#please give me constructive criticism

[pickleking8]

5 - Adoption Isn’t All It’s Cracked Up To Be - Chapter Five

Words: 1,527

Ao3 Link

Previous - Next - Masterpost

TW: kidnapping, mild violence (?) it’s pretty vague, not described in large detail. 

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    Red Robin winces as the grit of the rooftop scrapes against his stomach. He squints through his binoculars, glaring at Jason, who at the moment is not being very helpful in their investigation. The plan was to simply tail Jason, find a good time to talk and get him to come back to the manor, and try and get as much information as they could about this frankly bizarre situation. Jason, however, hadn’t given any clues to his unknown stalkers. He was simply… walking. It was infuriating.

    Almost all of the family were there. Everyone was interested when they learned of Jason’s mysterious resurrection, and they all wanted to see him for themselves. If you looked carefully, you could spot them, as any Gothamite would tell you. A flash of sunny yellow, or silent purple, or cherry red, or deep moss green. All colors that looked as if they were plucked directly from an abundant flower field when compared to the deep, rich, black that concealed identities and intentions. If the birds were from a flower field, Batman was the pitch-black soil that lurked beneath, harboring all kinds of earthworms and larvae.

    Danny was not a trained veteran of Gotham. No, he wasn’t a native. That much was obvious. It might have been the way he walked, shoes slapping the pavement as if he could hardly bear to carry his own weight. It might have been the attention he paid to every beggar, every man with a waterlogged cardboard sign, and every child with hungry faces and quick fingers, as if he was unaccustomed to the desperate eyes that shone from the maws of alleys and the constant scrabbling of the city rats against the rough concrete of the streets. He bore similarities to Gothamites, though, too. Eyes darting around, cataloging exits and entrances, potential allies and enemies, quick as the fingers of the ragged children as they picked your pocket. Always ready for a threat. I’ll reiterate once more, however, that it was quite clear that Danny wasn’t from Gotham. And in these streets, well, that made him quite the target.  

    Danny, with his shifting eyes, noticed the muggers as he passed the alley. Jotted down the guns, the worn but fitting clothing for a mugging, the knives hidden in their pockets, and which one was most likely to be the leader. She would be most important to take out first. She was cocky, too, arrogant. That, he could tell by the way she stepped out by herself, not even having bothered to draw her gun, but instead putting a hand on his shoulder before speaking.

    “Hands in the air, sweetheart,” she cooed, tauntingly and mockingly.

    Danny didn’t turn around, even when the grip on his shoulder turned bruising. Instead, he smirked. A simple expression, one that suggested a surety in victory before the battle had even begun. And with a smooth, clean move, he broke her arm. She screamed.

    Danny fought like a street kid Danny fought like Jason . Like he had taught himself, out of necessity, and then continued fighting for some reason or another. His movements were an unholy amalgamation of techniques that he must have picked up from a hundred different sources, but his strikes were quick and precise, and within thirty seconds he was standing in front of three groaning bodies, no powers even needed. He, himself, was also in quite a bit of pain. His breaths had become even more labored and he coughed, lightly, before wincing as he touched his fingers to the scar on his abdomen, which was almost certainly leaking thick drops of green and red once more.

    Pathetic, he thought, One little fight, and look at you. Can barely hold your own anymore. He quickly shook his head to clear that line of thinking, though. Going along that track wouldn’t help anybody, least of all himself. Once he healed, he would be strong again.

    He would be okay again.

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    As soon as the first mugger stepped out from the alley, Tim was on his feet and stuffing his binoculars in his pocket as fast as he could. The rooftop he was on was tall, though, and several buildings away. Tim risked a glance over the edge, and quickly decided that a twenty-foot drop onto solid concrete would be a poor decision. Glancing back to Jason, he was surprised to see him in the process of breaking the woman’s arm. Within seconds, she was on the ground. Tim paused, and then settled in to watch, entranced, as he efficiently took down the other two that stepped out to defend their apparent leader. Well, efficiently but not quite effortlessly. Tim didn’t miss the way he pulled his punches slightly to avoid stretching his abdomen too much, and he certainly didn’t miss the way he winced and checked his bandages once the would-be muggers were laid in a sprawling heap at his feet. Took down three muggers in thirty seconds.

    That’s a mugger every ten seconds, Tim thinks absentmindedly, Impressive.

    This only furthered his evidence that this was Jason, though. He fought like a street kid, like he was self-taught, but he also had some professional moves thrown in there. He did it quickly and efficiently, and didn’t shy away from violence. And, just like Jason (and it’s not weird that he knows this, Duke, it’s not) as soon as the fight is done, he lets down his guard. Checks his wounds before he checks his surroundings. And doesn’t notice a fourth mugger taking the frankly smarter approach of stealth. Quiet, footsteps light and knife glinting in his hand. Jason didn’t see him, preoccupied with the considerable amount of pain he must be in, but Damian most certainly did, and with a resounding thunk (Tim winced in sympathy for the guy), the mugger joined his friends in an unconscious heap on the ground.

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    Danny startled when he heard another thwack come from behind him, quickly whirling around to see a kid in a pinwheel costume holding a (quite impressive) sword, and standing coldly over the body of a mugger.

    Must be one of Gotham’s few dozen vigilantes, Danny thinks. In all honesty, Danny’s pretty surprised that this one was tall enough to hit the guy in the right place. He’s short, but carries himself proudly and with a calculated confidence.

    So, he’s either good or cocky, Danny thinks, Perhaps both, all the while filing away that information. Well, fuck. What does he do now? They’ve been staring at each other for a solid ten seconds longer than it’s normal to stare at someone, and Pinwheel certainly doesn’t seem like he’ll be breaking the silence anytime soon. Danny opts for finger guns, and immediately curses himself.

    “...Thanks for the save, Pinwheel,” Danny manages to say, throwing anything into the now awkward void that sits between them. The guy looks like he’s seen a ghost (heh).

    Okay… that was awkward as fuck, why don’t we just leave now before Pinwheel thinks I need help or something. Yep, great plan. Just walk away, Danny. You got this.

    Danny slowly pivots on one heel and starts to pick his way through the three bodies that were blocking the sidewalk, arms and legs flopped in just the right position to trip someone (rude of them). This seems to snap Pinwheel out of his stupor, and he seems to be caught in a moment of indecision, eyes flicking all around, to him, to the bodies, to the rooftop, and, surprisingly, to his uniform. Suit. Whatever. He shrugs, winces, and continues walking.

    Next thing Danny knew, he had joined the now-five bodies cluttering the sidewalk.

—----------------------

    Tim had his head in his hands. So did Damian, but that was mostly in shame. It must have been quite a funny sight, to see so many of Gotham’s vigilante’s standing around only a few bodies, and looking embarrassed , at that.

    “Robin. Why would you do that?!” Duke looked close to laughing. Damian was looking less embarrassed and more angry by the second (though he was rather good at hiding his emotions).  

    “I didn’t know what to do, okay? I couldn’t just let him leave, and that was the first thing I could think of!” Damian spurted this off in a flurry of words, voice tense with the anger that only comes from embarrassment.

    “Well, we can’t just leave him here…” Tim trailed off, staring once again in a combination of manic amusement and despondency at the situation. He’d hoped to have more time to gather more information, figure out the mystery that was a revived Jason Todd before approaching him. This was not how it was supposed to go. However, at the very least they could now ask him directly, and try to understand why he hadn’t sought them out on his own. With a sigh, Tim leaned over to pick the kid up. Duke quickly rushed to help.

    Fuck, he’s light, Tim thought, We’ll have to give him to Alfred.

    With another shared smile with his family, the odd bunch of vigilantes quickly grappled out of sight, taking an injured, and very much not Jason Todd with them.

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Next - Masterpost

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Okay, that’s the end of this chapter! This one was really hard for me to write, it took me forever, idk it just wasn’t working out. I’m not very happy with it, but here. Please give me constructive criticism. Thank you for reading!

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Taglist: @tkiesai

[lunior-art]

I wrote a thing (it’s not good but it’s there on AO3)

Title: Look Me In The Eyes (Surrender Your Mind) by Lunior

Nigel Colbie/Alex Forbes or Alex Forbes/Nigel Colbie idk they are both tops it’s top on top violence at this point

Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-Typical Behavior, Fix-It of Sorts, Hurt/Comfort, Nigel lives, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, No beta we die like Nigel, Author's First Fic (Ever), Rough Kissing, Author knows nothing about the Bible but uses it anyway, They Are My Precious Gay Boys, blood kink? (Does this count?)

Summary: The train accelerated towards the pair, rain poured, love obscured. Their hearts pounding in jumbled cacophony, that is, until Nigel found his way into Alex’s rhythm.

OR

The one where Nigel neglects to bring the gun to the final confrontation - he and Alex fight with their bare hands - and it's very intimate.

[dancinatmyfuneral]

change

not my first poem and definitely not my best (wrote this for my boyfriend and he hasnt even read it yet)

she is unexpected,

but she arrives

when you are most in need

of her gifts.

she will take your blank face

in her hands,

and guide you.

you will resist her pull,

but she knows best.

she will lead you

to your light,

but still,

she will not rest.

she is wise,

but you will not listen to her

until you cannot live without

the light she provides.

this light is what you've needed

for all of these days,

spent alone,

in need of purpose.

she will leave when she is sure

that you won't turn off your light,

and when she returns,

you will be basking in it.

she will want to make it brighter,

but you have known so much darkness,

that just this light,

just this bright,

is just right.

she couldn't make it brighter if she tried.

[starsandspeaks]

this is just a lil oneshot i’ve been nursing, bon appetite 

[stardewvalley12enthusiast]

just a doodle

yes, this was originally a sketch on my ap history notes. yes, I traced and colored it with my finger. yes, I have no other art apps than my FRIGGEN CAMERA ROLL. so, to answer your question, no, my drawings are not always this horrible.

[eviesqueezie]

curly slides himself into the booth, wrapping an arm around his buddy polo’s shoulders before taking a sip of the milkshake that sits in the middle of them all.

“happy birthday man!” the group chorus, punching him lightly along his arms. curly grins and pushes the milkshake back into the centre of the table before retracting his arm from the boy next to him.

“look what ol’ timmy got me,” he pauses, un clipping the brand new switchblade from his belt loop and slamming it down on the table for the group to see. there’s a collective ‘ooh’ and a few ‘nice!’ which makes curly smile wider. he clips it back onto his jeans and leans back. “so, what’re we gettin’ up to today?” he raises an eyebrow, a habit that two-bit had passed around the curtis gang that had eventually reached him, through ponyboy.

a few mumbles pass around the group and curly groans, standing himself up.

“y’all get on with that nothing, i’m gonna go meet some buddies and i’ll be back.”

the group ignore him, having gone back to their mindless chatter of what to get up to as they all lean in to smother their loud voices.

curly walks out, letting the door slam behind him. he looks around before lighting a cigarette with the lighter he’d snatched from the corner store a few minutes ago. the streets are mainly empty so, he starts to walk away. breaking into a jog , then a run.

he understood, distantly, why ponyboy might have done track. it gave him a different kind of thrill, similar to escaping a crime scene he had caused and watching from afar.

the november wind blows past him destined to mess up his hair, which wasn’t a problem due to his recently shaved head, but he smiles nevertheless.

he lets the cigarette fall from his mouth as he turns the corner, almost bumping into the slowly moving person infront of him who spins around as soon as they hear the footsteps.

“pony! gon’ wish me a happy birthday?” he smirks, pushing his hands into his pockets to hide the sweat that had began to form.

“hey curls, get anythin’ good this year?”

curly shrugs, nudging his head towards the switchblade, proudly. ponyboy whistles then looks around before pulling curly into the alleyway a few steps infront of them. the road is empty, and so is the alley, apart from a stray cat carrying a dead mouse between its canines.

pony looks around one last time before grabbing onto curly’s wrist.

“i didn’t get you a present..-“ his voice trails off as curly interrupts.

“it’s alright, but i’m expectin’ summin’ for christmas.” he grins, faltering slightly and blushing when ponyboy nods, smiling.

pony wraps his hand around the back of curly’s neck, leaning in to press their lips together. curly’s are slightly chapped from the harsh autumn air and pony’s are bitten with the minty aftertaste of freshly applied chapstick.

who needs an inanimate object labelled as a present when it’s just him and ponyboy, orange and red leaves painting the ground and the streetlights flickering on and off again in a pitiful excuse for light; compared to the bright greeny-grey eyes of the boy facing him.

to curly, it’s a pretty good present in itself.

[dinoswithswords]

drawimg malleus is weird

not that he's weird I love Malmal it's just that I feel kind of like I'm cheating on Leona in some way 😭😭😭😭😭😭

[rapturebby]

hiiiiieeeeee drew trindle. cuz i’m bored. and i love women. And men. i am simply a woman who loves!

[theherdofturtles]

@hwsasiaweek

behold Taiwan

[mars-ipan]

so funny to me how ppl on tumblr will read a post that says, within the post, SEVERAL times, “hey this isn’t super well-thought out discussion and shouldn’t be treated as such i’m just sharing an individual opinion and my word should not be taken as fact” and then refuse to understand that whether they agree or disagree with the op

[pickleking8]

Adoption Isn’t All It’s Cracked Up To Be -- Chapter Two

This is chapter two to ‘that one fic idea I had’! I really enjoyed writing this one. It’s my first time writing a fic, and I’m having a lot of fun. This chapter is from Jazz’s POV. This is mostly just set up, the next chapter should be when the plot actually gets going. 

Words: 1,085

Ao3 Link 

First -- Next -- Masterpost

TW: blood, vivisection, neglectful/abusive parents

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     Jasmine Fenton was panicking. She was definitely, surely, without a doubt panicking. Her breathing was quickened, she was close to crying, her hands were shaking, and her baby brother was bleeding out in the back seat of her scrappy old car. Danny, her sweet, kind, dead baby brother was bleeding Christmas colors in the back seat of her car. Yeah, she was panicking.

    “It’s okay, you’re gonna be okay, I’ll protect you, I won’t let anyone hurt you again, okay, you’ll be safe - safe - okay?” She was only vaguely aware of whispering this, over and over again, throwing as many reassurances as she could at Danny, whose eyes were squeezed shut and whose breath was coming out ragged and hitched.

    She needed to think. What was she going to do now? She needed a plan. Yes. A plan, that’s what she needed. Baby steps. She’s got this. Okay, first, where to go? What city has enough ectoplasm to both sustain Danny and hide his signature? In what city will no one notice, or care, if two teenagers show up and start living on their own? Gotham, of course. Dark, gloomy, and hidden. She could protect her brother there. Accelerating, she made several questionable driving choices and steeled herself for the long ride to Gotham that would surely be filled with worry and regret.

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    Jazz heaved a deep sigh as Gotham’s signature skyline came into view. Grand gothic architecture with solemn gargoyles and sweeping rooftops. It was as beautiful as she was pretty sure it was cursed. Danny’s breathing in the backseat was slow and shallow. It was much slower than a normal human’s but fairly regular for Danny. His brow was furrowed in his sleep, a perpetual grimace of pain evident on his face. Jazz quickly turned her eyes back to the plastic-littered road, both to avoid crashing in the worsening traffic and to avoid the swell of emotion that rose looking at her baby brother. Her baby brother, whom she had sworn to protect, and whom she had failed so miserably. She shook her head, trying to dispel those thoughts before they overtook her. She failed at this too, the images of Danny sprawled out on a clinical metal table, his chest dominated by a gaping incision and the rest of his skin mottled with bruises, swam in front of her eyes like persistent flies. The way his blood reflected the fluorescent green light from those buzzing (so, so much buzzing. Everything seemed to buzz) light bulbs in the basement. She never wants to look at that shade of green again.

    It’s too neon, she thinks, too bright, too green, too much of it in her brother’s blood that was not inside his body, where it really should be.

   She’s in shock, she thinks. Yes, she’s in shock. She remembers the psychology books she’s read describing trauma response. She’s in shock. She has all the symptoms. This is bad, though. If she’s in shock then she can’t think straight and if she can’t think straight then she can't protect Danny! She needs to protect Danny. She needs to. Jazz swears, she won’t let anything bad happen to her brother ever again. Never, ever, ever, ever. He’ll be safe, she’ll make sure of it, she’ll protect him, she’ll do better, she’ll be everything he needs, and she will damn well rain destruction on anyone who tries to hurt her sweet, precious Danny who’s already been so broken by the world. She’ll do anything.

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    Jazz pulls up to a hotel with a flickering neon sign (not neon, anything but neon, she can’t handle neon) and a door that squeals in protest when asked, even politely, to open. The clerk, a tired and raggedy looking young man, doesn’t question Jazz’s request for their most out of the way (and cheapest) room. Doesn’t question Jazz’s poor attempts to hide Danny and the alarming amount of blood he’s covered in. Doesn’t even question finding Jazz in the employee break room, holding their only first aid kit behind her back with a desperate look on her face. Simply raises an eyebrow and turns back around. Jazz is grateful.

    Back in their foul-smelling room about half an hour later, Jazz ties off the bandages now cocooning Danny’s chest and finally allows herself to breathe a sigh of relief. It’s okay, they’re safe, Danny will be okay, she will be okay. She can figure this out. They can stay in this hotel for a couple of days, maybe a week, before she can find some cheap apartment to stay in. She can get a job. She… won’t be able to go to college. Get her degree in psychology, like she always dreamed. She can’t. She’ll need the money she saved up just to survive, to take care of Danny, and anyway, enrolling in university would let the Fentons know exactly where they were.

    Only nineteen and your dreams are already in the toilet. Her thoughts continue to scream at her, and she smiles bitterly, but it’s really more of a grimace that makes her tired eyes seem even more hollow.

    She shouldn’t be thinking like that. Danny’s hurt, Danny’s more important. She’ll figure it out. She’ll change her name. Talk it over with Danny first, see what he likes, but they’ll change their name. She certainly doesn’t want to be a Fenton anymore, and she doubts Danny does either. She can take online classes. Eventually. Yeah, she can do this. Running a hand through her carrot-orange hair, she sighs for what must have been the thousandth time that day.

    It is only when she feels her tears dripping off her chin that she realizes she is crying. They start as silent tears dribbling down her face, and then morph into hiccups and little hitches in her breath and the tears begin to fall more steadily, and before she knows it she is doubled over heaving big, gut-wrenching sobs. She cries, for herself, for her broken dreams, for her broken life. She cries for Danny and how small he looks, curled up on a dirty, bare mattress. She cries for the bandages around his chest and for the pain they’ve both known. And she cries for a very long time. Eventually, the tears stop and her cheeks dry, and she is left sitting in the corner of a shitty hotel room, hair askew and head in her hands, deafened by the silence and quieted by the rasping breaths she and her brother draw.

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I would appreciate constructive criticism, thank you for reading!

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Next -- Masterpost

[bluastro-yellow]

get it Kim has a lot to unpack do you get it

it's imperfect I'll never polish it just take it as it is I should have put aerostatics not airplanes...

[snailpastaenjoyer35]

Urgent fanfic business

Hey guys, I need some help with my soriel fic! What movies do you think represent the two AND that the two would watch together? I need a movie that does both because I'm just poetic like that.

I don't really watch movies that much so I'm really struggling to find something so any suggestions would work 🙏🙏 thanks bunches for your help

The fanfic if you're interested. I'm currently working on chapter 4 👍

[celestiachan]

red is the type of guy that you meet and you think "ohh little guy. a little babey man" and then he sends you a link to his playlist and it's all metal

[posting-my-stories-here]

The Aftermath (Pt. 1)

The pain finally faded away, leaving the two figures numb and exhausted. For a moment no one moved, their muscles burning and cramped. They lay prone on the ground, waiting for the last vestiges of pain to fade away before taking on the exhausting task of getting up.

Groaning, Aahan pushed himself up, grabbing the desk for support. Legs shaking uncontrollably, he collapsed on the bench panting heavily from the exertion. Ajay imitated him, slumping down on the seat beside him. They sat there quietly, perhaps not fully registering the change before Ajay banged his fist on the desk and muttered in a low angry tone, “How could they?”

Aahan didn't respond, not that the other had expected him to. He simply laid his head down, tracing the words carved into the old wood; echoing memories of the now graduated alumni. Ajay was sitting still; too still, his hunched shoulders making him look much smaller than Aahan remembered him being.

Or perhaps that was because… Aahan didn't let his thoughts complete. He couldn't.

The sound of the bench screeching against the tiles prompted Aahan to raise his head slightly. Ajay had stood up, walking around the desk to pack his school bag quietly. Aahan followed suit, stuffing his books in a bag now unfamiliar to him. Glancing at the clock above the blackboard, he swallowed heavily. He didn’t even know what day it was or month or year or how old he was or-

Breath in. Breath out. Following the achingly familiar voice, Aahan’s breath soon leveled out, until he no longer felt the pull of a panic attack.

Sometime in between, Ajay had taken to stalking the narrow rows of benches, his fists clenched and white. Abruptly, he turned on his heel in a perfectly executed about turn. There was a wild look in his eyes; one which Aahan unfortunately recognized. Mentally preparing himself for whatever wild idea had taken root, he-

“We can get back. We just need to find a way. We can return home, Aahan.” Aahan stared at him blankly. “Ajay,” he mumbled, voice heavy with loss, “Even if we somehow do find a functioning portal- or, or build it ourselves, this world lacks magic. We- we wouldn’t be able to… to power it. To activate it. We are stuck.”

Ajay shook his head. His voice took on a more regal cadence, the one he had used to deliver speeches of progress and excellence and a bright future. “We can. Magic found us. Magic can exist in this world. We just need to search for it. And then use it to power our portal.” His speech was unadorned, lacking the flowery language he used to employ. But it still made Aahan wonder.

Could they truly find a way back?

Inspired by @charminglyantiquated post about ex magical chosen ones. (Hope you don't mind me writing on it).

[bubbl3zdaseaotter37]

It's here! The first chapter of my first Lockwood & Co. fic! Enjoy, my friends!

PS. Thanks @35-portlandxrow for the extra motivation!