#its just kind of annoying

[shesnake]

full offence but I do NOT watch movies so I can "turn my brain off" I take this shit so seriously

[odysseys-blood]

mother seems to be obsessed with the idea that i can just find just anything otc to take for my insomnia when the prescription medication i had wasnt even workin past like 2 months. like lets be so fr now.

[echidnana]

it's really frustrating when we're shaky it just makes it harder to do things...

[heartorbit]

find another role, carry on the show

[wellgreathereiam]

I follow the trans man tag. Does it bother anyone else that I end up seeing more selfies of trans women spamming tags than trans men?

[mamawasatesttube]

the whole "jason rules crime alley and none of the other bats are allowed there!!1!" thing is so funny like. tim LITERALLY lives in the theater where bruce's parents died,

[yuwuta]

you ask yuuta if he wants a bite of your food and when he says yes you offer your plate to him, but he’s just sat there looking at you with his dumb big bambi boy eyes and his mouth slightly open and he will not look away or blink or close his mouth until you lift your fork to his lips to feed him and then he grins like shit’s sweet and hums about how good the food is like nothing happened like he’s not ridiculously attractive. gonna chew on steel

[artilite]

random sonic doodles after watching the movie 👍

[bacchuschucklefuck]

dreaming abt sophomore year class swap bard!riz

[valeovalairs]

acnes your pd

[ratatatastic]

maffhew who refuses to say runebergin torttu because he knows hes gonna butcher it so bad he might be kicked out of the country the second he tries and staunchly avoids that by going "the one dessert that barky is going to have to explain 😃"

sasha who gets faced with the most generic description of everything hes ever eaten in his life so far because of maffhew and going "???... oh you mean runebergin torttu!"

"he did good he liked the food and he likes the finland so far so its good" sasha says with so much pride now that all the anxiety has left his system that his husband teammate is enjoying his country and doesnt hate it

media availability | 10.29.24 (x)(x)

the smile of a man who knowlingly doomed his husband and said husband using all his brain power to context clues his way to whatever the fuck he just got asked that his brain is running hotter than a mid 2012 macbook air thats somehow still alive in the year of the lord 2024 but girl does she chug along shes louder than a fighter jet

[starry-bi-sky]

Clone^2 - Separation Strikes

"Why do I have to go?" Damian asks, surly and accent-thick, it sounds more like a demand and a whine at the same time. Sitting on the kitchen table with his arms crossed, in a green t-shirt that Danny bought him at a whim when he was at a thrift shop, and black shorts, he's never looked more like a kid. There's a little backpack leaning against the table leg, Damian begrudgingly picked it out when they went shopping.

His English has grown in leaps and bounds since Danny found him -- er, or more accurately; since Damian was spat out in front of him. -- and very little did they have to use the translator on Danny's phone these days.

Which meant one thing: Damian can start attending school comfortably now. And 'go' was the Amity Smiles Child Care Center. Danny and Jazz went as kids until they were twelve, and Mom and Dad actually managed to convince the center director to let Damian enroll for the summer.

And it was summer; Damian starts today.

"Because," Danny says, trying and failing to hide the smile pulling on his face, his heart warm and soft, and also laughing at Damian's expense; "being cooped up in the house all day isn't good for you, and you're starting school in the Fall. And, in Jazz's words: you need to have interactions with other kids your age for the benefit of your social development. And besides, it's only for the morning."

Damian's nose scrunches up, and his eyes roll so violently that for a moment, Danny thinks about joking that he'll get his eyes stuck like that. He holds his tongue; his little brother already looks like he's five seconds away from committing an act of violence.

"I don't need social interaction." Damian sneers, his cheek in his hand; a neverend pool of pride. "I am--"

"The Blood of the Demon Heir, better than everyone else." Danny cuts off, waving his hand in dismissive circles, his voice mockingly deep. Damian's brown skin darkens in embarrassment, and he scowls at Danny. "I know, bud. But Jazz is right, -- don't tell her I said that, -- you should be around kids your age."

Especially when he starts First Grade in the Fall. Honestly -- Danny was a little nervous to send him to the center. Damian's long since cut the habit of trying to kill or otherwise maim people, his palms ache-burn with gentle reminder, but his tongue was as sharp and as cutting as his sword. He still struggles with trying to quell it when he's upset. Vicious child-weapon that he once was, and will never be again.

Danny knows that it comes from a place of fear and defense, that Damian lashes out because that's what he's been taught. That at the end of the day, he doesn't really mean what he says, and he's learning to express himself better. But the other kids don't know that, and kids can be unforgiving and cruel.

Danny just...

His slow beating heart sighs, melancholy settles behind his lungs.

He doesn't want Damian to be outcasted. He doesn't want him to be alone.

Not like he was.

Damian sneers again, but says nothing, his shoulders crawling up to hide his ears like a turtle receding into his shell. Danny watches him silently, leaning against the kitchen counter with his own arms crossed. The clock hanging on the wall ticks in their ears -- it's almost time to go.

He watches Damian, careful, and so he sees it when his little brother's stone-shell pride and petulance shudders, and cracks. The darkened furrow of Damian's brows weakens, and for a moment, slants back.

Ah, Danny thinks, his own shoulders slumping. Epiphany washes over him, and his sad-heart soothes in warm understanding. So that's what it is.

His head tilts, and his hair spills over his shoulders, messy and fluffy, tickling his neck. Some of his bangs fall into his face. "Hal 'ant easabiatan ya habibi?" He asks, voice low and soft. Just as Damian's English has improved, so has Danny's Arabic. He still stumbles over himself some days, and Damian says his accent is trash, but they can have whole conversations now in Damian's mothertongue.

(Danny was incredibly proud of himself for it.)

Damian's face darkens, his blush spreading across the rest of his face, and he ducks his head down. Grown-out curls, black-brown and springy, falls over his eyes. "La!" He yells, loud and indignant, and not at all convincingly. "La 'asheur bialtawaturi!"

He was nervous. Danny can see it now, in the hunch of his shoulders and the tightness of his face, and faintly, he can feel it too. In the ecto-rich air of the Fentonworks House, it thrums, barely-there, like a hummingbird behind his lungs.

Danny can't stop the little, fond smile that forces itself across his lips and upticks the corner of his mouth. "It's okay to be nervous, little brother." He says, he sounds like Jazz when he says that. He doesn't think she'll mind him borrowing the nickname.

He pushes himself off the counter, and Damian refuses to look at him, hiding behind his hair and in his shoulders. It takes three long strides for him to reach the table, and Danny turns, plants his hands on the ledge, and hoists himself up. Right next to Damian.

Damian leans into him easily when Danny's arm wraps around his shoulders and tucks him close to his heart. He can feel his ear against his ribs. Danny hunches over him, resting his chin on Damian's head. "It's so okay to be nervous, actually. I was nervous, Jazz was nervous." He tells him, scratching the blunt edge of his nails across his scalp. "Everyone gets nervous."

"'Ana last aljumiea." Damian mumbles, as small and feeble as he was the night on the OPS Center balcony, realizing that his mom and the League weren't coming for him. Realizing that he was replaceable.

Danny's half-working heart squeezes; in grief, in rage, and his faucet eyes sting. He breathes in carefully, and presses his nose into Damian's hair in a loving faux-kiss. "You're right, you're not everyone." He says, steady and strong, because if he's not a pillar for his family, who else is he?

He can feel Damian's eyes flick up to him, and Danny smiles into his black-brown curls. Tilts his head to squish his cheek against him instead, hand dropping to thumb below Damian's lashes. "You're Damian Fenton," Because the adoption went through a few weeks ago, and he's still riding that high, "You're my baby brother. O' Artist Extraordinaire, Kickass with a Sword, Vegetarian and Wonderful Co-Ghost Hunter."

Damian tries to stifle a smile, and fails. Score! Triumph gathers in Danny's gut, his smile grows wider. He squeezes Damian tight, and only releases him so he can look him in the eyes. "And if anyone gives you a hard time at school, and I mean anyone--"

Danny has bad memories of the teachers looking the other way when the other kids were bullying him, all because he was a Fenton.

And Danny, bleeding heart, bleeding hands, loves his family more than he will ever love himself, will never let Damian experience the same injustice. Not if he can help it.

His eyes narrow, and the buzzy-film of ectoplasm covers his eyes, making them glow, "--You tell me. And as your awesome great big brother-and-technically-dad-but-only-biologically, I will handle it."

Damian, wonderfully made, full of light, his little brother Damian, giggles weakly at him. A sound that's worth it's weight in gold. The scary eyes dissipate, and Danny matches the sound with a cock-eyed, impish grin, dragging Damian into a soul-crushing, too-tight hug. The kind that only annoying older brothers can give. "Got it?"

That gets a proper, if short, laugh out of Damian. He wriggles in Danny's arms, trying to break free. But Danny does calisthenics, his arms are as big as Damian's head, so it doesn't work. "Understood, now, daeni 'adhhab ya 'akhi!"

Danny laughs, loud and bright, and loosens his hold just a smidge, only so he can adjust his grip and hop off the table with Damian still in arm.

"Never!" He crows, hoisting Damian slightly. One eye flick at the clock, and in one quick move, he secures Damian under one arm like a football, and hooks his foot under the strap of his backpack. Kicking it up, he tosses it into the air and catches it with his free hand, and slings it over his shoulder. "Now, to the car, my boy! Before we're late and Mom and Dad get charged."

Damian groans, childish and dramatic and long, but his face is all squished up with a wide grin and glee. Danny can taste his joy beneath his tongue.

"And, if my little pep talk didn't encourage you," He says, reaching the door to the garage, flipping Damian up onto his hip instead. "If you have a good day today, I'll make you bal mithai when you get back."

Like all kids at the promise of sweets, Damian's eyes widen and glitter. Danny loves seeing Damian be a kid, it's his favorite thing in the world. "I will!"

[lesbianherald]

I’m going to phrase this delicately because I’m so deeply grateful and awed by the support I’ve received.

But I will say it is a little anxiety inducing how many people feel they can talk about coming home whatever way they want openly and publicly because it has “numbers” or whatever (referring to my own work like this makes me want to claw my eyes out because they baffle me and I don’t necessarily feel I deserve them but it’s important for context).

This is Especially true for the way people speak under things I very much see. Art of the fic. My Twitter mutuals posts. Things I will very obviously interact with. It feels like someone is walking into my back yard and talking shit as if I'm literally not standing in said yard like this 🧍

You make something for a community for free as an act of passion and then the community in turn becomes something that isn’t quite accessible to you anymore. I’ve seen this happen to a lot of fic writers in my previous fandoms and idk man it’s just kind of a bummer.

Like. Fanfic and fanart is made by people in the fandom for the fandom. It’s not work being produced by some distant people in Hollywood who shouldn’t be in the fandom space in the first place.

Idk, it’s actually pretty rare that this happens to me but I wanted to mention I am a human who can very much read the things you say guys 😭 like if you reblog art related to my work and call it a bunch of petty names and say you had to dnf I can see that. It’s totally ok to feel whatever way you want. But maybe don't feel that way in my back yard.

Again. I’m so grateful for everything I really am. You absolutely do not have to fuck with my work. Fuck I don't fuck with my work sometimes DKLFJSDHF. This is probably the last time I’ll talk about this because the last thing I want to do is come off like I can’t take criticism and I’m ungrateful. But sometimes I really am chewing at my enclosure like IM RIGHT HERE MAN IM LITERALLY BEHIND YOU HOW DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND THAT.

[echidnana]

we're not a bitter person prommy but we asked our ra is she could share a research survey for a project we're doing in the dorm's group chat (it's admins only) and she said no. but she regularly (as in every day) pings everyone because she shows doctor who episodes. and also another guy puts his streams in there

[crow-caller]

I am p convinced most of those posts complaining about books where characters constantly introduce themselves by their microlabels are popular mainly with people who have never read or seen a book like that. Same with the complaints over "poly lesbian barbarians in space" marketing

Look. Guys. Listen.

1. Marketing books by labels shouldn't be the sole detail given, obviously

2. The reason people do it is because it actually works far better than marketing based on plot. People do, in fact, care about seeing repsentation because many identities still have very little representation out there. Advertising based on this Does Better. People ignore books they haven't heard of, indie books, all the time— authors need to advertise instead to those communities looking for representation. As an author who has tried various appeals back in the day. I can promise you this is why. Most authors I've spoken to about this agree reducing your book down to tropes and rep feels Ugh, but unfortunately, it works.

3. The discussion around it, and the writing of marginalised identities, so often turns hostile and exclusion based. "I hate when a character says they're asexual it should only be hinted at" do you know how long it could only ever BE hinted at?

4. Obviously the execution varies and should make sense. Of course it's off if a very historical novel suddenly uses modern slang. Of course it can be cringe. Of course it can suck. Okay.

5. But how much are you actually encountering stuff like this in your reading, versus seeing people complain and agreeing "that sounds like shit"? It's... a vastly overstated problem.

6. You guys need to read more indie books, where you can find all kinds of representation, subtle or explicit.

7. Every post on the topic is full of notes just talking about Hell Followed With Us. I agree that book was pretty silly with its post-apocalyptic cast fighting over identity politics but also if any group was going to fight over labels in the angel apocalypse it's pretty realistic for it to be 16 year olds living in a LGBTQ community center. Like tbh. Checks out

[nyxofdemons]

the last SEVERAL sarcastic chorus videos im just gripping my hair with increasing intensity yelling MAN I TRUSTED YOU