#if i won’t work on it now

[dannyphannypack]

college is supposed to be a new start for danny: one in which his “work” life and personal life stay strictly separate. but when danny moves into his new gotham university dorm for the upcoming semester, his hopes are dashed. gotham is overflowing with lost souls, and they won’t leave him alone long enough for him to finish his damn physics homework.

when mr. and mrs. wayne offer him refuge in their old study, danny thinks he’d be stupid not to take it. he wasn’t expecting their house to still be inhabited, but whatever. he can blend into the background. he’ll do anything for some peace and quiet.

now if only he can convince martha to stop trying to out him to the rest of the family.

[qiornono]

PLEASE PLS PLS read in memoriam by alice winn this book changed my freaking life!!!!!

[solcarow]

based on this post

[uhyeahnoabsolutelynot]

list of what i personally consider to be joel’s biggest “i forgot that i keep insisting i’m not your dad” moments:

-“well now i have to see it” / “i don’t want you to” just the tone in which he says this and the thing of being like i’m not going to stop this from happening but i’m going to make my disapproval known, very dad

-his face softening and posture opening up a little in ep1 when she’s like “but you know where to go? so we’re gonna be okay” because even though he’s pissed to be babysitting and thinks she’s more trouble than she’s worth, he is not immune to scared little kid

-also ep1, all of his annoyed eyerolling at ellie instantly respecting/listening to tess and not him

-the Single Silent Nod of Capitulation™️

-becoming increasingly able to sense when ellie is about to ask for a gun from a mile away

-becoming increasingly able to sense when ellie is about to ask him to explain something he doesn’t know jackshit about

-saying under his breath “just wait goddamn it” while jogging after her

-loud coffee slurp in response to being told it’s gross

-also, assuming a 14 y/o who grew up in military school would like coffee

-dad infodumping infused with mild griping (i.e. pre-pandemic air travel, gasoline, how fedra cleared the highways)

-“lookit”

-oH i ThouGht yOu weNt tO ScHooL

-“you’re gonna break your neck”/“slow down”/“what did i just say”

-impatiently telling someone to straighten up is very dad

-the white lie about everyone loving contractors and contractors being cool obv

-doing the “is there anything bad in here” / “just you” bit not once but twice. he really does cycle through the same like 6 weak-ass jokes

-asking someone else to navigate while driving and then stressing them out for not navigating well enough for his liking

-being able to guess her favorite astronaut, i am weeping

-laying down 3 ground rules and then pretty much immediately and continually letting ellie get away with breaking 2 out of 3

-starting to look over at her in surprise when she says “i don’t want to talk about it” because it’s the first time that’s happened and he can tell he’s touched on something that really bothers her, and you see him having to wrestle with the dad impulse to be concerned

-when ellie tries to get him not to go after the sniper; impatiently being like ugh come on that guy is not gonna shoot me he literally sucks (pedro’s read of this line always makes me laugh)

-and of course also the follow-up, when he sees he’s going to have to do better than that to convince her that everything will be fine and his tone softens and he asks her to trust him. the “no questions, just do it” to “do you trust me” pipeline bro, fuucckkk

-the wyoming scenes when they’re nearing jackson and joel’s losing his cool a little and acting kinda grumpy and agitated really remind me of when you have to run errands with your parent while they’re in a bad mood

[whaleiumsharkspeare]

Ebenezer Scrooge: *goes outside*

Every Muppet within a 10 mile radius:

[starry-bi-sky]

More Clone^2 or just Damian Clone Au because these two have my heart rn.

————

“Asmi Danyal.” Damian says.

“Asm- asmi Danyal.” Danny repeats.

There is a sharp jab to his leg.

Danny thinks this means he’s winning, and he grins goofily.

(He’s not, he did the pronunciation wrong. He has to say it again.)

Where he is, is his room. It’s nearing midnight, and him and Damian have been sitting in his room for the last three hours.

He has books about learning arabic sprawled at his feet, from beginner’s books to advanced, he got whatever he could get his hands on that would teach him Arabic.

And Damian, little Damian who has finally taken it upon himself to settle down over these last few months, has decided that he doesn’t really like the way Danny is teaching himself.

“Your pronunciation is bad.” He told him through the translator Danny downloaded onto his phone. And then he sat down onto the ground and pointed at the floor and said “‘Ardia.”

And then wouldn’t stop until Danny said it in a way that he liked. He moved on to the next object. And then the next, and then the next. And so this has been their dynamic for the last two weeks. They’re finally moving on to proper sentences.

(It’s not fool-proof, and that’s why Danny still has his books. Damian doesn’t know every word, and knowing words doesn’t mean he knows how to string them together into a sentence.)

(But never let it be said that Danny is not a quick learner when he sets his heart to something.)

“Asmi Danyal.” Damian says.

“Asmi Danyal.” Danny repeats.

(“My name is Daniel.”)

Damian nods, satisfied and sated. He points to himself, puffed up like a peacock showing off its feathers. “Asmi Damyan Alghul.” He says, “‘Ana abn aldam.”

(There’s a flicker of uncertainty on Damian’s face, a slump in his shoulders that exists for only a millisecond. It’s a look on Damian’s face that Danny sees on his own whenever he looks in the mirror.)

(A question of identity, an ‘I think’ - am I really who I say I am? Doubt comes in with fickle tongue.)

Danny - much to his own surprise - is able to piece together the second half of his sentence on his own. It’s slow, assigning words to translation, but he learns it.

(“My name is Damian Al Ghul. I am the blood son.”)

The blood son - he can only assume he means the blood son of Bruce Wayne, of course. He shares the same face as the very public figure’s youngest boy.

And Danny shares the face of the youngest boy’s father.

And much like him, this Damian was younger than the original, thirteen year old one. Much younger.

“Marhaban Damian.” Danny says, a sly smile creeping up his face. “Asmi Danyal Fenton —” his eyes glance to one of his books, a list of greetings going down the page. He finds one he’s looking for. “Tasharafna.”

(“Hello Damian, my name is Daniel Fenton. It’s nice to meet you.”)

(He’d hold out his hand in a customary, playful handshake, but his palms still sting and hurt from his last encounter with Damian’s blade. He’s got them half curled at his side, unmoving as much as possible.)

Danny got the last pronunciation wrong, much to his amused delight. Damian’s face darkens and his smug expression falls away into a scowl.

“‘Ant aldajaalu, wanha ‘tasharafna.”

(“You are the imposter, and it’s ‘tasharafna’.”)

And so here they go again.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

He's sensitive about that

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[canon-gabriel-quotes]

Transcript:

You’ve been a very naughty little fucking thing, Machine.

You killed... a lot. Pretty much everybody. Pretty much everybody you encountered, you killed.

That is why, with extreme prejudice, I sentence you to gay baby jail.

May you rust in there forevermore.

Your only source of entertainment? Twitch.tv/getgianni

Now if you’ll excuse me, I'm going to go bot on TF2.

Audio source

[just-your-average-cryptid]

most of us have heard of the red car game. you’re on a road trip, you’re bored, you start looking for red cars to do something.

and then they’re everywhere. you notice them nearly every few minutes.

there aren’t suddenly more red cars now, of course. you were seeing them already, but you weren’t noticing. you weren’t looking.

I am noticing things.

there is a plant I notice everywhere now, a small bushy plant in suburbs, along streets, by shops on the highways. dwarf umbrella bush is what the internet tells me when I look for it’s name. I did this because I wanted to know why,

every time I ever saw it, every place,

it was always dying. always the leaves turning yellow, the branches small and scraggly. inside out - nitrogen deficiency. their soil drained.

I am noticing how many of these landscaping plants are yellowing, how small and sickly they look in just a few years. I am noticing how often the grass outside the house is replaced when it once again turns brown and dry, how the type never changes and the cycle starts again. I am noticing how the unmowed, unkempt spaces on lakesides and roadsides look more alive than this. how the preserve I grew up next to was miles of “messy” unmanicured nature and the ground was covered in leaves instead of grass and there was life.

I am noticing the birds that come by the lake. there was a flash of blue wings and red chest - eastern bluebird, male, relatively common. I had never seen one before. there is a family of ducks that appear every spring; i cannot say if it’s successive generations or different ducks, but I can always look forward to ducklings. there are little brown birds with white heads whose names I do not know - are they some kind of piper? why don’t I already know?

why is it so hard to learn about my native plants (accurately, that is)? why are so many gardening sites littered with people who think a plants value is based on how pretty or useful it is to them, who think a tree shedding leaves is “messy”?

why is knowing about the world we live in so… odd? why is it a hobby and not vital knowledge? I learned about polar equations. I taught myself about mycorrhizal networks and species of insects.

(did you know there are shiny green bees? a special species of wasp pollinating figs? that white flowers bloom at night for moths? do you know? have you looked?)

I cannot look at a lawn and see life anymore. it is a wasteland, devoid of life, dying slowly itself. everywhere is grass, grass, doused in water that runs over into storm drains, soaked in fertilizer and pesticides and a hundred other poisons and sending one clear message:

this is a place of death. life is not welcome here.

I do not think I could live in a city. too loud, yes, too busy, yes, too many people, yes, but the plants would bother me. a tree allotted only a convenient square, surrounded by dead stone and metal.

a forest cleared for this, for burning asphalt streets and racing cars and shops whose bathrooms are “for paying customers only”.

this is a place of death. life is not welcome here.

and now I am noticing.

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

rupert campbell black fic coming wednesday - angsty with makeup sex !!

edit - read it here.

declan o’hara fic coming most likely friday - best friends dad with car sex !!

edit - read it here.

eddie diaz fic coming most likely saturday - reader rides his mustache like a mechanical bull <3 !!

i’m throwing these fics at you hard and fast while i’m feeling inspired so fasten your motherfuckin seatbelts

and of course, as always… if you want to be tagged in any of these so you don’t miss them, just let me know !!

[spittyfishy]

Turns out there’s a Hinamiki ship week going on right now! I only found out about it last night but one of the prompts was beach so I knew I just had to draw something! I went with Hajime and Mikan exploring tide pools and all the intertidal creatures that call them home! (Like the little crab Mikan’s holding)

Hope y’all like it! @hinamikiweek

[kingkatsuki]

You text your f/o “can we fuck tonight?” What are they doing/replying?

[jemmo]

i don’t want to jump the gun, but i think hwang daseul might have just done it again. two episodes in to let free the curse of taekwondo and i am obsessed. more than obsessed. transfixed. this show feels special in a way hwang daseul’s touch only can give, and just using these two episodes to compare to her previous works, i love that i can already spot the continuity in the kinds of stories she tells, the messages she portrays and how she portrays them. she just knows how to let her characters exist in harmful and difficult places and show how their experiences affect them while also just showing them as normal human beings. it is so so easy to overdramatise these kinds of stories that have these difficult topics and have it be so surface level, but she has never done that. instead, she shows how those experiences shape a person and how they go about living in spite of them. all the way from where your eyes linger to now, she gives us characters that are wholly themselves and not just the traumas they have gone through and i just adore that. i can’t remember what i was talking about specifically, but i remember talking about this sentiment and how it actually helps to build empathy in an audience as opposed to just showing a difficult topic at the most surface level bc you think that makes it accessible and easier to understand and hence empathise with. i don’t think that ever works. it’s only when you do what hwang daseul does, when you give us characters we can get to know and fall in love with and care for that you help us to empathise with their experiences. it’s hard to understand the weight and the hardship of experiencing something traumatic, but when something bad happens to someone close to you, a family member or a friend, you understand and feel that pain astronomically more. that’s what hwang daseul manages to do. and more so, she makes you feel that while also seeing these people as people. you get to see them away from the hurt, you see them smile in moments of happiness and you see that too with people you’re close to, and you feel even more how special and important those moments of happiness are.

and that’s why, whenever hwang daseul is at the helm of something, i will be seated from start to end with endless boxes of tissues ready. i can’t wait to see what else this show has in store.

[caterpillarinacave]

Using the computer as a babysitter for Jed and Octavius is all fun and games until they figure out how to use Larry’s credit card

[sukirichi]

PLEASE STOP COPYING FICS ‼️

I am by no means gatekeeping concepts or tropes. We all know that it’s normal to see the same tropes or AUs be used differently, and that is not plagiarism. However, I recently found a fic that was oddly similar to my old (and discontinued) Gojo x Reader series, Reckless. The CEO! Gojo is nothing new, and neither is an accidental pregnancy trope. The only reason I am concerned is because this Gojo series I found has the exact same themes as Reckless that consists of: a playboy CEO Gojo with a very notorious reputation, a poor reader who is an employee and asset to the company (someone who works closely with Gojo), reader getting knocked up from a one night stand with Gojo, reader with a seemingly dead/absent mother yet still in contact with her father, Gojo with a very traditional family who does not like reader, and Gojo with an ex he struggles to let go of - which are all elements of Reckless.

The first chapter of that Gojo fic is also eerily similar to my first chapter with the same flow of: YN finding out she’s pregnant and her friend being there for her, Gojo saying he’ll take responsibility because ‘they both made the baby’, YN having to move in with Gojo to take care of the baby, and both of them coming to a mutual agreement that their ‘relationship’ will be purely for the baby’s benefit. The flow of events and specific details about the characters’ backgrounds are too similar to mine.

Again, I am not gatekeeping concepts, just as how I’ve had other writers ask me if they could write their own stories or takes based off of the NAOYA’S TROPHY WIFE COLLECTION or the BONTEN HUSBANDS EXCLUSIVE, and I’m fine with that. I’m even happy people are inspired by what I write. But being inspired is completely different from taking someone’s story and posting it as yours. Please trust your own creativity and skills in writing. You can write amazing stories and have people love them without having to steal from others.

It’s sad to say this is not the first time I, and other writers, have been plagiarized. It’s even more upsetting to know that a friend of mine who has also written a Gojo series (that I’m sure you all know and dearly love) experiences the same issues with the same person. The fact that this is happening to many writers out there is disheartening. We work hard and pour a lot of love in the stories we create. None of us are getting paid for this, and we simply want to share our passions with others. So please, let us be kinder with one another and show love and support the right way. If you love a fic, you give feedback and rb/comment + show support to the writer. You don’t steal their ideas and play it off as your own because you liked it.

[calmlb]

one of my favorite headcanons is that Dazai defected right around Chuuya’s birthday

we don’t know exactly when he left, but we do know it was after october 26 & before june 19, & according to clues in dark era it sounded like it was around springtime in yokohama

idk enough about yokohama weather to know exactly what month it was but imagine…

Chuuya had been sent on a mission in the west for 6 weeks. he returned late in the afternoon on April 28th– just in time to ring in his 19th birthday with his shitty partner.

because why not? he’s got nothing better to do.

he’s even got a bottle of 1989 Petrus waiting to be popped open.

he reports to Mori for debriefing & all he can think about is how beating the mackerel in that racing game they’ve been playing while he was away would be the perfect way to start off his 19th year.

but when he turns to leave, the Boss stops him, telling him there’s something that he should know…

Dazai disappeared 2 weeks ago, & has now been declared a traitor to the mafia.

Chuuya’s blood runs cold. he doesn’t know how he made it back to his apartment— head muddled by hurt. shock. confusion. exhaustion.

he tosses his coat on the back of the couch & the first thing he sees is the bottle of vintage Petrus— still waiting for the celebration.

and celebrate he did.

Chuuya celebrated his liberation from that waste of bandages he called a partner.

he celebrated the success of the solo mission he’d just returned from.

he celebrated the end of the reign of the infamous double black.

he celebrated the fact that he’d survived 4 years of partnership with that shitty Dazai.

he celebrated Dazai’s freedom, which would likely save his life… the freedom Chuuya hadn’t been able to attain. he’d been left behind in the darkness by the one person who got it.

the one who believed in & fought for Chuuya’s humanity when no one else did.

Chuuya celebrated his 19th birthday. alone. again.

(he hadn’t even said goodbye— hadn’t asked Chuuya to come with hi-)

no.

Chuuya shook away those thoughts. he needed to clear his head. he wiped the back of his hand across his eyes & stumbled drunkenly across the room to grab his keys.

he made his way to the garage where his car was parked, clicking the button to unlock it as he approac-

BOOM!

Chuuya was thrown backwards onto his ass, barely able to catch himself in his drunken stupor. he blinked through bleary vision at the flames that were engulfing his car.

and wasn’t that just par for the course? the icing on his nonexistent birthday cake.

so much for that drive.

Chuuya watched the flames burn, & maybe it was the alcohol talking, but it felt almost symbolic— like closing this chapter of his life. all he could do now was move forward. just like he always did.

but not tonight.

tonight he would stumble back to his apartment & collapse into bed.

(in his inebriation, he hadn’t even noticed the black fabric burning up right along with his car)

he woke up the next morning, freshly 19 with a killer hangover, a smoldering car, & a missing ex-partner.

when he found the nearly empty wine bottle, he was kind of glad he hadn’t taken that drive…though his memory from last night was a bit fuzzy— what the hell had happened to his car?

his phone chimed with a text from Kouyou.

happy birthday, lad. don’t do anything stupid.

Chuuya couldn’t help the twitch of his lips. there were still people here who cared about him.

not long after this, he would be promoted to executive & decide that the Port Mafia was his family.

but for today, he would nurse his hangover & curse a certain mackerel’s name as he beat every high score between them in that stupid racing game.

happy freaking birthday to him.

the car bombing was inspired by this post bc it’s canon to me <3