#i was about to commit a crime

[clowningaroundmars]

WHAT is with tumblr posting drafts without me even hittin the post button?

b r u h

[hamletthedane]

Elphaba: oh oz oh oz, I just put everyone in the classroom to sleep. what do I do? what do I do???

Fiyero, who took one look at his passed out classmates and immediately decided it was time to commit several felonies: idk what YOU’RE doing but I’M kidnapping this baby and sneaking him across the border. viva resistance.

[stil-lindigo]

recently, Israel sent down hellfire missiles near a hospital in Gaza, which are missiles that explode into blades that slam down and cut through anything in their way. (link)

There is a video of a man with his legs newly amputated, screaming in a pool of his own blood. I won’t share the video, because it made me vomit into a toilet, but either trust me it exists or go look for it yourselves.

There is another video of a young girl, crying silently after her legs were blown off in an explosion. She explains tonelessly to the camera man that she doesn’t want fake legs because they’ll just remind her of her real ones. She is 13. (link)

A hospital is told to evacuate and they do, all the while waving white flags in a show of surrender. The IDF shoot at them anyway. (link)

Meanwhile in Israel - they begin to enforce one of the most draconian anti-free-speech laws in history.

1.link | 2.link | 3.link

Israel also claims to be the “only democracy in the Middle East”.

Israel has bombed hospitals, fishing boats, schools, refugee camps, power sources, water tanks, evacuation routes. They have killed 80% of Palestinian journalists, they have killed 100 UN workers, they have murdered over 4,000 children in 34 days. Because of the lack of food and water, Palestinians have begun to die from starvation, cholera.

If you still support Israel after all this, I believe you’re completely lost. Utterly without any humanity. Nothing could ever excuse this.

In Australia, there is an ongoing list of protests planned, as well as a permanent camp out being set up in Naarm/Melbourne to block Israeli transport company ZIM from shipping weapons. Congressional staffers in the US are finally being gotten through to - in spite of their rampant greed and long-suffering inhumanity, even they can recognise when their phones won't stop ringing with people saying flat out they'll never vote for them again.

Find resources to help Palestine globally at Ceasefiretoday.com

[bet-on-me-13]

Danny goes to a new School

So! When Danny got expelled from his High School, it wasn't really a big Suprise. He had missed for too many days or just walked out in the middle of Class, and his grades were lower than anyone else in the school. It was just a matter of time really.

When confronted by his Parents, he had just claimed that it was the constant ghost attacks getting to him (not a total lie) and that he was sorry.

Well, his parents tried to help.

After hearing about his supposed Fear of Ghosts, they decided that it was a good idea for him to go to school somewhere outside of Amity Park, so he could focus on his Schoolwork and not be distracted by the constant Attacks.

Of course no School wanted to accept a problem student like Danny, so they were forced to look into alternative schools to find one that would accept him. And they did! So they had Danny pack his bags, promise to call regularly, and shipped him off to his new School.

HIVE Academy.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Trapped in a vicious cycle of pining? Try gay sex! (More things to learn over at Tiger Tiger!)

[troythecatfish]

[hawkinsbnbg]

Eddie can't believe he's seeing Steve Harrington in a gay bar of all the places. Sure, he heard rumors about a certain jock becoming friends with the band geek Robin Buckley (whom he already clocked as a friend of Dorothy), but he didn't expect it to be true.

Here in the safe space for queer people in Indianapolis, Steve is sitting by the bar—wearing his little pink crop top and skin tight Levi's—and laughing heartily at something Buckley is saying. And Eddie wants.

Anyway, this is his chance. Years of ogling watching Steve finally pays off now. As smoothly as possible, he slides into the stool beside Steve, catches his attention, and starts whispering to him. It's not a conversation intended for impressionable ears, after all.

"I happen to know the best places to hide bodies."

Steve blinks owlishly at him, caught off guard that Eddie knows about his secret.

"What?"

"Don't worry, princess." Eddie grabs Steve's hand and presses a kiss to the back of it, making him blush prettily. "Your secrets will forever be safe with me. I'm just here to let you know that you're not alone."

"... Who are you again?"

Steve looks cute when he's baffled, so Eddie can't be blamed for responding him with a wink.

"The name is Eddie. But you can also call me Daddy."

Steve rolls his eyes, huffing.

"You're so weird, man."

In the end, Eddie successfully introduced himself to his crush and went home with Steve's phone number safely tucked in his pocket. Before he left, however, he heard Buckley hiss something to Steve that almost sounded like:

"Girl, stop. That weirdo is not your Prince Charming."

"Well," Steve said. "I could be Juliet."

And the hopeless romantic in Eddie's heart swooned.

[apollos-boyfriend]

love minecraft youtubers 🫶 would love them so much more if they organized their fucking inventories

[s0fter-sin]

thinking about the way ghost doesn't hesitate to start killing shadows when graves betrays them but soap only takes one hostage

you can almost hear the voice in his head telling him it doesn't have to be this way; they can still talk it out

"i'm calling shepherd"

his first instinct when confronted with betrayal is to play it by the books: to go up the chain. that goes against everything we've seen him do. he bucks authority at every chance except for the one time he's confronted with the barrels of his allies' guns

he wants a peaceful resolution; for the first time we've ever seen, he doesn't want violence to be the answer. there has to be another fix, a solution that doesn't end with him killing the same men he's been working with; his friends

nothing's happened yet

it doesn't have to go this way

but ghost has been betrayed before. he knows the way this ends; either with him six feet under or his enemy

he doesn't hesitate

it's only when they knock alejandro out that soap shoots; when they spill the first blood and cross a line they can never come back from

only when ghost orders him to run and he has to cover his retreat

and somewhere along the line, between civilians’ screams and taunting voices, between his shaking breath and ghost steady in his ear, that naivety is stripped away; his trust turned to teeth that he uses to sink into throats of men he'd have given his life for

"be careful who you trust, sergeant; people you know can hurt you the most"

he's learned the price of trust

just like ghost did

but unlike ghost, he has someone to guide him through the aftermath

"good advice, It"

[daorion-i]

*holding him out in the palm of my hand* i just think he's neat

[unpretty]

Rare non-kink-taxonomy-hell ask: your description of Sorrowverse Joker as actually good at manipulation and gaslighting, to the point where the act he puts on might sometimes resemble Therapy Joker, has actually made me interested in a version of the Joker. Which has never happened before. Could we hear more about him/this aspect of him? Love your writing btw

what if we had a rare limited-time crossover event

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: 🤡:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

"Helloooooo nurse."

"Don't whistle," she snapped, shutting the door. "I'm doing you a favor," she reminded him.

"I thought you were recognizing that denying me cosmetics had no purpose but to dehumanize me," he said.

"You know what I mean," she said, pushing her glasses higher on her nose. "And I'm not a nurse." She pulled the sparkly pencil case she'd brought from the pocket of her coat to offer it to him.

He did not so much rise from his bed as unfold. A spider of a man, all long spindly limbs in ill-fitting pale pink. With all the green of the rest of him, it made him look floral, a mop of green hair and his eyes pastel. Even the white of his skin had a green tinge on closer inspection. She'd been sure it reminded her of something and had spent hours online trying to find it. She'd decided on a small emerald moth, staring at stock photos of delicate wings almost translucent and trying to remember where she ever could have seen one.

Charming as a bouquet full of insects.

He plucked the bag from her hand and pulled what looked like a butterfly knife from inside. He grinned, and when he did his face seemed to grow twice as long and half of it teeth. Gleaming purple metal spun between long fingers, but when he pointed it at her to watch her recoil, it had the teeth of a comb. He waggled his eyebrows at her before running it through his hair, using both hands and raising his elbows much higher than necessary so his shirt rode up. She pressed her lips together rather than dignify the performance with a response.

His eyebrows were still pristine and had been since he'd been admitted. Precise arches with edges razor-sharp.

Without products to keep it in place, his hair fell back down at an angle from his widow's peak. "Don't pretend I'm not funny, Dr. Quinn," he said, metal twirling between his fingers again.

"Quinzel," she corrected.

"Nurse Harlequin," he said, rummaging through the limited personal effects she'd brought him. It was absurd to refuse anyone these few small comforts. She'd always thought so. It was punitive, the way they denied any dignity to anyone they were meant to be treating.

There but for the grace of God, she thought and tried not to.

"I don't have a mirror," he declared, holding a red vial she was sure could not be blood. He reached out to touch beneath her chin. "Hold still."

"Mr. J," she warned, refusing as she always did to refer to him by the only name they had for him.

"I love it when you call me that," he said with relish, using her glasses as a mirror to apply tint to his lips with a wand. "Say it again, doll."

"If they catch you wearing lipstick—"

"It's stain," he said dismissively. "They can't prove it. For all they know I got this the old-fashioned way, sucking dick in the bathroom again."

"Agai—"

"Excellent work, Harley," he said, and then his lips were on hers. She made a muffled sound of indignation and was careful not to move. He'd done this before, the first time they'd met, when he'd learned her name and had a good laugh about it. She'd slapped him for it then, hadn't protested when they'd put him in isolation for it. "Aw," he said as he pulled away, touching her lower lip. "I know it hadn't dried yet, but it doesn't show on you, does it?"

It was only stain, but his skin was so pale the red popped, his grin grotesque. A caricature of something unwholesome, white as a sheet and a mouth like a minstrel, too dark a thought to trust. It was hard not to think the worst of people, ascribe symbolism to nothing at all, fall into spirals. Enough real dog whistles without her inventing new ones.

"That's unacceptable behavior," she said, "and that's not my name."

"You don't call me by my name," he said, tapping the tip of her nose, "and I don't call you by yours." He dropped the pencil case back into her hands before she realized what he was doing, and she had to scramble to catch it in time. "Besides, you seem like a good ride." He made an exaggerated handlebar-revving gesture with both hands and winked as he stepped away from her. Something Fred Astaire in his footwork when he walked. She was careful to stay where she was, tucking the contraband back into her pocket.

"Do you harass all your doctors this way?" she asked pointedly, fixing her glasses again.

"Aggressively," he confirmed as he fell back into his bed. "The rest of them don't like it as much as you do, naughty girl." He sprawled sideways, propping his head up in a pose that might have been provocative if he'd had a curve anywhere but the jutting bones that slotted his hands into his forearms. "It's why they locked me up for being a deviant," he said with a limp-wristed gesture.

"They locked you up for killing people," she corrected.

"They were rich," he scoffed. "That doesn't count as people." Her nose crinkled, pressing her lips together again rather than do anything he'd interpret as a laugh. "You can tell because they didn't send me to prison."

"They didn't send you to prison because Gotham's justice system is fucked," she said. Arkham was privately owned with a budget inflated by charitable donations. It was inevitable that expensive-looking criminals were judged criminally insane, the worst of their excesses no longer a taxpayer problem.

He cocked his head. "Do I look sane to you?" he asked.

"Sane doesn't look like anything," she said. "We both know you knew what you were doing, and there's no medical intervention that would make you behave differently."

He grinned, too wide, too many teeth. She tilted her head a little, only enough to see around the edge of her glasses and confirm that his mouth blurred. "Yet here you are," he said.

"Rehabilitation isn't the exclusive domain of the medically impaired."

This job had been a nightmare from the beginning. Every day in large and small ways it wore her down, an endless river of bullshit trying to smooth down every part of her that believed in anything. No accountability, barely treatment, shifts too long with coworkers as sick as the patients. Less like doctors with patients and more like researchers with lab rats. Rubber stamps and no rocked boats and no goals greater than the status quo. Cameras easily bypassed by any employee who cared to, for whatever reason struck their whim. Her no better.

She should have done more. Her job shouldn't have been worth more than her principles. She could have done more than this, makeup and candy and burner phones in her pockets. She kept notes and told herself she'd blow the whistle someday. She kept her head down and kept her health insurance and knew herself for a traitor.

"Come closer," he said, gesturing with his fingers.

She was halfway across the room before she thought to stop and ask, "Why?"

He was grinning again. "Because I wanted to see if you would," he said, and at the look on her face he threw his head back to cackle. She pressed her nails into her palms and felt her face burn. "This might sound racist," he began.

"Then don't," she warned.

"No, no, it's not like that, I just—"

"Don't."

"I can't tell if you're blushing!" he said, exasperated. He swung his legs around to sit upright, his knees a mile apart. "That's all I was going to say, honestly. Is that bad? You can tell me if it's bad."

"I would call that an 'inside thought'," she said, still blushing. He cackled again.

"Really, though," he said, crooking his fingers again, "you should come over here."

"Why?" she asked first this time.

"So I can kiss you stupid," he said.

Her face felt hot again. "I'm not doing that."

He rolled his eyes so dramatically it took his whole face with it. "I have to come over there?" he asked rhetorically, gesturing at her. "Come on, now, doll. Give yourself a little agency, here. I'm locked up. You get to leave. That little love tap earlier was fine, there were cameras on, I get it, kind of hot if I'm honest, pretty into that. But I've got limits too, you know. You want me to play the big bad taking advantage, that's fine, I'm into it, but trust's a two-way street. Get over here and make it clear you know what you're here for, yeah? Despite what your bosses think, I'm not actually an animal. I'm not sitting here waiting for pretty girls to maim."

"I don't think that," she said, defensive.

"Naw," he said, "you're just coming in here when you're not supposed to be and standing in grabbing range, waiting for nothing to happen. Get over here or leave, I'm not going anywhere."

She half-turned, looking at the doorknob, but hesitated. She wanted the last word, but didn't have one ready and her throat was dry regardless. She felt sick.

"You're real scared I'm gonna laugh at you, huh?" he asked, and she whipped her head around to stare at him. He was leaning forward, chin on his fist, watching her. The pale shade of his eyes made it more predatory than it otherwise would have been. His smile was a wry gash across his face. "That happen a lot?" he asked, cocking his head. "Men telling you you're pretty as a prank, asking you out to make fun when you believed it?" She scowled, and his smile split into a grin. "Awww. Poor l'il Harley. C'mere, then. You wanna make a show of being vulnerable, be vulnerable. Least you can do, don't you think?"

The worst part was realizing, the moment he said it, that it was the thing she most dreaded. That he'd laugh at her for believing him.

She came close enough to stand between his knees, but couldn't bring herself to make eye contact. She looked at the hole in his ear where they hadn't let him keep his earrings, instead.

"There's a doll," he said, grabbing her wrist and yanking so she'd fall into his lap. She narrowly avoided her knee hitting him somewhere awkward. She was distracted by how bony his thighs felt compared to hers, all his limbs too thin as his arms went around her waist. He kissed beneath her ear, and she thought of his mouth, the wide span of it and all those teeth at her throat. "Doesn't being honest with yourself feel better?" he asked against her skin.

"This is very, very bad," she breathed, her voice shaking. Her own body heat was mortifying. He felt halfway to a corpse.

"Awww, don't be like that," he said, and she could feel him smiling. All those teeth. "What's the worst that could happen?"

[a-neru-neru]

its bad right now. here's a quick caedo

[inbabylontheywept]

Weird Grandpa Story #2

I remember asking my mom once, if her dad had gotten ornerier as he'd gotten old. I'd heard about that happening, and it would've made sense for him. He was already the orneriest old cuss I'd ever met. Couldn't even imagine him being grumpier than he was.

Instead of answering the question directly, she told me about what it was like going to church with him as a kid. Their church was a small Mormon ward out in the sticks of Colorado, and he served as their Bishop - mostly by virtue of being the only one willing to do that much unpaid work. He was also the ward pianist. He actually liked playing piano, and he liked having an audience, so it was more or less understood that he was willing to be the bishop in exchange for being the pianist. 

Which could've been a good trade, but there were a few problems.

The first problem was that Grandpa Dale played every song at about triple speed. He was a deeply impatient person, and that extended to how he played music. The second problem was that he had a bad habit of cursing under his breath. That would've been a scandalous  enough habit for a Mormon bishop, but was made much worse (and also much funnier)  by him being pretty damn deaf. So what he thought of as "quiet" cursing under his breath was more of just a verse hoarse way of yelling. I only visited him for a week or two every summer, and I still learned most of my bad words from him. 

So every Sunday would start with a quiet prayer, and then Bishop Grandpa Dale would go to the piano, sit down, and play the nightcore version of Praise to the Man. He would occasionally play other hymns, but he really, really liked that one. This would continue until he hit a wrong note, which was basically inevitable because his music philosophy was that if he could play a song flawlessly, it was time to play it faster. So he'd play until he hit that wrong note, at which point he would scream-whisper SHIIIIIT and, because he did not actually read music so much as memorize it, the only way he'd be able to get his rhythm back was by going back to the start. 

If it was a good Sunday, he could get it in two tries. Some Sundays took as many as five. 

I learned two things about Grandpa Dale from this story. The first was that he could play piano. I'd never actually seen him do that before. Still haven't, come to think of it. Second was that the man that I visited once a year, who always seemed on the verge of exploding, who scared the absolute dickens out of me, was actually the chilled out version of the man my mom grew up with.

And it helped knowing that, actually. I'm actually a pretty anxious person, and my mom is, also, a pretty anxious person, and as a teenager we'd sometimes get in these doom loops where we'd wind each other up until our springs cracked. She'd be worried about me growing up to be happy, and I'd be worried about letting her down, and my worrying would make me unhappy, and my unhappiness would make her unhappy, and we'd just kind of dissolve into these anxieties like cotton candy in the sea and become totally unbearable to be around for a bit. Then my dad would sit us both down and very politely tell us that we were being crazy. He had this quote how being sad that someone else is sad that you're sad is the emotional equivalent of being a Klein flask and that at some point you have to just say I am allowed one (1) single layer of emotional recursion, at most, and ideally zero. 

And it was always kind of embarrassing and silly, but when I was tempted to be more upset with my mom about it, I could remember the piano story and go: Sheesh. She has more of a right to be anxious that I do. For me it's really just genetics, but she grew up with the Cactus-Killing Gopher-Smasher. A whole 18 years of that. I spent two weeks every summer with that guy, and I love him, but I always came home feeling like I'd survived something. She's a trooper.

[phoenixkaptain]

One thing I like is that the only people who really truly see Shinichi in Conan, the only people he drops his guard around enough to act like himself, are like: 1. Hattori, best friend, one of the first people to discover his secret, the human equivalent of a puppy dog. And 2. the Detective Boys, the literal young children he spends time with mostly against his own will.

And it's so funny because he TRIES to keep his guard up, he TRIES to act like a regular, boring child, but Shinichi/Conan has one fatal flaw that prevents him from pulling it off: he's too much of a perfectionist, he's too much of a completionist. Once a mystery has his attention he has to solve it, he has to get to the bottom of it, he has to solve riddles, he'll spend the entire day and night thinking about it because he NEEDS to know.

Hattori knows that because Hattori Gets It, he's right there with him, and he understands that the obsessiveness is what makes Shinichi a good detective.

But the Detective Boys do Not get it, they just know that sometimes their weird buddy gets strangely intense and normally it's because murder is involved but sometimes it's about a stupid map to treasure that he finds stupid until he finds out he doesn't get it and begins to obsess over it until he does get it. And sometimes their weird buddy starts laughing maniacally and they're all a bit concerned, but hey, maybe that's just how weird friend expresses himself? Sometimes weird buddy seems to pretend to be stupid, like he just spent fifteen minutes explaining something only to turn around and act like he's three. And this bothers them because, like, what? What's the purpose? And how is anyone convinced???

I love the Detective Boys plots, they are all Conan thinking that it's stupid only to then get way too into it. And just imagine how Inspecter Megure feels! This child yesterday explained the hows and whys of a gruesome murder, only to then be like "how does a clock work?" Like, bro must be SO confused. He and the Detective Boys are over there like, "I know Conan isn't stupid. You know Conan isn't stupid. Conan knows Conan isn't stupid. And yet, somehow, Conan just said the stupidest thing I've ever heard in my life. And now he's back to not being stupid, what was the poINT-"

All this to say, I like that Conan's friends know about Conan's interests and obsessions and accept those interests and obsessions as part of him, and even try to give him things to interest him and get him to spend time with them. Which is just something we never really see with Shinichi because Shinichi's only real friend seemed in the beginning to be Ran, and Ran in the first episode seemed caught off guard by the fact that Shinichi spent nearly an entire trip to an amusement park talking about Sherlock Holmes.

[ralefaelle]

POV you and your bff did something dumb

[secretly-a-trekkie]

woke up an hour ago, looked in the mirror and had a thought ™️