]

sleeping arrangements (not sure tara would ever actually deign to sleep in the same 20ft radius as shovel but who can resist those big shiny insectoid black eyes 🥺)

plus:

[dilfslayer1080p]

"he died for our wins" - 2024, LIDL Oil paint on LIDL canvas

[doomedclockworkdotmp3]

his therapist woulda had a field day at their next appointment

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Alt Rock to the Rescue

[Inspired by this art]

"...Alright, I might have an idea," John Constantine, who was seemingly busy texting someone for the past ten - or twenty, no one really counted - minutes, puts his phone away and snaps his head up.

The room falls silent. Superman blinks in surprise, Diana frowns slightly, and Batman's mouth is pressed into a thin, stubborn line. Flash recovers first.

"You have an idea?" He huffs a short, disbelieving laugh, "No offense, but I'm not sure a magic trick can help us against, you know, an alien fleet." He gestures to one of the screens on the wall, where said fleet is approaching Earth on live.

The rest of the Leaguers present don't exactly agree with him, at least not verbally, but the mood in the room shifts from tense, anxious alarm to an almost palpable annoyance. To be honest, no one was even sure why or how John Constantine of all people ended up in the meeting. It's not like JLD could actually help with an ongoing, massive invasion that was about to happen in less than three- Correction, less than two and a half hours. Besides, it's John Constantine. The man that never shows up unless outright bullied into submission.

The magician winces briefly and starts rummaging through his pockets under the weight of everyone's attention.

"I said I might," he amends gruffly, getting a cigarette out of one of his pockets and sticking it in his mouth but not lighting it. Seems like it wasn't what he was looking for, though, because after that, the man keeps going through the various places on his coat, patting himself down. "I know someone who can deal with it. Granted, I already owe him a great deal, but he won't say no," he pauses and grimaces, "At least I hope he won't."

"I do not think it would be wise to call upon gods in our situation," Diana tries carefully, but John pays her little mind.

"Or demons," Green Arrow adds, crossing his arms on his chest, "I'm not selling my soul to get rid of some rocket ships or whatever they are."

Now, that makes the magician bark a laugh. Or, maybe it's the piece of lime green paper - a sticky note, actually - that he finally finds in the depths of his pockets.

"Oh, your soul's gonna stay where it is."

"Constantine-" Batman starts, but John cuts him off instantly.

"Mine will stay wherever it is as well," he reassures the man, "It's not that kind of entity." And with that, he promptly sets the green note on fire - green fire - and uses it as a lighter for his cigarette.

The next moment after the note is reduced to ash, there's a shift in the air in front of him, and, before any of the heroes have a split second to react, there are two people floating in the middle of the room, backs pressed to each other.

Two teenagers, to be exact. A girl and a boy, both of them so pale that their skin looks gray, and both dressed in grunge, like they just came from a rock concert. Yet, that's where the 'normal' parts of their looks end - the boy's hair is so white it looks blinding, and moves in the air slowly, undeterred by gravity, and the girl's hair is neon blue, her ponytail flickering up like a flaming torch.

The boy nearly topples over as the girl leans her back on him harder and kicks her feet up slightly. The movement is awkward, like both of them were taken by surprise by the sudden relocation, and maybe the guess about the rock concert was not so far from reality; there are drumsticks in the boy's hands, and the girl is holding an electric guitar in her hands.

"The fuck?.." The boy asks no one in particular, as the girl makes an annoyed groan and straightens up, still floating in the air. Her guitar makes an aborted sound. Meanwhile, the boy's eyes land on Constantine, and his whole face scrunches in disgust, "John, for the love of Ancients, I was in the middle of something."

The girl takes a look around while her friend is busy expressing his annoyance and elbows him in the side, "Oi, look, it's the whole Comic Con in the flesh here."

Green Arrow sputters. Flash makes a wordless but very offended sound. The floating boy looks around, taking stock of faces in the room, and the disgust on his face morphs into exasperation.

He turns back to Constantine, "Really? I thought I told you I want no part in your furry parade."

"Alien invasion," the magician decidedly doesn't address any of that, instead pointing his finger to the screen behind him. "Thought you ought to know," he adds, a bit of sarcasm bleeding into his tone.

"Ooh, is it my turn to be your world saving buddy, Phantom?" The girl perks up, turning around and draping herself over the boy's shoulders with a giddy laugh. Her guitar shifts to hang in the air on her side all by itself.

The boy - Phantom - rolls his eyes. Bright green, glowing eyes that definitely don't belong to a human being.

"If I had a nickel every time I had to save the world, I'd probably be able to buy myself my own guitar," he grumbles and looks back to Constantine. "Do I, like, have to? Right now? You know, I don't get paid for this bullshit, and the studio we rented for rehearsal has an hourly rate, so if we can postpone this for about an hour and a half, that'd be real nice."

"The fleet is only two hours away from Earth," Batman supplies suddenly, and, when both floating kids turn to look at him, adds, "I can pay for your next rehearsal. Or a few of them." Evidently, Phantom's comment about nickels struck a nerve. Or, maybe, the man just likes throwing money at any teenager he encounters. Who knows.

The boy blinks, taken aback by the proposition. But the girl grins, sharp and wicked, and shoves her drummer - if the drumsticks are to tell - in the side again.

"Hey, free studio. Better than the last time."

That snaps Phantom out of his stupor, and he groans, "Don't remind me." With a weary sigh, he runs a hand through his hair and leans back in the air, almost like reclining on it. "Okay, fine, sure. Do you want them, like, away from Earth- um, this is Earth, right?" He turns to Superman, surprisingly, looking for confirmation, and the man nods, thrown off guard. The boy nods back and continues, "Or you want them blasted into oblivion, or what?"

"Whatever suits your mood, kid," John waves his hand at the screen as if making a welcoming gesture, "But all the aliens gotta go."

Unexpectedly, that makes the girl's grin even wider, and she reaches for her guitar, floating around Phantom and looking him in the face. The look she gives him speaks of mischief, and the boy seems to understand what she's implying before she as much as opens her mouth.

"Ember, no," he pounts a drumstick at her.

"Ember, yes," she wiggles her eyebrows, "Come on, your wail is boring as fuck as it is, why not spice it up?"

"I'm not wailing," Phantom scrunches his nose, "My throat will hurt for weeks."

Ember runs her fingers over the strings of her guitar, and it makes a comparatively quiet, vibrating sound. A few cords shoot out of the bottom of her instrument, like ones used to plug an electric guitar to an amp. She raises her eyebrows, still looking at Phantom, a silent conversation between them.

Then, the boy huffs and rolls his eyes, twirling a drumstick in his fingers.

"Fine."

The cords fly at him like snakes, aiming at his neck. None of the Leaguers watching the encounter get to say even a word as the metal pins insert themselves into the boy's neck, acting like some twisted kind of collar. Phantom doesn't even flinch.

Ember's guitar, on the other hand, reacts to the connection quite violently: it makes a high-pitched sound all on its own and then changes color from black and blue to white and green, with lightning bolts instead of flames for design. The girl's ponytail flares up higher as she softly murmurs in delight.

Then, she turns to the people around them and smirks, "Which way is the evil alien fleet?"

Flash wordlessly points his finger to the right and up. The girl nods in satisfaction, turning in the air so her guitar is facing that way.

"You might want to cover your ears," Phantom advises, a sly smile on his face and a glimmer of anticipation to his eyes. John Constantine follows that direction immediately, and, taking his move as the best course of action, the other heroes follow as well. Except Batman, who only narrows his eyes and looks at both teens in the air apprehensively. Phantom shrugs, "Or don't, I don't hold any responsibility for your shattered eardrums."

"Pick up where we left off, then," Ember tells him, and the boy blinks:

"Wait, I thought you'd just-"

[For some wholesome experience, put your headphones in and listen to 'KULT' by Jisaiah, grandson, and Steve Aoki]

But the girl has already started a tune, nodding her head to the rhythm of it and slowly picking up the pace. Phantom huffs, but doesn't protest any further, floating up as much as the cords allow him and spinning a drumstick in his hand.

"Maybe I should join a cult

At least they'll tell me it's not my fault

That the world's a fucking circus

That my life feels fucking worthless," he spits the words out with a sneer, slowly rotating in the air until he is hanging upside down. His eyes are closed, and his voice becomes more and more staticky with every new sound. The volume of Ember's guitar gets up, higher and higher, until the walls and the floor of the room around them start to vibrate.

Then, Ember's voice joins Phantom's, and the boy brings his drumsticks down on thin air, mimicking the moves. Only, even with the actual drums not there, the air around him ripples like they are, and they all can hear the beat.

"Maybe I should join a cult

At least they'll tell me it's not my fault

When it all comes crashing down

We'll see who's laughing," both kids pause, just for a beat, and Ember uses that split second to spin the volume knob to the max before strumming her guitar in one wide, sharp move.

"NOW!"

The sound wave is not only palpable, it's visible. A wave of toxic green ripples through the air, knocking everyone present - sans the two kids in the air - to the ground, and goes beyond. The screens on the walls flicker and turn off, sending sparks in the air, and the comms give off loud, screeching noises, and-

The following silence feels almost deafening.

Batman, unsurprisingly, is the first one to stand back on his feet and see a few of the screens come back online.

Just in time to see that same green wave of... sound? energy? power?.. decimate the entire fleet like a wet cloth over a chalkboard. One moment, the spaceships were there, and the next they are gone, wiped out of existence.

Ember laughs, leaning back and almost doing a backflip in the air.

"That was nice, dipshit!" She shoves Phantom in the shoulder, and the boy snorts, plucking the cords out of his skin and grinning.

"Yeah," he agrees with a smile, not even looking at the screens around, "Maybe we should try rehearsing in space next time. Sing to the stars and all that crap."

"Sing to the stars?" Ember raises her eyebrows mockingly as the rest of the heroes scramble to their feet, bemoaning their ringing ears. "Na-ah," she clicks her tongue and turns to Batman, "You still up for paying for our studio?"

The man just grunts in a semblance of affirmation.

"Sweet," the girl grins and offers Phantom a hand for a high five, which he returns instantly. "Cheers to the world being saved once again!"

The boy just rolls his eyes and turns to Constantine, "Next time, be a dear and text me before summoning, or I'm going to sell your soul to Morpheus, and who knows what he'll do with you."

John Constantine grimaces. "I did," he offers grudgingly.

But both unearthly teenagers are already gone without a trace.

[Edit: I want everyone to know there's ART now!!!]

[chloesimaginationthings]

Michael learns about FNAF Movie Sparky...

[hollis-art]

911 you have the opportunity to do the funniest thing tomorrow

please. please please. please. you can even send eddie to super-hell, idc. do it. please.

close-ups of the doodles i particularly enjoy :)

[huntingrays]

pjo prompt: percy and jason have to go on a quest together, so they both decide to bring their respective partners (annabeth and leo). during the quest, they get kidnapped by monsters and percy and jason wake up in an arena. the monsters explain that they have their partners and in order to save them, they have to fight to the death, with the winner getting to leave alive with their partner, while the other is killed. however, the monsters are very shocked when percy and jason sit down and start calmly playing cards with each other. they’re not worried about their partners. instead, they’re worried for the monsters. they trapped annabeth and leo together, two of the smartest demigods. the girl who redesigned olympus and the boy who built a warship in six months. they were toast.

[souphamsters]

I've been hopelessly fixated on drawing one (1) sweetheart butchfemme couple ... they're all I think abt ... HELP !!!

(silly lesbian ocs that I love , chae🍓and lucky🍋!!!)

[botanyshitposts]

confirming the Ethiopian wolf pollination hypothesis seems so straightforward in theory, like just erecting anti-wolf barriers around some of the hot poker plants and seeing if those get pollinated at the same rate as the other ones, but also I feel like it could be some lab’s 6 year long project that ends up in Nature and answers more questions about wolf dessert time than I could ever think to ask. and also it would give more beautiful photos of wolves between 3 seconds and 1 hour into passionate nectar indulgence. so hopefully with the media attention they’re getting they can do that

[tobyisave]

hey why is this ipad acting so needy

[vriskan8or]

let her go

[daeyumi]

i love it when ppl put kirby into desserts