#i learned it from him really

[deathsbestgirl]

my dad used to watch ancient aliens and i remember asking him one day if he believed any of it and he basically laughed in my face. to him, it was a comedy because they were so insane & so stupid 😭 i was young so i didn't really know but basically it was like phoebe buffay not believing in evolution and saying to ross 'but who put the fossils there?'

i just love this specific memory because my dad loved all the weird things and i love all the weird things and almost everything is a comedy if you look at it right

[nouverx]

*proceeds to drink the whole bottle*

Yeah Alastor you're gonna be loved and appreciated wether you want it or not :)

[chloesimaginationthings]

FNAF Gregory is NEVER getting unbanned at this rate

[flwrkid14]

Had the silliest idea while making breakfast.. what if Damian’s Favorite Brother is Tim, but for the Dumbest Reason...pancakes

My idea is that Tim is Damian’s favorite brother, but not for the reasons one might expect. It’s not because of Tim’s skill, his smarts, or his ability to stay three steps ahead in every fight. Nope. Damian’s real reason for favoring Tim over Dick, Jason, or even Bruce is much simpler.

It’s because Tim makes the best pancakes. Like, legendary pancakes.

Not even kidding.

One morning, Tim casually whips up a batch of pancakes in the kitchen—y’know, because Alfred’s off running errands and the rest of the family doesn’t know the first thing about breakfast beyond opening a box of cereal, and Tim's been feeding himself since he was six. So Tim steps up to the stove, and bam—fluffy, golden stacks of heaven.

Damian, who never really cared for breakfast, takes one bite of Tim’s pancakes and is sold. From that moment on, he’s obsessed.

“Drake, you will make me those pancakes again tomorrow."

And Tim just blinks, completely confused, but shrugs it off like, “Uh, sure?”

The next morning, Damian’s right there in the kitchen, bright and early, waiting for his daily dose of pancake perfection. By the third day, he’s even dragging a chair next to Tim, watching like a hawk as Tim cooks, making sure he’s using the right ingredients.

Meanwhile, the rest of the Batfamily is just like, “Really? This is the thing that bonds them?”

Tim, being Tim, just rolls with it. He doesn’t ask questions. If Damian wants pancakes, Damian gets pancakes. He’s just trying to survive his new role as “Pancake Master.”

But Damian? Oh, he’s serious about this.

Damian tells anyone who will listen that Tim is the only one who knows how to make breakfast properly. He’ll give the other brothers side-eye anytime they dare to suggest they could cook for him. Even Alfred raises an eyebrow, but Damian’s already set: Tim’s pancakes or nothing.

What’s even funnier is that when Damian gets pissed off at anyone, he refuses to eat their cooking. But Tim? Untouchable. The one person who can screw up as many times as he wants and still be in Damian’s good graces—because those pancakes? Irreplaceable.

So, while the Batfamily argues over strategy, patrols, or who gets to drive the Batmobile, Damian's priorities are clear:

"You’re all amateurs. Drake’s the only one who makes pancakes worthy of the Wayne name.”

And now, Tim’s been promoted to Damian’s favorite brother for the silliest reason imaginable. But hey, if the key to Damian’s heart is pancakes, Tim’s got that title locked down.

[heph]

Unstoppable Force VS Immovable Object

[razormaze]

what fear a man like you brings upon a woman like me (please don’t look at me)

[bacchuschucklefuck]

doing chibi is a good design exercise bc it forces u to think on shapes n essential details, essentially thumbnailing ur designs. its also a terrible design exercise bc it ends up looking cute no matter what

[luna-loveboop]

Blue Four appreciation

I love Blue Four. 10/10 angry dude

(tone indicator for this post: positive and light-hearted. art and character from @linkeduniverse au)

His motto is "No thoughts head angry" I mean look at him! Every face is grumpy! How you can you hate him. He's got one emotion and it is mad

He is very good at pointing accusingly at people

(Green in the background was tired of it by the second time)

I also love this panel. Wild's body language perfectly captures the correct (only?) reaction to Blue

He was freaked out by all of Four right then, but Blue was especially scary.

His pose here matches a sketch from quite a while ago:

This pleases me

ALSO

Blue was mad at Champ for shoving him,

But his reaction to Twilight's injury was the same as Wild's.

I think they really bonded in this moment:

Same face

And how he has his hair tucked behind his right ear just because he's more edgy? Iconic

Blue four was brought into existence and is full of rage about it, and I relate to respect that

>>>:(((

[raiiny-bay]

Love, Dhes

Parker,

It's unfair how time with you feels so short. How the last 10 years have felt like no time at all. I like to think there are other versions of us out there, somewhere. Maybe in another timeline, another universe. I like to think we find each other no matter where we are or what we're doing. That we're together and happy and I get to love you in a dozen different lifetimes. That's what I hope, anyway. And I hope when this lifetime ends, we get to start over and do it all again. Because once just isn't enough. Not for me. Not with you.

I hope the next 10 years pass slower.

Love, Dhes

[b4kuch1n]

polymer broadcast signal hijack

[arthursfuckinghat]

Thinking about how it feels like the world of RDR2 ended when Arthur died, how things would never be the same again, how bittersweet it is meeting the people you once were in a gang with, how much it hurts to play as a shadow of someone you lost. That's when most people stop playing.

But the world didn't end, the world carried on. The people you knew moved on, new people you meet spoke fondly of your brother. The world kept turning and showing you that Arthur may be gone, but his memory is all around you.

His name is etched on a memorial hall donation plaque, the beasts he hunted were hung proud on a veteran's wall, the widow he taught to hunt is now thriving, the strangers he helped on the side of the road talk about the man that saved them, and so much more, but most of all - his hat sits proudly on your head and his journal lays heavy in your satchel.

This part of the game has taught me a lot, but it has taught me to move on most of all.

[gunstellations]

In the world I love

_

In a different world

[corviiids]

i think L should've tried harder to piss light off. provoking light into slipping up would not only be hilarious i also think it would be extremely easy and effective. not saying you could get light to actually confess this way, but he would definitely make more dumb mistakes if, for example, L kept interrupting their homoerotic brain chess matches to insist that kira is actually matsuda because the butts match

[uncanny-tranny]

Hey, if you have speech impediments, you are so amazing.

If you stutter or have a lisp or misspeak easily or you have a flat affect or a limited verbal vocabulary or if your voice is AAC or if you just have a difference in your vocality, you are so incredibly important and amazing.

Just know that your voice is yours. Nobody will ever be able to truly take it away. Your voice is part of you, and you deserve to make it as true to you as you deem fit. I hope you have the space to grow with your voice and whatever about it makes it unique.

[nothingbizzare]

Doodles I made in class hehe

[seiwas]

sellllllll it's meeeeee. hehehehehehehehehhehe

so for ur writing exercises.... deku + light? please? pretty please?

:3c

heheh heheh hehe niku. this will be the death of me. me writing izuku for the first time 🥲 i will only do this for you </3

contains: established relationship, spoilers for the end of the manga, aged up deku but sometime in between the final outcome (he doesn't get the h*** s*** from bakugo yet), mentions of sex and scars

deku + light

izuku only sleeps with the lights off.

it isn't uncommon; many people you know can't sleep with even just a sliver of light turned on somewhere in the room. but the difference with izuku, you learn, is not that he's unable to stand the light―it's that he refuses to.

you quickly pick up on it the first few times he sleeps over.

he fidgets in bed, pretty badly, actually. the nightlight you sleep with glows a warm yellow, illuminating the side of your face and coating him in its afterglow. you chalk it up to nerves, how he pulls at his sleeves and adjusts his position constantly; he is, after all, one of the most anxious people you know.

and this relationship―it's new. heck, even you feel a little jittery with his arm wrapped around you.

the rhythmic tapping on your hip only increases pace. you don't think he realizes it, so your hand gently reaches for his, intertwining your fingers as you turn around in his arms.

he's close, nearly touching you nose-to-nose; the proximity leaves you fuzzy, a little ticklish, so you giggle, a soft "oops," as the freckles dusting his face almost glisten under the warm light.

"hi," you whisper, meeting his eyes; they stare back at you wide in surprise, "can't sleep?"

he looks almost guilty at your question, as if you’ve caught him with the one thing he's been trying to keep from you.

"just—" his voice comes out louder than intended, prompting him to chuckle nervously as he readjusts his volume, "just winding down, sorry."

you inch closer, nuzzling his nose lightly, "it's okay."

"did i wake you?" he asks, cheeks flushing pink as his eyebrows furrow in immediate concern. his expression is something caught between stifling a grin and feeling sorry.

you shake your head against the pillow you share, strands of your hair tangling with his. "just winding down," you tease, watching as his gaze turns softer, eyelids drooping heavier.

sometimes, you think, izuku holds the world in his eyes―a deep, dark green, the color of life. most times, they look at you with wonderment, bright and alive; photos from inko tell you they're the eyes of his inner child.

on nights like this one, however, they hide a depth in them weighted by what you can only assume is time, and all that has happened to him in such a short span of it.

you try your best to understand what lies beneath them, knowing full well he'll never tell you outright what truly bothers him.

"is it the light?" you bring up, some time after laying in silence.

"hm?" he clarifies.

"do you have a hard time sleeping with the nightlight?"

his eyes widen briefly once more, as if shocked that you've caught him again. these split second reactions are ones you've learned to be attentive to when it comes to izuku.

"no," he tries to lie, but you know better as you turn to your nightstand and reach for its switch, "you don't–"

"it was hurting my eyes," you quickly make up an excuse, tucking yourself closer under his chin as you cut off his attempt to deny it again.

finding out that the light was the problem was the easy part—

you'd begun to notice much earlier on that izuku was barely rested on the nights he'd spend at your place. it was only when your old nightlight broke that you began to notice him waking up much later than you did, groggily rousing from a deep sleep.

—what was hard, was figuring out why.

at first, you suspected it was his scars.

"s-sorry, it's not—" he'd warned you, right as your hands gripped the hem of his shirt the first time you were about to have sex, "—it's not nice."

you didn't care though; you still don't care, and you've made that abundantly clear to him since. you love izuku and all his parts―all the nicks and jaggedy pieces of skin that make up who he is.

when you eventually ask him about it, with a request that he be honest with you for once, he tells you that it is and it isn't―the reason why he exclusively sleeps with the lights off, that is.

it's an odd, comforting relationship he has with his body—that he is simultaneously grateful and sorry for how its become a canvas, both painted and marred to symbolize japan’s historic last stand.

you find out the real reason when you catch him staring at his hands.

he does it often, when he thinks you aren't looking—his fists bunched up in the same way he used to watch the power of one for all course through his fingertips; the same way he used to prepare them in battle.

there’s a faraway look in his eyes that lingers, you notice—a little wistful if anything.

“do you miss it?” you finally ask. he gives you the same shocked look he does every time, as if he’s been caught with a secret he’s been trying to hide.

he’s learned a fair bit about you now, too, though—lying to you is futile when you’ve perfected reading his truth. he stares at his fists again as you take a seat beside him, moving to give you space. you rest your head on his shoulder gently, waiting.

“sometimes,” he admits, but you know it’s an understatement.

“i think about the vestiges a lot. i miss them the most, i think,” he continues, clenching his fists tightly, “i always try to reach out to them, but i guess it doesn’t work that way.”

“i… i try to replicate the right conditions every night, but…” then he lets go, stretching his fingers out wide. the scars on the surface ripple through his skin, telling its own story.

you hum, acknowledging what he means. silence sits with the two of you as you take his hand in yours, slowly unfurling his fingers until his palm reveals itself to you. it’s rough to the touch, seasoned with hard work and all that he’s been through.

“is that why you prefer the dark?” you ask softly, after some time.

it's not often that you stay up later than izuku does. when you do though, you catch him shifting in bed, moving from side-to-side. you pretend you aren't awake, but you hear him mumble their names, dwindling in volume as he dozes off to sleep.

he stares at his palm for a moment before he admits quietly, "yeah." his brows furrow as if contemplating whether to say more, but he shakes his head, dark green strands swaying to the beat of his embarrassed chuckle, "nevermind, it's silly."

"it's not."

you intertwine your fingers, sandwiching his hand between yours. a slight sheen glosses over his eyes as he tilts his head up to look at you. he draws in a breath, before it spills over.

"it's..." he finds the words, and you squeeze his hand in comfort, "it's easier to believe it was all real when the lights are out, and that maybe it can happen again."