#right in the wood chipper

[awwsha]

maaaan, fuck erebus

[papa-evershed]

Rob James-Collier || Fate: The Winx Saga

[thatrandomblogsays]

Me watching the movie and reading Ballad of Songbirds & Snakes and discovering the young snow everyone is thirsting over is just… an asshole

[nomsfaultau]

I was. Very sleep deprived last night. And I made a little Cheshire Cat smile and said ‘what if I put my blorbos. My special little guys. What if I put them through a wood chipper.’

and my friend glanced over at me and says ‘you already torture them enough’

and I just giggle and snicker and, to their growing horror and despair, tell them ‘you haven’t even seen torture yet’

[ziracona]

Playing Mercy in an intense match is like turning into a human pinball.

[wanderestless]

sorry for breaking USelection boycott btw i just cannot believe the enthusiasm people have for keeping the boot on their necks

[iamthescalesofjustice]

god help me ive actually started decorating the train station

[thebibliosphere]

I bend over backward to make my work is as widely available as possible because of how often people ask me for alternatives to Amazon. I'm listed in over 20+ major global retailers.

90% of my income still comes from Amazon.

I can't live without it because if my work wasn't on Amazon, those people just straight up wouldn't buy my work, and I'd be worse off than I already am now. And considering we live paycheck to paycheck, barely skimming by between unavoidable house repairs and medical debt, that's a pretty grim statement.

Maybe if I was able-bodied, things would be different. But I'm not. I have no other options. Writing is all I've got. Well, no, that's not true. I've also got arseholes pontificating in my inbox about the moral dilemma I'm creating by selling my work on Amazon.

I'd laugh if I didn't think I'd end up crying.

I was already on a hair trigger today trying not to snap at a mutual for reblogging a "fuck authors who use Amazon" post, but, like, this shit is why some authors can only afford to use Amazon.

They don't have the $75+ to distribute through Ingram Spark. They don't have the $25 it takes to change your files if you need to update them after they've been accepted. They can't afford to take the cost of printing hit to their sales. They can't afford to lose an additional 40% of their income to retailer discounts.

And just so we're clear, Ingram isn't a vanity publisher. They're one of the largest print monopolies in the world. They're used by most mainstream traditional publishers and indie and self-pub authors alike. Amazon uses them when their print demand is too high.

My friend, whose work is published by Gollancz, is printed through Ingram, the same as mine. The difference is their publisher takes the hit for them. In theory. We won't get into dwindling advances here or how publishers are increasingly putting the onus of marketing and sales onto their authors or the fact that their editors can't afford rent or food while the executives get richer and richer.

So what do you do when the mainstream doesn't want you? What do you do when you're told if you can't keep up with the rat race, that you don't deserve to have your work published? What do you do if all you have is the ability to tell stories for a living, and no one wants you?

Well, you could die of starvation. I'm sure there are several people on here who'd be happy if that happened to me. (I know. Because they tell me. Often.) Or, you can shake hands with the devil, knowing it's a bum deal, knowing everything is fucked, but also knowing that every other aspect of this fucking industry is just as fucking bad.

There's no escape. It's relentless.

And you've got people out there posting things like, "Actually, I think authors who charge for their books are part of the problem."

And yeah, in an ideal world, I'd be making art for art's sake.

But we're not in that world. We're in the bad place, and you're actively making it worse. You're encouraging people to steal from people who are struggling just like you and calling it activism against billionaires or putting them in the same moral category as said billionaires as though we're not trapped in this system, same as you. Some of you are fellow fucking authors. And, like, my mind boggles at what it would take to stab a fellow creative in the back like that, but here we are.

Hell world.

[anshelsgendercrisis]

I don’t know who the fuck ben gvir is but the fact you’re trying to deflect criticism from netanyahu for his genocide of Palestinians is sickening

is this bc i said i don’t think we talk enough abt how ben gvir, a prominent right wing israeli politician who is currently calling for the resettlement of gaza, should be thrown into a wood chipper. bc i thought y’all would be on the same page here.

[heavenbarnes]

(tw allusions to murder and violence)

your older bf!simon who’s more accurately described as a gun dog.

trained to the sound of a gunshot- where you tell him to go, he’ll follow.

loyal like a hound, too. whatever heinous little mess you find yourself in, he’s there to clean it up.

lick the blood right off your hands.

“i didn’t mean to, he was being so awful- i just pushed him- i didn’t know his head would hit the curb!”

the tears in your eyes were doing less to convince him and more to make him harder between his thighs.

big thumbs, rough pads and blunt nails, pressed to your cheeks to wipe away the tears that were trailing off them.

“don’ worry, sweet’art- i’ll ‘andle it”

tells you to go inside and make a tea, let the kettle whistle long as you want. turn the telly up full tilt and put your feet up.

if you hear anything, don’t come looking.

so you do as you’re told, you curl into his side of the couch and you tune out the sound of the garage door opening, the distant sounds of dragging.

you don’t even flinch when you hear the first swing of an axe.

you forget, you’re free of thought when he takes you to bed and turns your brain to mush. lets it leak out your ears like-

anyways.

gun dog, retriever- picking up kill and dropping it at his master’s feet.

just once. he doesn’t like seeing you get dirtied by what he feels more aptly fits him.

after that, attack dog. hound waiting to be released, will bare his teeth if you so much as whistle.

“you should’ve seen the way he looked at me, simon”

his teeth could’ve shattered with the force in his jaw behind his bite.

“looked at me like he wanted me, thought that he owned me”

a visible shudder ran through him, visions behind his eyes of you with anyone else.

“told him i had you but- well, he said you didn’t matter”

so you stay inside and you forget, don’t even flinch when you hear simon get his keys and lace up his boots.

“i’ll be ‘ome soon”

you forget, isn’t till he’s kissing your forehead and laying you back on the couch that you even remember he was out.

long fingers wrapping around your ankle to sling over his shoulder. you don’t pay attention the the dried blood under his finger nails.

disregard the scratches down the length of his chest. replace them with your own.

“anyone ever gives y’grief, jus’ tell me and i’ll ‘andle it”

there’s a symphony of “yes, yes, yes” slipping off your tongue and you could blame it on clever fingers of his but-

you like being the hand that holds the leash.

fighting dog, ring dog- lay money on him and he’ll make you rich.

lay a finger on what’s his and he’ll make you pay.

“sweaty hands, tried to grab me when i walked past”

ignore the blood in the tread of his boots.

“called you weak, said a real man would’ve been out with me”

ignore the bite marks on the shell of his ear.

“called me a filthy slut- kind of the same way you do”

ignore the new wood chipper behind the house.

simon’s a big dog with loyalty in spades, born to serve one master.

you never ask so he never tells. play ignorant, blissful and unaware about what grows from the seeds you plant.

seeds scattered to the wind that happen to catch within him, seeds that take and grow gnarled and angry and looking for an excuse.

any excuse to show what he’s made of.

you know he’s always been a mean dog, you know he’s always had bite.

but you, of course, never worried your pretty little head.

not even when an ugly one turns up on the doorstep.

bad dog.

plays with his food.

[moonstruckme]

Hi Mae:) requesting for roommate!james, maybe something funny like reader is just going to bed, whilst James is getting his day started (and they cross paths LOL)

Thanks for requesting!

cw: alcohol mention

roommate!James x fem!reader ♡ 572 words

You close the door slowly so it doesn’t squeak, letting the handle twist back into place once it’s shut. The lock slides home with a muted click in your dark apartment. 

Then from behind, a quiet voice: “Hi.” 

You whip around and step backwards in the same motion, the door handle slamming into your lower back and your head into the wood. 

“Fuck,” you gasp. “James, you scared the shit out of me!” 

“I was trying not to,” your roommate argues, but James looks apologetic as you let yourself slide to the floor, the danger passed. He descends the last few steps of your stairs, peering at you. “You alright?” 

You nod, pushing out a breath. You’re hours into sobriety, your headache due only to the dehydration and exhaustion of a long night out and, now, perhaps a mild concussion. 

“Yeah. Just, you know, recovering from a heart attack.” 

“I was hoping that announcing myself would scare you less.” James gives you a sheepish grin. When he extends his hands to help you up, you take them. “Are you just getting in?” 

“Yeah.” You follow him into the kitchen on autopilot, leaning against the table to take off your shoes. “You already getting up?” 

“Yup.” He flicks the stove on. It’s odd seeing him in his pajama pants, hair all tousled, when you’re all done up in your makeup and dress and your hair is…well, probably equally tousled. “Do you want some eggs or something?” 

You’ve never understood how he can be so chipper first thing in the morning. “James. I’m about to go to bed.” 

“Right, well, you know what they say. Never hurts to go to bed with a full stomach.” 

“Is that what they say? I’m fairly sure they’ve explicitly said not to do that.” 

He shrugs. “Maybe we’ve been listening to different sources. So, no eggs?” 

“I’d have a piece of toast,” you say quietly. 

James tosses you a winsome smile. “Attagirl. Knowing you and your friends, you probably haven’t eaten since last night, have you?” 

“It’s still last night to me.” 

“Not according to the sun rising out there, babe. Do you want some water as well?” 

“Yes, please. My head is killing me.” 

“I could tell.” 

You frown at his backside while he fetches you a cup from the cupboard. “What do you mean, you could tell?” 

“You’re using your headache voice,” James says simply. 

You didn’t know you had a headache voice. Sometimes James reminds you that he’s more perceptive than he comes across. 

“Thank you,” you say as he sets the water down in front of you. You take a sip. It feels cool and pleasant going down your throat. “I feel like I ought to be the one making you breakfast. Seeing as you’ve only just woken up.” 

James glances at you as he repositions himself in front of the stove. “Don’t worry about it. You seem more tired anyways.” 

“I know. How is that? That doesn’t seem right.” 

Your toast pops up, and James is back in motion. “I don’t know,” he says, knowing without asking the jam you’ll want on it and grabbing that and a knife. “I’m an athlete, you know?” 

You laugh. “Ouch. What does that make me?” 

James smiles at you as he comes back with your toast, setting it in front of you and dropping his lips to your head. “Don’t worry. You shine in other areas.”

[bogleech]

I feel like it shouldn't need stating that ideologies rather than races are responsible for problems but apparently the public discourse right now is about what "went wrong" with various ethnic or gender demographics. Uh what went wrong is a predatory political movement targeting whoever's been most useful to it. Beliefs aren't genetic. You have to take out the source of the idea and that's always a rich guy with influence. That's what goes in the wood chipper first. Then maybe the people who clung to an evil message will disperse and get better or those that choose to stay vile just fade into oblivion.

[punkshort]

Broken

Thank you anon for this request!

An I Know Who You Are one-shot

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: Joel finds out you got hurt on patrol.

Warnings: Joel POV, language, allusions to smut, descriptions of injuries/blood, amnesia, angst

WC: 2.5K

When Joel had knocked on Maria's door that morning, he still wore a small smile on his face as images of your perfect morning flashed across his eyes. The way your eyes rolled to the back of your head when he flexed his hips, the breathy sounds you made in his ear, how tight you felt wrapped around his cock.

At that point in his life, he assumed he was not meant for happiness. He had been through too much. The world threw everything it had at him and he crumbled. He let it ruin him and forge him into a cold, distant shell of who he once was.

And then he met you.

You were like a beam of light in an otherwise dark world. A breath of fresh air in a prison cell. A beautiful, yellow flower that grew amongst the disastrous landscape surrounding him. He couldn't help but be drawn to you. To want to lose himself in you, if you'd let him. And against all odds, you wanted him too.

You wanted him, too.

What were the chances? Finding love in the world before was nearly impossible. Once he found you, he began to wonder for the first time if all his suffering had meaning. If everything terrible and rotten that happened to him was all pushing him along on a path to find you.

Maria swung the door open with Violet wrapped around her hip and she grinned.

"You look pretty chipper this morning."

Joel immediately wiped the smile off his face and replaced it with a frown. He preferred to reserve that side of himself just for you.

"Tommy said y'need the dresser looked at?"

She nodded and stepped to the side so he could enter. He toed off his boots and glanced around. Jackson didn't have much, but the community did well with what they had, including toys for kids. Last he heard, the town had a monthly rotation of toys for all the little ones so everyone got to have a turn with the best ones.

He made a mental note to look for some new ones when he was outside the walls next.

"It's Violet's dresser," Maria explained, shifting his niece on her hip and leading him towards the back of the house. "Caught her climbing it last week, nearly gave me a heart attack."

She flicked on the light to Violet's room and made a face when she looked at the broken drawers.

"Well, better the dresser broke than the kid," he said, crouching down to get a better look.

"Do you think you can fix it?"

He gave the other drawers a tug, testing them to make sure they weren't damaged as well before standing with a groan.

"I'll have to make new drawers, this wood's busted, but yeah. Anythin' that's broken, I can fix it."

Maria gasped excitedly and looked at Violet, eyes wide and mouth spread into a huge smile. "Did you hear that? Uncle Joel's gonna fix your dresser, baby!"

He couldn't help but smile when Violet said, "thank you," with some prompting from Maria, of course.

"You're welcome. Just don't go climbin' on it when I'm done."

Joel spent the rest of the morning at the woodshed collecting scraps of two by fours that he could use to create two dresser drawers from scratch. At first, he thought he was in over his head. In a different life with all the right tools, he could have done this task without breaking a sweat.

"'Anythin' that's broken, I can fix it'," he scoffed, repeating his earlier words under his breath with a shake of his head. "The hell was I thinkin'?"

But he used what he had at his disposal, even if it meant using an axe to cut the right pieces of wood for the job instead of an electric saw. With a little patience and some thinking outside the box, he finally collected all the supplies he needed in a wheelbarrow and began his trek back to Tommy's house.

"Hey, before you get started, come in and have something to eat," Maria called from the window. He nodded and shrugged off his flannel, leaving it draped over the wheelbarrow before heading inside.

When he walked into the kitchen, he was greeted with a sandwich and some lemonade on the kitchen table next to Violet, who was nibbling on some fruit and toast and singing along to some children's songs playing from a radio.

"It's all I can get her to eat lately," Maria explained when she said down across from him. "She's growing into a picky eater and it's freaking killing me."

"Mama, bad word," Violet warned with her little chubby finger pointed straight up in the air. Joel chuckled and took a bite of his sandwich.

"I didn't say a bad word, baby, it just sounded like a bad word," she said, then once Violet looked away, she rolled her eyes at Joel and mouthed she hears everything.

He ate mostly in silence, half listening to Violet's music, half thinking about how he was going to tackle the next phase of his project when Maria spoke again.

"So, you think you guys'll end up having one of these?" she asked, casually nodding towards Violet. He glanced up at her in surprise before shifting his eyes to his niece.

"Uh, well..." he nervously scratched the back of his neck as he considered her question. It wasn't something you hadn't talked about but he had been thinking a lot more about it since Violet was born. His mind was screaming absolutely not, it's not safe, it's careless and irresponsible. He couldn't protect Sarah, how could he protect a newborn or keep a toddler from having a tantrum and attracting raiders or clickers?

But then Violet squealed with delight when a berry squished between her fingers and he felt that pull in his chest that he'd been trying to ignore for the past year.

"Dunno. Maybe one day," he finally told her.

"Gonna make an honest woman of her first?" Maria asked as she cleaned up Violet's hands.

"Don't think that's really our thing," Joel replied. And it wasn't. Well, not really. He had a hell of a time trying to settle you down in the first place. He couldn't imagine what the idea of marriage would do to you. And that didn't bother him. At this point, it didn't really matter. You were his, and he was yours, and that's just how it would always be.

After he helped Maria clean up lunch, he headed back outside. The sun was shining but the temperature was comfortable while he worked. And once he had all his supplies and a plan, everything came together rather quickly. Which was good because you and Tommy would be due back from patrol any minute and he very much wanted to relax with you the rest of the day and maybe tend to the garden if either of you had any energy left.

He was just finishing up the drawers and about to take them inside when he heard Tommy shouting his name. Before he even turned around, Joel's blood ran cold. He knew that tone. Something was wrong.

He swiveled around, his face already ghostly pale, knowing and bracing for the inevitable yet he still held out hope and swept his gaze around, hoping and fucking praying he would spot you.

"Joel, c'mon," Tommy panted, swinging his arm as he began to jog back in the opposite direction. Joel grabbed his blue flannel and raced after him, his blood pressure skyrocketing.

"Is she bit?"

Tommy shook his head and Joel felt his heart slow, but it was short lived when he saw the look on his brother's face.

"Is she hurt?"

"She hit her head," Tommy said, pushing people out of the way as they made their way to the infirmary. "She's awake but somethin' ain't right."

"What'dya mean? If she's awake after a head injury, that's gotta be good, right?"

Tommy cast him a forlorn look as they reached the steps of the building. "She can't remember."

Joel frowned. "Can't remember what?"

Tommy's eyes shifted around as they paused for a moment on the stairs. "She can't remember... any of it. The outbreak. This town... nothin'."

Joel swallowed and dropped his chin to his chest. He was grateful you were alive, grateful you weren't seriously injured, but this? This was not something he expected.

"So you're sayin' she don't remember me?"

Tommy's silence was all he needed to know. Joel's chest tightened and he felt his legs begin to shake. This wasn't real. He just saw you a few hours ago. He just fucked you a few hours ago. He was just talking to Maria about your future together... how could this be happening?

"Maybe..." he began, then pinched his eyes shut when he felt the swell of anxiety rise and squeeze his throat. "Maybe she just needs to see me."

"Joel, we gotta be careful 'bout this," Tommy warned, "she's real spooked. I almost couldn't get her to come back with me. She was talkin' 'bout goin' home and findin' her family-"

Joel's face crumpled. "You're fuckin' with me, right?" he croaked, blinking back tears. Tommy averted his gaze and shook his head, giving Joel a moment. He collapsed on the bottom step and hung his head between his knees, trying to focus on taking deep breaths and clearing his vision, but he could feel it. He felt it all those years ago when Sarah died in his arms and he felt it again: the shock that melted into despair which inevitably morphed into white hot rage.

"Joel..." Tommy said lowly, picking up on the shift in his brother's eyes.

"I gotta see her."

He stood and spun around so fast, Tommy hardly had time to react. Joel was halfway down the hallway through the building, kicking in all the doors before Tommy caught up, shouting at him to stop, begging him to slow down.

Then Nick rounded the corner, spotting Joel and Tommy.

"Stop!" Nick said firmly, but Joel just shoved him out of the way and barreled forward. He spotted the exam room that had a sliver of light on underneath the door and he swung it open.

His eyes scanned you up and down, assessing you for obvious injury before looking you in the eye. You appeared fine. You looked just like yourself, like nothing had happened. He didn't even see a mark on your head from the fall.

Joel felt Nick and Tommy rush up behind him and pause, no doubt studying the two of you to see how you would react. Your eyes finally left him to look questioningly over his shoulder and Joel whispered your name.

You angrily brought your gaze back to him and furrowed your brow. "What?" you snapped.

Joel swallowed again but remained perfectly still, refusing to believe you couldn't remember him.

"You remember Joel. Right, sugar?" Tommy asked gently.

Joel knew the answer before you even shook your head. He could see it in your eyes now. They were cold and closed off and scared. You never, ever looked at him like that. Not even after he told you about the hospital.

"Is it permanent?" Joel asked Nick. When the doctor began to give what he considered a bullshit answer, the anger simmering in his veins was lit on fire. He hauled Nick off the ground and yelled something in his face but for the life of him he couldn't remember what. He was seeing red and nothing else was getting through.

That is, until Tommy shouted, let 'em go, you're scarin' her! Then he let Nick go and twisted around towards you. His brows pitched up with concern when he saw you curled up next to the bed, rocking back and forth. Without even thinking, he took a step forward to help you, but you quickly jutted a hand out.

"Don't come near me."

He froze on the spot, speechless. His heart shattered in his chest at the fear in your eye, fear he put there. He couldn't go back to a life without you, he needed you.

"I'm sorry, baby."

And you flinched. You flinched at the term of endearment and the crack in his chest grew so wide, he was afraid he would fall in.

Tommy's voice broke the tension in the room. "Maybe we should give you two a minute."

Instantly, you were panic stricken. Your eyes widened and you scrambled to pull yourself off the floor. Instead of looking to him for comfort, you were looking at Tommy. Begging his brother not to leave him alone with you.

Joel stepped back and sagged against the wall, his eyes fixed on the ground as he tried his best to come to terms with what was happening. All he wanted to do was pull you into his arms and take you home and it was fucking killing him.

To Tommy's credit, he tried to explain who Joel was, that he wouldn't ever harm you, not in a million years, but your chest heaved and your hands shook with fear anyway.

"Look what he just did! How can you say that?"

"Because he loves you!"

The room grew still while you panted for air and tried to process the information Tommy just gave you.

"Is that true?"

He assumed you must have been talking to him so he nodded, still unwilling to look up.

You began to apologize but the pieces of his heart were drifting further and further apart. He was losing you and he had no idea what to do.

When Nick encouraged Tommy's idea to take you home to your familiar surroundings, Joel finally looked up with a little bit of hope.

"What else can we do?" he asked Nick, knowing full well he sounded too eager and hopeful. Nick began to suggest finding objects or keepsakes with sentimental value that could trigger your memory to return, an idea that gave him a spark of optimism, but when he looked back at you, you immediately looked away.

"Can I talk to you?" you asked Tommy. The two brothers stared at one another, communicating silently. Joel knew what you were going to say, Tommy knew what you were going to say: you didn't want to go home with him. And to make matters somehow worse, you were looking to his own damn brother for comfort and safety.

Safety from him.

The thought had his blood boiling and his teeth grinding, but he knew he had to control his temper or else he would make things infinitely worse.

"I'll be outside," he said gruffly, then stormed down the hall towards the lobby.

He took advantage of the few precious minutes he had to collect his fucking thoughts and think. He couldn't let his anger get the best of him. He needed to get that under control if this was going to work. And he needed to be patient. You were meant to be and he would just have to make sure you realized that again.

He took a deep, steadying breath and closed his eyes.

He could do this. He would do whatever it took for however long it took.

Anythin' that's broken, I can fix it.

[ceilidho]

would it be okay to ask what you think Ghost looks like for you personally? Is there a piece of art, do you prefer his actor, or are their bits and pieces of him that you like to put together?

oooohhh all bits and pieces of various artists' interpretations. general size is probably somewhere around 6'5, 300 lbs. big dude. nice layer of padding over his muscles because he has to eat a lot for his size and his job, like he needs the calories to function. blond buzz cut. scars and burns and nicks all over his face and body. like he looks like someone tried to jam him through a wood chipper - he's just fucked up. brows kind of sloped over his eyes a bit. thin lips. nasty scar that almost tore off half of his upper lip. cauliflower ear (at least one). not VERY hairy, but definitely keeps whatever hair he can grow, except his face, which he keeps shaved.

he's right down the middle of kind of ugly and super hot. there's just something brutal and off-putting about him that keeps most people at bay, but man he walks like he has something heavy between his legs :((

[ender-of-the-sender]

Chat, I'm coming out as an Ezekiel fan. The way Joey plays him- Im so sorry but like ?!! You give me another hateable shithead character thats also just a little guy and expect me to act normally?

No. Fuck that.

Joey had NO RIGHT to play that fucking bird. How dare he.

AND WHEN HE FALLS IN THE WOOD CHIPPER AND JOEY PULLS THIS SHIT ??? I screamed.

Fucking look at the SPECTACULAR lightning for this stupid fucking weed bird.

Chat, I am actively screaming, crying, throwing up, throwing myself into a wood chipper- this fucking Nighthawk.

If it seems like I'm angry, it's because I am.

[emacrow]

When Danny hides his corpses along with Elle and Dan.. those fucking Archaeologists are persistent little shits then shenanigans happens..

He hide them in the Antarctica, where barely any humans goes beside a couple groups of persistent scientists living there and the hidden society of cannibalistic humaniod yetis....

There was no way anyone could find their bodies under 60 feet of snow and frozen millennium ice...

Ancients be damned 4 months later, danny felt a disturbance in his hidden grave only to see History News found 3 preserved corpses perfectly intact in a solid crystallized looking coffin the God damn Antarctica.

Took him a solid 5 days to find the right God forsaken headquarters of those Archaeologists who already send their bodies to gotham...

He about to flip his lid, especially as it was getting to him very badly... by how sleep deprived his ghost side was being to the point that the disturbed.. eldritch part of his very being was slipping a bit..

Then the truck driving with their corpses got stolen by some low grade wanna be villain by the name of 'the penguin'.

Who has his goons trying to break the crystal coffin into pieces with how priceless it beholding.

Danny brought Elle and Dan into this because he doesn't know gotham and three heads work better then one with the search out.

By the time, they actually found the Right fucking Hideout; because how many fucking hideout does a fucking penguin needs.

They were too late by a fucking hour, because of course something had to take their coffin.

Penguins already look arrested and it seem Batman got their coffin, whom had sent it to the Watchtower to get analyzed after they found a heart beating after 40 minutes to the batcave..

Danny wanted to ghost screamed by then...

(Wayyy later in the plot that I'll never finish)

Constantine whom is about to drinking scotch whiskey before it slapped by the ghostly eldritch child who shoving an glowing green smoothie in his hands for the 3rd time.

He look at them with a begrudgingly look who glares back at him with the similar mom glare looks before he sighed and drink the smoothie.

He ain't admitting it taste so much fucking better then his usual whiskey for shit.

Meanwhile Elle is enjoying having a younger halfa to bother even if his core is all types of fucked up and looking worse then a apple that fell off the ugly tree, got shredded by a wood chipper, mashed back together and then peeled off by a potato peeler before stomped on.