#it starts fucking smoking???

[unfortunate--moth]

Me and the mundane curse of finding an ant on my computer screen every third time I open it

- Milgranon

THAT SOUNDS AWFUL

ive had 2 regular mundane curses. 1 being no matter what phone i get, it only sends me texts people wrote 10% of the time. 2 being that no matter where I place my cup SOMETHING will end up in it. Dust, bugs, fucking. Pepper at one point???

But new mundane curse just dropped today laptop chargers now hate me.

[stefisdoingthings]

wings

[lapdogchase]

also don't let ur friends/society/tumblr posts/whatever convince u to start smoking or drinking or whatever if u don't want to. there are health risks there are social and financial aspects to consider and it's totally fine and normal to not want to. there's no moral aspect to it you can drink and do drugs or whatever if u want and that's chill but u should know what ur doing and do research and if u decide u dont want to that's chill and anyone who tries to shame u for it can go fuck themselves

[soarrenbluejay]

Supervillains for a community. (Well, except those jerks over in Gotham, insular lot, but they’re they’re one problem) Of course they do- supervillains are a group defined by strong opinions and a willingness to see them through, often with a healthy dash of societal failures and trauma as a catalyst.

The fentons, while not active even on the online message boards, are well known and explosive when they do show up, full of fascinating insights and hours long rants on mad science on hair pin turns courtesy of that ADHD attention span. Bit of the cryptids you feel honored to bump into kind of deal. Besides, like a good quarter of the community as it aged, they’d settled down and had kids (not necessarily in that order) and taken it very seriously! Out in the middle of nowhere, where even the most fearsome government outpost members, the local branch of the IRS, quake before them in fear. Out of the way.

Reveal gone okay-ish, Danny moves to Gotham still to get some air bc now things are Akward and he landed that engineering scholarship which is loads better than any other college would give him with his track record. So- the mysterious Fenton children are finally crawling out of hiding! Everyone is psyched! And roll in to Gotham en masse to witness the fireworks!

Except Danny is Determined To Be Normal. He’s had enough of the throwing himself into harms way shit for a lifetime- he wants to be free to peacefully built Rube Goldberg machines and unintentional increasingly complex bombs to his hearts content. JAZZ, on the other hand- the coveted token Normal One, has finally snapped! She’s watched her baby brother she practically raised throw himself into danger over and over and could do nothing, and now that she’s exposed to this whole network of superheroes outside of small town Amnity, some of those uglier emotions are coming out. And boy is she pissed! And can’t afford to show it much while filing the paperwork to have Arkham legally razed to the ground!

See I love this idea of like, niches in superhero society. A villain the heroes know they can plop their kiddo down with for an exciting afternoon brawl while they take care of a particularly grisly case and come back to a few hours later ranting about some new life lesson and a new move they really want to try. A villain who has a functioning moral compass despite their somewhat batshit long term goal and you can contact to fuck with another villains’s plan so they can laugh at them and you can have an easy afternoon. One who pries up hostile architecture and fills in pot holes, idk man. Get creative here, there’s such potential!

So Jazz becomes a Training villain- someone the heroes know their sidekicks will walk away from in a fight 100% of the time, usually with some new lesson to ponder and only a couple of bruises. Sometimes even snacks!

She also absolutely ambushes mentors to check that they’re worth the kiddo, which they appreciate once they get over being jumped in a dark alley by a 7 foot Amazon trained force of nature. They are not used to being on that side of the jumping, it’s a little unnerving.

(Yes, she low key adopts Shazam upon checking in with him on cursory ‘is the main hero of this city and asshole’ checkin. Yes, the super clones get yoinked out from under Superman’s negligent thumb to go have a blast with Ellie. What about it?)

This however only encourages more assorted weirdos to crawl out of the woodwork. It’s not often one of their own forfeits their potential spot for the running of the coveted Most Normal I Swear prize, but when they do it’s bound to be good! But jazz is off hounding various heroes and punching the faces in of pedophiles and shit whenever there’s no cape within easy reach, and so is a mite bit harder to contact than Danny, who has innocently gotten an apprenticeship under a clockworker for access to their workshop and is gleefully going about doing nerdy shit with great abandon.

Plus this is Gotham. No one gives a shit if someone in the Mad Alchemist uniform and still smoking from their latest experiment pokes their head in a window to bother the local shrimp teen- none of the usual social rules apply, everyone’s crazy here! So everyone drops any and all attempts at masking and just acts their genuine unhinged selves, much to the alarm of the Bats and frustration of Danny.

Bc he cannot get these mfers to go. Away. Even liberal use of the creep stick has little effect when the interloper is calibrated for an opponent with super speed or laser vision or whatever, and he’s trying to maintain his guise as a Normal College Student Do No Investigate.

So he calls in the big guns. He’s not super active in the supervillain kids group chat ever since things in amnity calmed the fuck down post becoming King and then immediately using a loophole that says he will not take the throne until he is grown, as defined by finishing learning his trade a la the medieval standards Pariah set up. So he can just take his sweet ass time with his graduate degree and out of inter dimensional bull shit that much longer! Point is, he hasn’t taken the chance to rant over there in a while, so his Crazy friends are getting a lil worried.

The change to come over and shout at their batshit crazy but (mostly) well meaning parent AND see Danny? Score!

The bats, however, are getting awfully suspicious about this one kid that villains from all over the country are flocking to, especially young and upcoming ones as of recently! And he’s acting his engineering course- all the worst rogues are known to have flown through their PhD studies prior to Cracking. They seem to have a real problem on their hands with this Fenton guy.

[mydearchoso]

geto and a reader with capnolagnia (a fetish/attraction to the smell of cigarette smoke/the act of smoking) and so everytime he wants some puss, he steps out for a few and comes back REEKING of it.

he loves doing it at movie theatres, restaurants, sometimes before he comes to visit you at work or before entering your house. any excuse to make you hot and bothered that inevitably leads to him being dragged to the bathroom or bedroom, sometimes not even bothering to hide it and just doing it right there as discreetly as possible.

he just loves the stark contrast when you go from bright, smiling, and cheery to furrowed brows and rustling thighs. mouth all but watering as you fuck the man to oblivion behind your eyes, before finally pouncing on him.

geto has also certainly fucked you WHILE smoking... slow lazy thrusts as he watches the ash flutter down to rest on your torso. smearing it with his hands as he slides it up to play with your nipple idly. putting the filter to your lips to inhale. all before he's locking your lips with his, grabbing each of your shoulders so hard his nails dig into your flesh. inhaling the smoke from your mouth as he pulls you down towards his hips. his leisurely pace turned cruel and hyper. fucking you like a rabbit who's only goal is to finish before it's heart gives out.

he gets so needy as he exhales the remainder of smoke across your face, watching your expressions as he drills into you ruthlessly. he may be using you like a toy right now, but after a little clean up, when he's put his briefs back on and you're in his shirt, you'll step out onto the back porch for a proper smoke. cuddling on the sun bed and passing the cigarette back and forth. staring up at the stars as you ramble about nothing special as you both bask in the afterglow of your ecstasy... and once you're back inside, who knows? maybe you'll be going at it again.

[smokin9-box]

Yeah, I kinda gave up halfway through

What actually happened before gangle called zooble:

[cum-a-calla]

Roman shotgunning smoke into your mouth when you’re already way too high and greening the fuck out

The room doesn’t spin, it just… it’s not really the same. But it’s not really the room. It’s more your place in it, your physical presence inside of it. Both too small and too much. An invisible halo of fuzz and pressure seems to crown your head, and you laugh a little. It isn’t funny, not really - your heart beats hard, and if you closed your eyes, you could swear that the sound of it rushes in your ears. You could track those tiny little blood cells surging through your veins, follow one all the way through all those channels.

“What’s funny?”

Roman inhales next to you, and reality slams uncomfortably back into focus. He’s taken you up into some VIP lounge area in a club, bass thumping outside (and inside, and everywhere). Neon lights wash him in an alien shade of purple, of blue.

“Nothing,” you say, pulse racing. In the back of your mind, you wonder if you’re going to have a heart attack. You waver a little in your seat, watching him, everything in excruciatingly clear detail and fuzzy all at once. It’s like vibrating between two dimensions, or something; there’s a heaviness in your limbs that should feel comfortable, not suffocating.

Roman scoffs and takes another hit off his joint. It’s some intense shit, all wrapped in fancy papers and flecked with gold leaf. It was only a short while ago that he unwrapped it and lit up, and you’d laughed at how stupid it looked, how needlessly edgy it is to sprinkle gold leaf anywhere near a fucking joint. Now? Now you can barely keep a train of thought going, mind wandering everywhere, nowhere, all at once.

“Well, you laughed, so… something must have. You know. Tickled you a little.” Roman smirks and lifts his eyebrows suggestively, offering you the joint. You shake your head immediately, forcing a little smile. God, you’re fucking high. “Aw, come on - don’t pussy out on me now.”

“I don’t mean to,” you laugh, waving it away. “I just… I’m fucking… blasted right now. I - I’m barely holding it together, honestly.”

“Yeah?” His voice dips a little, regarding you for a moment as he leans back in the seat, a cushiony booth that lines the wall. He gestures to himself, rubbing his thigh invitingly. Settling in. “C’mon. Hop on.”

When you laugh uncomfortably in response, he blows a stream of smoke gently into your face, smirking again, eyes hooded.

“I’m not gunna fuckin’… just - stop being so fuckin’ lame. Get in here. Sit on Daddy’s lap.”

You’re aware enough to roll your eyes, but reluctantly, you follow his suggestion. You carefully straddle his thighs, his eyes burning into you the entire time, hands settling familiar and heavy on your thighs. The joint sits between two of his outstretched fingers, the tip smoldering. It’s the only thing in the room not washed in purples and blues, a bright, angry red. Roman takes your chin and brings your attention back to him, holding your gaze.

“I’m just…” You stare at him, studying his face. He’s so utterly gorgeous - the line of his nose, his eyes glinting an unreal green in the room. Is that something with the lights? Are they always so vivid and bright? They dance off the sharp, high cheekbones, the hollows underneath them. You visually trace those curves, and it’s almost like caressing them. You can practically feel his stubble against your lips, if you focus hard enough, the curve of his jaw. The lines etched in his brow, around his eyes when he smiles, the lines around his mouth. The tender little curve of his cupid’s bow. His lips… God, his lips are so -

“You’re just…?” Roman interrupts, lifting his eyebrows. He smiles in a way that makes you feel stupid, and you flush, hiding your face behind your hands. Closing your eyes makes it worse - the world disappears, no visual cues to keep you tethered. It feels like floating, the only real solid contact being Roman’s thighs, the warm length in his slacks. Roman laughs and pulls your wrists tenderly apart, grip forgiving but firm. “Hey - come on. What? What’s up?”

“I’m just… way too high,” you admit with a barely-there laugh. Roman’s smirk melts into a smile, but it’s not one that reaches his eyes. His eyes go dark, little shadows dancing somewhere back there.

“Oh yeah?” He asks softly. Tenderly. He pulls deep from his joint, shifting and jostling you as he sits up a little straighter. He takes your jaw and looks at your mouth, holding his breath. “Open.”

You shake your head, but his fingers dig in tighter, nodding at you, urging you. When you still won’t comply, he trails that hand firmly to the back of your neck, pulling you in. His lips feel even better than they look - warm, soft, his tongue against yours, and then - and then he’s knotting his fingers in your hair, forcing smoke steadily into your lungs. You press your hands to his shoulders but he’s got an iron grip, releasing only once you’ve taken a lungful of his breath into yours, and you cough on the exhale. Smoke comes out in a light little cloud, but you harsh out all the same. Panic pumps icily into your veins and there it is again, your loud, horrifyingly strong heartbeat, everywhere, making you dizzy. Roman’s lips curve into a lopsided, cruel smile, satisfied. He rolls his hips just slightly, just enough to grind his cock against you.

You’re fucked.

“Don’t worry, baby,” he soothes, rubbing his hands up your thigh, thumb tracing lines of fire just on the inside. He takes another deep, impossible drag from the joint, killing it. He ashes it on the fabric of your jeans, over your thigh, until it burns a hole there and has you crying out in pain - he holds you down against him, forcing you to take it as he holds his breath. He flicks the butt across the room and lifts his head once more, making you look at him. He nods, pulling you close. “Again,” he murmurs.

[triglycercule]

so the dust smokes headcanon is really popular!!! i have an addition to it :33 cigarette smoke CLINGS to your body for a loooong loooong time,,,,, i don't know if monster dust has a smell but if it does maybe the cigarette smoke from his cigarettes could be used to cover up that smell so he doesn't have to deal with the scent of death all the time and yk,,,, feel the guilt :33

[alpacacare-archive]

good lord

[politicalprocrastinator]

some bitches would appreciate the prequels better if they accepted that qui gon jinn is a hard working single mother who braided obi wan's padawan braid every morning and obi wan is that stoner babysitter that didn't graduate college but constantly gives you insane life advice

[cloud-ya]

he was forced to eat obsidian when he was 6

[baddingtonbitch]

my current favourite youtube channel is this guy that just gets high as fuck and loses his goddamn mind reacting to various divas for the first time. he understands.

[violent138]

I want us to go back to when Jim Gordon's connection with Batman was legitimately a secret/seriously frowned down upon. Aside from legal reasons (Batman's not a cop and the affiliation opens up a whole can of legal worms), it makes for a more suspenseful backdrop to their interactions, goofy getaway scenarios and meeting locations. And later, when they include Harvey it'd be so much funnier to have him kidnapped from his office (with Harv's only reaction: "About time."). Now obviously the giant nightlight on the GCPD roof complicates this but they could really move that thing anywhere. Like Wayne Manor

[cheebuss]

I miss herrrr and his tired fail slay

[eshithepetty]

EXPLODES INTO A MILLION PIECES. anyways .

[ID: a Mob Psycho 100 edit of I don't smoke by Mitski, specifically the latter chorus part of it, composed mostly of scenes from season 3 episode 10 and focused on Mob and Teru's relationship, and how Teru would willingly bear the brunt of Mob's destructive tendencies because he loves him. End ID.]

[nitemurr]

My hyperfixation on Remus Lupin will unfortunately never die. I love the stupid wolf man