#not bashing anyone

[ghostlychief]

why is it that whenever I search for fanfics, doesnt even matter which fandom, I’m only inundated with smut 😭 like I get it, a good spicy fic is always nice but since when has fanfics been just flooded with so much of it 💀

I feel like it takes me a good solid hour to sort and search for sfw fanfics

[oreothesimmer]

It’s my game I can do what I want

the sims for me is a game where you can be yourself, a place where you find solace from the noise of the outside world.

this is your space that your create, you have the right to play however you want and which ever aesthetic your choose.

whether is family game play, rich girl aesthetics, farm girl aesthetics or just building, this is your game, do whatever you want and post it on any platform you want, there are no rules to these things

don’t let someone’s unsolicited opinion affect how YOU choose to enjoy your game.

happy simming ❤️

[watcher0033]

Y’all, the Archive admins are made up of VOLUNTEERS. And they have been working for 12-13 HOURS STRAIGHT.

I better not hear any complaints when donation period comes around. OR ELSE.

cosplay by @woahchriswoah on Twitter

EDIT: How do we show appreciation to the volunteers? For me reading these deep dives on OTW issues u guys apparently it's been said multiple times that one of their objective statements is to have paid staff for ao3 and there's a surplus of donations they haven't used up or the other community solutions that needs to address. For those more financially literate feel free to analyze, snipe me or add to the discussion etc. linked here by deepa. They’re cool and these yearly analysis they did aint no joke.

But Seriously what can we do for these volunteers? The probable burn out from this entire fiasco would be no joke. @ao3org

[dawntainbobbynash]

How did we end up on haunted house duty anyway?

[just-null]

Do you ever do requests? If so, do you ever plan on drawing some Yandere with the Hantengu clones? :D hope you have a good day/night!!!

Mentioning an unfamiliar name

yes!! I love yanderes.. and these guys.. these guys are such good material...... nods nods..

I'm not sure about requests..I assume you mean drawing requests? I suppose if it REALLY catches my interest enough, I'd do it, but it'd probably just be line art/sketches.

[worblewobble]

been kind of obsessed with this guy and his disorders lately

[uruwashi-no-nightingale]

her ass does NOT have a valid permit

[wellcollapse]

EDDIE DIAZ & BOBBY NASH (3x08 — "MALFUNCTION") CHRISTOPHER DIAZ & EVAN BUCKLEY (7x01 — "ABANDON SHIPS")

[greenglowinspooks]

(DCxDP) The obligations of a rogue versus those of a parent (Pt. 4)

—

Tw: descriptions of body horror, Dr. Crane has PTSD and Does Not Realize, Crane has an actual panic attack and just doesn’t care, the Riddler makes one (1) sex joke about Batman

Will be crossposted to AO3 eventually

(Pt. 1 here) (Prev here) - (Pt. 5 here)

(Masterlist here)

—

Dr. Jonathan Crane is in his lab, the acrid scent of chemicals filling the air, and his hands are shaking.

Danny’s health, for the first week that he had him, had been steadily improving at an extremely quick rate. However, his healing had begun to stagnate. Danny said that it was because his body had run out of ectoplasm, and that while there was a lot of ambient ectoplasm in Gotham, he needed a stronger type in order to heal.

And so, that led Dr. Crane here.

He had stolen the research notes from the Penguin years ago regarding his experimentation on him.

(He quite vividly remembers the sound of bone creaking and groaning as it twisted, lengthened. The squelching of shifting tendons and muscles, the strange fabric-like tightening of skin. The feeling of going from man to monster, of losing all claim to his humanity.)

Danny had called him Liminal, part ghost. He had said that he was transformed by, among other things, a kind of synthetic ectoplasm.

Danny needed ectoplasm.

Crane had the research notes. He had every ingredient necessary. And yet, attempt after attempt failed.

The chemical smell burns his nose. His hands tremble.

Dr. Crane is not afraid.

He doesn’t feel fear anymore. He’s tried to, many, many times, but nothing has worked. And yet, his hands are shaking still.

(The horrifying sensation of vertebrae pop-pop-popping along his spine, growing and lengthening. The unbearable itching beneath his skin as toxin glands begin to form. The feeling of his teeth sharpening and elongating, of his skull growing, of his vision changing and brightening. The awful stench of chemicals. The awful stench of ectoplasm.)

Jonathan takes careful note of his shaking hands, his blurring vision, his accelerated heart-rate and shallow breathing.

(Human hands. Human vision. Human heart and lungs and organs.)

He takes note of them, but he does not let that distract him from the task at hand. Danny is not a chemist, but Jonathan is.

The boy knows enough about chemistry in theory, but he won’t go anywhere near Crane’s equipment. He seems to have some sort of intense fear of laboratory settings, probably developed during his stay with the GiW, and Crane is willing to respect that, if only because he cannot afford to lose him.

As such, Crane is the only one qualified to do this. And, unfortunately, if he isn’t successful the boy may very well die.

He heats the chemicals to precisely the right temperatures, adding each one to its correct container.

Dr. Crane thinks of the Scarebeast, that creature born of cruelty and greed and a sense of superiority. That creature which he tries to ignore is a part of him, that can never be removed. A damage which cannot be undone.

He pours the contents of a small beaker into a larger flask, watching the liquids swirl together. The stench in the air is becoming closer and closer to the one burned into his memory.

Crane’s whole body is wracked with unpleasant sensations. It’s truly unfortunate, he thinks, that despite his mind’s lack of fear, his body still reacts so harshly.

Jonathan’s eyes wander, eventually settling on a purple and green card sitting innocently on the corner of the table.

Right.

Even if they wiped out the GiW tomorrow, and even if Danny could survive without ectoplasm, he would still be in danger.

Crane has to get him back to good health. It’s the only way he can be sure that the boy can defend himself properly.

The solution in the flask begins to foam, and Jonathan does not hesitate as he adds the final ingredient. He pours the mixture into a new container, capping it and placing it into a freezer set to -40 degrees.

Hopefully this time he got the timing right.

Jonathan tries to relax, the ventilation in the room slowly but surely clearing the familiar smell from the air.

He thinks of the letter.

Surely, he thinks, that man can come up with some better material for his jokes. Or, at least something new.

Same old threats, same old attempted poisoning.

Aiming his threats at Danny, though, that was new. New and utterly unacceptable.

Scarecrow did what he had to.

He doubted that his solution would last forever, of course, as with that man it never did. As such, he would prepare both himself and Danny for the inevitable moment that his choices came back to bite them.

However, for the moment, they were safe. Danny could rest and recover, and Jonathan could figure out a plan to minimize possible damages.

Jonathan is no longer shaking.

He’s exhausted. This is his fifth attempt today, and each one leaves an unfortunate strain on his mind and body.

With a sigh, he settles himself into his seat at a nearby desk, opening up his computer and logging his most recent attempt. He still has to wait for it to chill to know if it was successful, but he can always update the logs later.

Once he’s done, he stretches, joints popping loudly as he walks to the freezer.

When he sees the results of his tireless work, the ghost of a smile flits across his face.

Success.

Jonathan picks up the jug of ectoplasm and leaves the lab, which is in all actuality the basement of the new apartment that he moved himself and Danny into after receiving the note. The scrappy old woman who was his landlord had told him that as long as he paid her five hundred dollars up front, she would let him set up in the basement without any questions or cop calls.

And so, the most expensive apartment in the Narrows was his.

At least, he thought, the distance between the basement and the apartment was short enough that Danny didn’t have to sit in while he was doing his labwork.

Jonathan knew that he didn’t exactly have a strong grasp on the concept of ‘lab safety,’ proven by his built-up immunity to almost every toxic chemical he’d ever encountered, and he doubted that Danny should be around such an environment.

He was back to the apartment quickly, not bothering to hide the self-satisfied smile on his face. Danny is sitting in his armchair, trying to read one of his books. Danny looks up, ready to greet him, when he sees the jug in his hands and pauses.

“Is that..?”

“Synthetic ectoplasm,” Jonathan says proudly, “I found the Penguin’s research notes and decided to recreate it, since you said that you needed it to heal properly. I’m not sure if it’ll work the same as what you usually have, but I hope it’s helpful all the same.”

Danny is standing, now, and looking at Jonathan with a strange look in his eyes. He looks, Jon thinks, like he’s about to cry.

Then Danny is rushing forward and wrapping his arms around Jonathan, his scrawny form shaking.

Jonathan is, for a moment, horrified. Did he do something wrong somehow? Why is this child, who’s so afraid of touch, hugging him?

And then he hears Danny’s voice, and he knows that it was all worth it.

“Thank you,” he’s mumbling, over and over, “thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you so much.”

“Of course,” Jonathan says softly, because what else can he say?

The boy cries in his arms for a while, and Jonathan briefly wonders what his life must have been like before, if a person like him can be seen as a comforting figure.

Then, Danny pours himself a small glass of the synthetic ectoplasm, putting the rest into the small fridge which had come with the apartment, and he settles back down, sitting in the armchair once again.

Jonathan sits opposite of him, and they chat with one another as Danny drinks.

Danny talks to him about the stars and tells him about different spaceships, and Jonathan makes sure to pay attention and ask the boy questions.

He doesn’t miss the way that Danny lights up every time he asks him something about his interests. He’s so passionate, so smart, a trait that he seldom sees outside of his fellow rogues, and Jonathan wants to encourage that.

It’s…nice. Peaceful, almost.

And then the front door flies open, because Jonathan isn’t allowed to have nice things.

“Jon,” a familiar voice rings out, “what the hell?!”

Danny is frozen in place, clearly terrified.

Jonathan heaves a sigh, turning to face the nuisance who’s entered his apartment.

“Eddie,” he drawls, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Edward’s face is red with anger as he invades Jonathan’s apartment.

“Oh, I don’t know! Maybe it’s the fact that you sent a bunch of rogues a cryptic message and then dropped off the face of the earth for two weeks! I was worried, Jon!”

Jonathan hums in acknowledgement.

“I didn’t think it was that cryptic,” he says, picking up a book in order to pointedly ignore the Riddler.

“Oh, of course you didn’t, you straw-stuffed hickory dickory dickhead. I swear, you’re always—” he pauses, finally having noticed Danny sitting opposite of Jonathan, “—who is this?”

“My apprentice,” Jonathan replies, dreading the upcoming headache he was no doubt going to develop from Edward’s company, “he’s helping me hunt down the GiW. His name is Danny.”

Edward gasps dramatically.

“You—an apprentice?! And you’re letting him sit in the old man chair?! You don’t even let me sit in the old man chair,” he wails, draping himself over the headrest of the couch with a flourish, “Jonathan, I thought I knew you!”

“Edward,” Jonathan says, “get out of my apartment.”

“Oh my goodness, this is incredible. You’re becoming the bat!”

“I am not becoming the bat, Eddie, now get out.”

Edward has a shit-eating grin on his face as he waltzes over to Danny. Danny, who seemed terrified when he first appeared, is now looking at him with obvious amusement written all over his face.

“I mean, look at him! The hair, the eyes, the scrappy build. If you put him in one of those traffic light vigilante costumes, he could easily pass as a Robin!”

“I’m not doing this with you today, Eddie.”

“Riddle me this, Jon: I am a treasure hidden inside of a chest. You can break me, or steal me, or give me a rest. I can flutter, or pound, or attack, or drop, but if you don’t have me, you’re certainly fucked. What am I?”

Jonathan pauses for a moment before he groans, dropping his head into his hands.

“Eddie.”

Danny sits still, a confused look on his face as he repeats the riddle silently. Then, his face lights up in delight.

“A heart!”

“Jon, I like this one,” Edward says with a smile, ruffling Danny’s hair, “you are correct! A heart, something that I wasn’t aware that our dear Jonathan had!”

“Eddie, stop.”

“No, no,” Edward says, “I was worried about you, you deserve this. I mean, you even missed girls night! You never miss girls night!”

“Girls night?” Danny asks, absolutely delighted.

“Oh, of course,” Edward says, sprawling over on the couch, dangerously close to just laying in Jonathan’s lap, “we have it once a week. I’m invited because of Selina and Jon’s invited because Harley likes him.”

“And what does girls night entail, exactly?”

“Eddie,” Jonathan groans, “please.”

“Well,” Edward hums, “we usually paint our nails, or watch a movie, or gossip about the other rogues, and occasionally, we tell each other about any ‘encounters’ we have with Batman,” he says, raising his eyebrows up and down.

Danny’s jaw drops.

“Edward, shut up,” Jonathan says, an irritated tone in his voice that wasn’t there before.

“No way,” Danny says, “I thought that Batman, like, hated you guys or something. You mean he actually..?”

“Oh, the Bat is much like a bottle of liquor or a cheap cigarette, in that he was made to be passed around.”

Danny chokes on air.

“Edward Nygma,” Jonathan hisses, getting out of his seat and looming over the man, “get the hell out.”

Edward pales.

“Leaving, leaving!” Edward says, dashing away from Jonathan. He pauses, turning to flash Danny a quick smile.

“Remember Danny, I’m your favorite uncle! Not any of the other rogues, me!”

With that, he leaves, the room falling completely silent.

And, as per usual, that silence does not last.

“You full-named him?” Danny asks gleefully, “and it worked?”

Jonathan just sighs, sitting down on the couch and rubbing at his temples.

“Please, don’t take anything Eddie says seriously. He’s a moron.”

“Dr. Crane, please let me come to girls night with you,” Danny pleads, his eyes sparkling, “I promise I won’t embarrass you.”

Jonathan groans.

“Of course you won’t, Eddie will do it for you.”

“Come on, please?”

“I think we’re a bit busy with the GiW at the moment,” Jonathan snaps. He pauses as he notices the crestfallen expression on Danny’s face.

This boy is going to be the death of him.

“Perhaps, though, when all that is taken care of…”

Danny cheers, grinning wildly, and Jonathan is not at all relieved to see him happy again. Certainly not.

The rest of the day is relatively normal.

Danny works on trying to get information from the GiW database while Crane refines his his fear toxin, both preparing for a raid on the GiW base they located in Gotham.

It was only a temporary base, nothing of note, but there was a chance of discovering more bases through it, and that wasn’t something either of them were willing to give up.

Still, something like this would take time. Rushing would only lead to failure.

…

Late in the night, long after Danny is fast asleep in his room, Jonathan pauses.

The GiW are not the only threat out there. They aren’t the only threat to him or to Danny. Perhaps it could be helpful to reach out to someone with greater resources than himself.

He sends a quick message to Red Hood.

Hopefully, he thinks, everything will go smoothly.

—

[eizneckam]

I'm so tired of the "English is a dumb bad language because it has no rules" take. It actually has quite a lot of rules, all of which make sense. You're just so lazy that you think the fact that not every function is uniform means that you shouldn't bother. It could be worse, you know. You could be dealing with agglutination. How does a three-line sentence that's only a single word sound to you? What about having to remember seven different words for "the"? We don't even have grammatical gender (which has nothing to do with human sex, like at all. Go check Irish's list of feminine and masculine words and prepare to be very confused). No declensions, barely any grammatical cases, no tones, no formal registers, and you're out here complaining that English is too hard because you keep forgetting that the past tense of "break" isn't "breaked". Sorry for that, but that's on you, not the language.

[princessbrunette]

introducing… lord rafe! 🎀

comes with his very own gun and cocaine! pretty girls sold separately . ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃

things were different since rafe took the reigns to tannyhill. you hadn’t seen anything like it in real life, only in tv shows and movies. the party house of kildare. a house where rafe was a god and everyone else bowed down. you were the fresh meat, just a girl who got swept up in it all when things began. the older more experienced kook girls had befriended you with a perverted and deranged look in their eye, promising you elite access to tannyhill and rafe’s seemingly endless bank account. you had nowhere else to go, you couldn’t say no.

it had all but progressed into near worship over the few weeks you were staying there. it was a blur of parties by night, and days spent in little to no clothes curled up to the eldest cameron’s side in a pile of other women that massaged him and pet you like a baby kitten. you’d smushed your cheek into his side, still drunk as the sun came up on his porch and asked if he was the king of the castle.

“more like lord of the manor type of shit, you know?” he’d smirked, peering down at you with his sunglasses still perched on his nose. it was from that day it began, all the girls — including yourself addressing rafe as the lord.

“yes, lord.” “yes, my lord.” “anything you want, lord cameron.” the other girls would pur — swanning around him like you were his playboy bunnies, but at the end of each day, if you weren’t his arm candy at a party it would be you speared on his cock — surrounded by the other girls. like mentioned, you were fresh meat. the other girls were happy to be accessories, walking around in bikinis to make the house look good but you — you were his star of the show. his favourite.

he lays against the pillows, sighing out shakily as you sink down on him. maybe the slight tremble was from the line of coke he’d done off your tits, maybe he’d just been craving the hot warm clamp of your cunt. a handful of girls — maybe 6 or 7, surround the two of you on the bed, like watching prey get devoured by its predator. moaning though no one touched them, sliding their hands over you and guiding your hips to ride him. the most established of the bunch appears at your ear, staring down at the way your cunt swallows him and whispers to you “thats it. keep pleasing him. you’re so perfect.” you couldn’t tell if they all wanted what you had, they didn’t show it, nor did they act out in jealousy — it was like it had been an elaborate plan to steal you into their clan all along.

people talked, and maybe you’d been a little reckless — rafe often choosing his moments to fuck you with the balcony doors wide open, giving anyone who passes by a direct view into the master bedroom where he takes you apart. you’d become desensitised, no stranger to asking ‘daddy’ to put a baby in you as other girls wandered in and out the room, sometimes staying to watch the show. it wasn’t often people dared to make commentary on the things they’d heard about the goings-on at tannyhill however — not wanting to lose access to the best parties on the island.

you still remember the way that drunk guy approached you all on the porch towards the end of the night at a party, interrupting rafe in the middle of his elaborate stories with you tucked up to his side, surrounded by some friends and the rest of the usual women.

“awesome party rafe. you gotta let me in on your secret.” he stumbles, and rafe’s eyes flutter in irritation at the interruption.

“yeah, no secret man. just a good place with good people.” he drawls, uncharacteristically humble before going on to continue with his story.

“i gotta ask though, is this some fucked up cult? i heard some crazy shit, bro. its a little weird, you know?” he continues on anyway, and you watch rafe stiffen, smiling disappearing into a tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek.

he pushes up slowly and you slide off his shoulder where you’d been resting, watching the man slowly wander towards the guy as he scratches at his cheek in thought.

you see him untuck something from his waistband as he approaches, and you don’t quite catch what it is — but as rafe looms over the stranger, pressing whatever it is to his lower abdomen and speaking in his ear, you’re guessing from the look on the guys face that it’s a gun.

“get the hell off my property and don’t come around here asking dumb shit again, a’ight?” he drawls out in a fairly quiet tone, but the atmosphere had fallen silent enough to hear a pin drop. the guy scurried away, never to be seen again — rafe saw to that.

you had never felt the urge to challenge rafe cameron, but now you were certain you’d stay submissive to him forever.

[cherriisodapop]

Hot take and rant under cut

Don’t get too mad pls I love all the ships just trynna make a point

genuine question but I feel like this isn’t said enough.

How come the whole “romance isn’t canon” shit is only relevant when it comes to Jesterdoll?.

Ragatha nods to Jax in a convo with Martha about crazy men and the Bunnydoll fans like to interpret it as rags considering Jax a husband or partner

Jax and Pomni do so much as stand beside each other in the teasers and the Funnybunny fans get excited

Abtragedy and Showtime just doing their thing I guess /lh silly

And all of that is fine, but the problem comes when Jesterdoll fans get excited over Pomni and Ragatha having a genuine moment together, and everyone starts saying “oh they’re just friends” “god forbid women be friends” “they’re just being nice to each other”

Its really invalidating, and to me, it’s putting down another ship because it interferes with your own.

And then the whole “there’s no romance in the show” argument gets pulled out when you could apply that to every single ship in this fandom maybe except for Checkmate

No ship is “more canon” than another because none of them are canon. If you get to have your own fun with your otp then let others have fun with theirs and be respectful of all ships <33 (that aren’t harmful or nasty in any way.)

[st4rbwrry]

nicki is the prime example of an older bitter woman. she need serious help fr. like to hear her on live stuttering and going on and on about megan and her deceased mother is sickening. she stooped low af fr. all over one line. megan ain’t even say that girls name and it got her yapping out her mouth like somebody grandma. and she’s only proving everyone’s point about her nasty ass husband. now if megan say sum bout her father or brother???? don’t go crying to kenneth or papa about how everyone’s against you cs you’re the queen of rap blah blah.

[sangthael]

don’t fuck with scott pilgrim tiktok we didn’t read the comics or watch the series

[cocogum]

What do y’all have against Amalia, man???

First it’s Sipho who’s telling her how he’s genuinely confused that Yugo can love her and now it’s Qilby?? (even tho he at least admitted she was pretty unlike that ugly lizard Sipho). Literally what is going on??

Since when did people around Yugo think it was weird for him to like sassy flowers???

[nosfagratu]