#my lecturer david

[emiwuaidmslomc]

PUKA PUKA POW POW PUKA PUKA POW POW

PUKKA POW POW

LET ME INTRODUCE YOU TO SOME NEW THANGSSS

NEW THANGSSSSS

NEW THANGSSSS

and by new things I mean the understanding of chinese ethnicity in the conversation of chinese nationalism. as Anderson wrote in his text of "imagined community",, how tf can a population so large be actually one signly community with one unified identity.....

[cuntbrow]

HE'S WEARING A FUCKING KILT? im. im. i should be in london right now i can't do this

[marlenacantswim]

my cringefail autistic babygirls nine and ten in the style of "doodles i'd do during class back when they passed out actual physical worksheets"

turns out if you set your procreate pencil to 60% opacity on accident, the graphite effect becomes a lot more believable. who knew!

[Image ID: A digital drawing of the busts of the Christopher Eccleston Doctor and the first David Tennant Doctor in profile, facing right and left respectfully. they are offset vertically, and the style mimics that of a traditional graphite pencil on computer paper; the background sports slight texturing to reinforce this. both doctors are wearing their traditional outfits. each has text written next to them, saying 'nine, last of the Time Lords, the one who loved' and 'the one love bore, Time Lord victorious, ten' respectively. / .End ID]

[emberglowfox]

doodle dump

[sighcomics]

mr lord to you

[themaskofreason]

what is the best song by the altogether issue volume 21 !

[rlmartian]

[teabutmakeitazure]

oh god, my worst enemy. coding. i did coding/comp sci at one point, when i was strongly ambitious about my talents and skills. yet, my enthusiasm didn't last me even a whole semester until i dropped out of those classes T-T i don't know, it might have been me, but! i hated my prof so much. i think i'm 20-40% to blame, only partly. i struggled so bad, but i did truly try so hard to at least accomplish something! i swear, he was the source of all my regrets in life. is it just me or comp sci professors are either really dorky and goofy, which is rare, or super mean and intimidating, which is common. my old prof was so aggravating every time he taught a lesson, like, "you should know this already!" and sometimes when people would ask questions, he'd make a snide remark like: "if you're still asking questions, you won't ger far in this field." sir, this is an introduction class?! and ohhhhhhh myyyy gooooddddd his grading was so ass. that man did not listen to any reason and excuses, even if it meant you couldn't attend some of the lectures due to personal reasons. i remember there was this guy who actually wept in class because he missed some days. there was a death in the family, so yeah, it'd be hard to attend school during a time like that. i could only imagine how bad his grades dropped, and when this guy tried to talk to the prof, he kinda just went, "that's on you." WTF....

suffice to say, i dropped out soon after.

but tbh, if you do genuinely like comp sci, don't let some snotty prof demotivate you. it's just...something about tenured professors getting away after ruining students' lives is mind blowing to me, especially in this day in age. this behavior of abuse is incredibly archaic, can't believe there's profs like this who act this way.

-anon who hates chrollos swept back hair

My professor doesn't even teach. Literally. We have one class with him in the grand hall and all he does is take a quiz. He uploads a few 4 to 10 minute videos as pre-lecture videos for us to watch and then takes a quiz on them. The student tutors who take the tutorial classes also only review weekly coding challenges and then take another quiz. There is 0 learning and the course description said, "For students who have never even attempted 'hello, world' in python." Despite that who knows wtf that assignment is.

cs50 from harvard is what is keeping me afloat *cries*

and yeah. The two types of professors. Sadly I got the worse one too

[clover-46]

I was told we can come to you to gush over David thicc ass Shaw.

I have so many scenarios in my head it's insane. He just snatches up my focus like a Venus flytrap.

I propose to you...

David Shaw but a construction worker. The one man that would make those bright vests look good because he would fill it out in such a way that you know his waist is snatched. Him ordering the rest of the pack members around, gruff voice going a bit hoarse by the time he comes home, so I can make him some tea with honey. Him getting slightly dirty and needing a shower afterwards. Him wearing work boots and jeans with a button neck, the sleeves rolled up to combat the heat of working outside 😍

David Shaw as a fireman. Him hanging out with Asher in a black tank while he wears the uniform, the sleeves tied around his hips so he can easily pull it on when a call comes in. Him hanging along the side of the truck while it races down a street towards a residential building with faulty wiring, a look of grim determination set up on his beautiful face. Him breaking into my burning apartment to pick me up as he looks at me and says "I've got you, Angel. You're going to be okay. A little fire never hurt anyone." Him coming home always smelling a lil smoky. Him lecturing me on fire safety but all I can stare at is the intense expression because he cares so much for my well-being.

I have more but this got long.

david thicc ass shaw im dead LMAOO ok but oh my fucking god. THE WAY I DIDNT EVEN CARE ABOUT CONSTRUCTION WORKERS AND FIREFIGHTERS LIKE THAT UNTIL YOU GRACED MY EYES WITH THESE SCENARIOS. “i’ve got you angel. you’re going to be okay. a little fire never hurt anyone.” RAHHHHHHHHHH 😫😫😫😫. FUCKKKWODOWOFKSL OK but what about david as a biker though and angel works at a diner he frequents

[robotpussy]

yea david lynch is like baby's first, entry level surrealism and absurdism idk! or maybe wild at heart just is just... hmmmm

[iamdexter123]

Only connoisseurs remain after the sun has set, to enjoy the varying bars of tangerine and coral that linger in the sky, and it is against this gaudy after-thought that a dove, in silhouette, flies across Less’s vision to land on a somewhat slack electric line, where it begins an inelegant high-wire act, bobbing and lurching, its tail feathers toggling up and down until it gains its balance. It reaches equilibrium, looks around with satisfaction—and is of course immediately joined by another dove, who monkeys everything up. The toggling dance begins again, complexity doubled, tail feathers alternating madly. Who would play such a trick? The birds do not seem to mind, however; their composure is part of the comedy and part of the astonishing scene before him, which must play out every evening in this way. Such is love.

- Andrew Sean Greer, Less Is Lost

[flxwer-prince]

why are all the hot ppl from one country like where even is [insert trans flag emoji]

[ambrozians]

disappointed but not surprised to see white characters condescend to black and brown characters about oppression because the x-office makes it seem like all mutants have the same exact life experience re: oppression (unless they’re physically different, like kurt and hank)

[birdsongvelvet]

With everyone memeing on The Good Doctor I just want to point out it’s the same damn show as the superior House, by the same showrunner even, except House got to be fun DGAF 2000s autistic protagonist gets to be an antihero jerk who you can’t help but love while Good Doctor has to be late-2010s pity party moralistic about it

[24hrsoda]

now i’m thinking of a silly AU of my League!Bruce AU:

Bruce got benched from going on missions for a loooong time because THREE different times he went out on a mission and came back with a child.

Ra’s is just…confused. Stressed. At his wits end. The two LONG lectures he gave Bruce about them not recruiting children in to the League of Assassins apparently didn’t stick and now there’s yet another child trailing after Bruce.

“And are YOU going to feed them, train them, look after them, take care of them?”

“Yes, of course.”

And Ra’s just puts his head in his hands and tries not to scream. Of course he can’t ask Bruce a rhetorical question, Bruce is a smartass and a dumbass. Bruce is one of his best and most effective Shadows but he’s too soft and now he’s gotten children involved and Ra’s doesn’t want or need child ninjas in his league but here Bruce is, insisting they have no one else to care for them and he will look after them and train them and teach them everything he knows.

And when David Cain leaves his daughter behind, Ra’s just slides the baby over in Bruce’s direction and is like “you know what, why don’t you take this one too”.

Talia is delighted though. It’s like she won the lottery. Her man gives her children instead of the other way around. She didn’t have to go through the painstaking task of carrying a child!

[pathologicalreid]

hello my new favorite tumblr writer 😇 i will b honest i have never requested anything before so!! bear with me. however the spencer reid brainrot is all too real SO would you be open to doing anything with a hotchner!fem!reader? bau or not for the reader! something something hotch is very hesitant about their relationship but maybe reader gets caught in the crossfire of something and hotch and prentiss see them together afterward and prentiss is like “that looks pretty real to me.” DOES THAT MAKE ANY SENSE OKAY I’M LEAVING NOW THANK YOUUUU 🫡

a father's daughter | S.R.

in which your father doesn't approve of your relationship, but who knows how he'll react when reid jumps into action after a threat against your life

who? spencer reid x hotchner!fem!bau!reader category: angst content warnings: general cm violence, blood, stitches, hospitals, medical inaccuracy word count: 2.03k a/n: anon you are legendary. this is an incredible request and i am so honored to be your new favorite tumblr writer! i am an absolute sucker for anything hotchner!reader (or rossi!reader) so i absolutely ate this request up! (also if anyone wanted to drop a request in my inbox... it would be welcome)

Aaron Hotchner was the most professional person in the BAU, except when it came to you. You, like him, had gone to law school. You were a public defender for just a short time before being put into WITSEC, and when your mother died, you applied to the FBI Academy.

Plain and short, it was nepotism, but no one was going to argue with the man whose wife was murdered by a serial killer. Your dad wanted you in the BAU so he could keep an eye on you, and there was nothing Erin Strauss could do about it. What your father couldn’t control, was your relationship with Reid.

He could tell you that he didn’t approve, but so long as David Rossi, king of inter-bureau mingling, was around, he couldn’t actually do anything to stop you. “I’m just saying that I’ve never seen Reid be consistent with a relationship,” your dad said, having pulled you away from the team to, once again, try to warn you off of your relationship.

“He’s been pretty consistent for the last seven months,” you responded, rifling through the victims' files that were in your arms.

You started to make your way out of the empty office when your father spoke again, “And he’s too old for you.”

Stopping in your tracks, you pivoted and faced your father, “He’s three years older than I am, I’m twenty-six. That’s hardly an age gap to bat an eye at.” The two of you had always had a rocky relationship, he missed a large portion of your childhood due to this job and you always tried to not resent him for it.

Your parents’ marriage fell apart, neither of them handled it well, and you weren’t all that surprised. They had gotten married when your mom got pregnant with you because they thought that was what they were supposed to do, and when Jack couldn’t keep them together, everything fell apart.

“You have no right to lecture me on relationships, Agent Hotchner,” you snapped, staring him down. Daring him to challenge you.

He sighed, obviously trying not to lose his patience with you. “I’d just hate for you to find out you wasted your time on something that wasn’t real.”

The door behind you swung open, you spun on your heels to face Emily. “Sorry, uh, we have a location, Morgan’s coordinating with SWAT,” she said, looking between you and your father.

“Great, let’s go,” your father said, his parental demeanor falling away as his Unit Chief mask took its place.

You walked out the door to see the rest of the team, Rossi tossed you a Kevlar vest as you walked over to where Spencer was standing with the police chief, “Where are we headed?” You asked, undoing the Velcro on the vest and pulling it over your torso. The beige precinct was buzzing as agents and officers prepared to break into the UnSub’s home base. Hopefully to find his most recent victim still alive.

Reid reached over and adjusted the strap of your vest, making sure it was evenly tightened over your shoulders. “Garcia found a warehouse on the other side of town. It’s being rented out under an anagram of the first victim’s name,” he said, gently squeezing your arm before dropping his hands back to his side.

Nodding, you followed the rest of the team out the metal doors of the precinct and into the black SUVs. “Your UnSub’s name is Jonas Watts, he used a different name to rent the space but the account he uses to pay for it is under his name,” Garcia’s voice rang through the speaker as she told you about the perpetrator. “He checks every UnSub box we have, raised by a single father after his mother left, and… oh, multiple arrests for assault.”

You looked up to the driver’s seat, your dad was white-knuckling the steering wheel, entirely focused on driving as you listened to Garcia reciting the UnSub’s rap sheet.

When you arrived at the warehouse SWAT was already there and Morgan started organizing the tactical assault. Drawing your weapon, you nodded at your teammate when he instructed you to go around the back with himself and your father. Allowing Morgan to kick the door down, the three of you held your firearms up and began clearing the warehouse.

Further away, you heard Emily and Spencer clearing the front. “Clear, moving up,” you called into your radio as you approached the stairs, stepping on them carefully so they didn’t creak. On the landing, you looked at a trail of blood on the ground. “There’s a blood trail in the upper west wing,” you whispered.

“Move up, little Hotch, I’m right behind you,” Morgan responded.

Rolling your eyes at the nickname, one that you had begged him to stop using, you moved forward, keeping your firearm aimed right in front of you. Turning into the room that the blood trail led to, you immediately ducked when you saw a knife coming for you. Keeping your gun aimed, you faced down the UnSub, “Jonas Watts, FBI!” You announced yourself, scanning the room for the girl he took last night.

Watts shook his head, “You’re not supposed to be here! You can’t be here!” He shouted in distress.

“Where’s the girl, Jonas? Where did you take Isobel?” You asked him, not seeing her in the room the two of you were in. There was another entrance on the left of him.

He stepped toward you, and you cocked your gun, “I don’t have her now. I lost her, she’s lost,” he said, there was a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

Unnerved, you decided to take a leap of faith, “Jonas, where’s your partner?” A partner hadn’t been part of the profile, but the more you thought about it, the more it made sense. The crimes were too complex, it didn’t match up with something as simple as using an anagram of a victim’s name for the warehouse rental.

Morgan filed in behind you, aiming his gun at Jonas, same as you. “Time’s running out, Jonas. If you tell us about your partner we can help you,” he said, slowly inching toward Watts.

“It’s too late,” Jonas wailed.

Someone knocked into you from behind, causing you to stumble forward before you were pulled to your feet. One arm was locked around your torso, and another was holding a knife to your throat. “If you don’t leave now, I’ll cut her fucking throat!” The unnamed man said from behind you, he was almost impossibly tall, easily overpowering you.

You didn’t dare move, not with that knife to your throat, one false move and you’d bleed out. Morgan shouted for him to let you go, but he just pressed the knife tighter to your neck, splitting the skin.

Shutting your eyes, you tried not to cry, fearing the damage it would do to your throat.

Your captor held you tightly to him, using your body to block Morgan from shooting. Something warm trickled down your collarbone, and you weren’t sure if it was blood or tears.

For a moment, you thought you could swing your foot back into his knee, but the fear of having your carotid cut outweighed your bravery.

Ever since you were a kid, you thought death would be quiet. Something you slipped into like sleep, but your death was loud, and it left your ears ringing.

The afterlife was the weirdest place you’ve ever been, someone was calling your name, and you heard your rights being read. Although, why you would need your Miranda Rights in the afterlife you had no idea.

“Angel, please open your eyes,” someone said.

Confused, you opened your eyes and saw familiar eyes staring down at you. Golden and bleary. Spencer, Spencer was here. You tried to sit up, but he held you down, keeping a hand on your throat.

Morgan was shouting for medical, saying there was an agent down. You turned your head to see the still unidentified UnSub on the ground, shot through the temple. Using his free hand to turn your chin, “Don’t look,” Spencer whispered. “You’re okay, I’ve got you. I’m not going to let anything happen to you, angel.”

If you weren’t still coming down from an adrenaline high, you might’ve smiled at the irony of the nickname. Being called ‘angel’ after having your neck cut felt like tempting fate.

Where was your dad? Of everyone here, you expected him to be here, barking orders at people.

As if summoned by your thoughts, your dad appeared, nearly hauling an EMT behind him, “Help her,” he said.

Yeah, that absolutely tracked.

The EMT’s packed your wound and assured everyone that your carotid had not been slit, against your protests, the ambulance brought you to the hospital for stitches. Emily had run to the hotel to get your go bag, allowing you to change out of your bloodied clothes.

Thankfully, the doctors said you didn’t need to stay overnight, meaning you and the team got to go home. “How are you feeling?” Spencer asked while you were waiting to board the jet.

You hummed, pulling your sunglasses over your eyes, and leaning against a car, “Tired, but I’m alright.” Tired might have been underselling it, you felt like all of the energy had been physically drained from your body. “You worry too much,” you whispered, closing your eyes for just a moment. Your throat was a little raspy, but it should go back to normal after a couple of days.

“Your throat was cut about four hours ago, some might say I’m not worrying enough,” he responded, reaching down, and picking up your bag, carrying it over to the jet once they got the okay to board. On the jet, he gestured to the seat, “Lay down, get some rest.”

You furrowed your brows, “Isn’t it kind of frowned upon to take up a whole seat?” You asked, of course, sometimes it happened, but you didn’t want to take up too much space.

Spencer cocked his head at you, “I don’t think anyone is going to fight you on it, love.”

Taking a deep breath, you sat down on the seat, laying down and closing your eyes, falling asleep before you even left the tarmac.

Being the Unit Chief had its perks, surely, but the piles of paperwork sometimes felt never-ending. Aaron took a deep breath before he closed the file, Rossi sat across from him, nursing a glass of whiskey.

“Hey,” Prentiss whispered, taking the seat next to him and setting her glass of water down on the small table. “Do you see that?” She said, gesturing with her head toward where you were lying down, asleep.

Right next to you was Reid, who usually had his nose buried in a book at this point in a flight, but he was wide awake, and all of his focus seemed to be on you. Begrudgingly, Hotch watched as Spencer reached over and tucked a blanket around you as if he was afraid you’d freeze on the temperature-controlled jet. “What about it?” Hotch asked, reaching over for the next file.

His eyes flicked up again, Spencer was sitting on the floor of the jet. Everyone had elected to leave the couch seats for the two of you, but the one across the aisle from you was empty. Like Reid didn’t even want you to be any more than one foot away from him.

Leaning back in the chair, Emily shook her head, “That’s what we in the business call hypervigilance.”

Hotch didn’t respond, he just spared another glance over at the two of you. “’We in the business’?” He inquired, humoring Prentiss.

“I’m just saying… the hovering? The blanket? I don’t know about you, but that looks pretty real to me,” she said, leaning back in the leather seat.

Silently, he glared, it would seem his hopes of getting the team to stop eavesdropping on familial conversations were quashed.

“Just let the kids be, Aaron,” Rossi said, grinning into his glass.

He cleared his throat and flipped open the new file before he acquiesced, “Fine, for now.”

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