#sense of productivity

[chloesimaginationthings]

Yall ever think about how Nightmare bb is canon in FNAF

[uncanny-tranny]

The leftism/anticapitalism leaving people's bodies the zeptosecond you imply that disabled people who aren't "productive" still matter in society and need to be treated like intrinsic equals who have a place in this world:

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 334

So. Danny has discovered he might erm, might be technically a necromancer. At least as far as magic is concerned. Like even if it’s just via resurrecting himself the magic side of things (god, he’s more scientist- sided dangit) count it as such. 

Which means that half the time someone tries to summon a necromancing-esque being, he’s the one who gets tugged if he’s even a centimeter within range. It was annoying enough in high school, it’s no less annoying in this world they’ve all moved to. 

On the bright side, thanks to also being half dead himself, the summonings and other rituals can’t actually drag him somewhere. It just causes him to feel like someone was crushing a lung or two, which honestly nothing new. (Gosh were those days of vigilante work really that violent? Huh, guess they were)

What he wasn’t expecting was for a tiny child, a living child, to track him down despite him not existing legally or anything similar in this world, to revive their previous local child vigilante. Which like, hey, first of all, he has a few questions? Just a couple and yeah sure, he’ll shake on it- can he have your name first there kid…? 

Tim, on the other hand, is getting a little concerned when he realizes a lot of the questions the probable-fae keeps asking are in line with the stuff CPS asks. (Unknown to him, that is exactly where Danny is getting several of his questions about this scrawny vigilante kid. Erm. He might have to take the kid, for like, his own safety- hey Frostbite he needs your help he has some questions-) 

[anbaisai]

The girlies are fighting… (featuring mentions of a friend’s OC)

Textless version can be interpreted as POV you're being bullied by mean girls or something

Hypothetical exchange based on Leona giving Jamil this ⬇️ piece of advice during Book 6

If this statement doesn’t literally also apply to Jamiyuu ships if Leona knew about things in universe… he’s a Jamiyuu shipper and he’s getting impatient (/j).

And instead of defending himself, I believe Jamil’d just pick something to fire back about because he’s like that. Men who can’t be direct or honest for their lives, sigh.

[totally-here]

Post Gotham war Jason and post GIW Danny scrap

Jason is laying on the ground. He can hear water running to his right and can see his parachute tangled in trees overhead. 

The explosion must have sent him farther away than he hoped. His back hurts from the landing after he disconnected from the parachute. His hands are still shaking from residual adrenaline that in turn makes his throat constrict in fear. 

Fucking Bruce. Of all the things he could’ve done to break their cycle. 

Because that’s what it was, wasn’t it? A never ending cycle of them fighting over morality, making up, then fighting again without any real progress being made. The Joker’s still kicking in one way or another, and Jason still doesn’t talk with his family much outside of vigilante activities. 

And now he won’t even be able to go out as Red Hood, because his own fucking adrenaline will immobilise him with fear. 

Jason never should have tried to work with Selina. He’s self-aware enough to admit that. It was stupid, trying to mess up her operation from the inside after realizing just what she was setting up the goon workforce for, even if it wasn’t her intention. She was only letting him work with her to shove it into Bruce’s face, anyway. 

Because that’s all Jason will ever be to them. Batman’s biggest mistake. A Robin turned corpse turned mass murderer. Like he hasn’t been actively not killing people for at least a year now. Hasn’t shot a gun in months. 

And yet here Jason is, trying to tell if his ribs are broken without moving. His ears are ringing faintly from the collision with the meteor and then the explosion at the observatory. 

He ditched his comm to Oracle and the rest of the bats earlier, and the batwing is one with the wreckage now. But there are cameras everywhere in Gotham. They would see he got out, and probably send someone to pick him up. Maybe. 

Jason doesn’t know if he can stomach looking at his family right now. Not when he can still feel the effects of whatever Bruce stuck in him in the back of his throat, in the back of his mind. It’s like he’s been flayed out, all his scars and weaknesses on display. 

“Hey man, you okay?” A man steps into Jason’s vision. Around his age, if not younger. His eyes that verge on the edge of uncannily blue have deep eye bags, like he hasn’t slept in weeks. He looks at Jason like one would a particularly uninteresting bug. Jason shivers.

It takes a few tries for Jason not to swallow his words. As it is, he still slurs on the swear. “Just fucking peachy.” 

The guy raises an eyebrow, looking very doubtful. He looks Jason up and down, then sighs. He rights himself from leaning over and runs a hand through his long black hair with white streaks in it. It’s choppily cut, and not in a tasteful way. It’s like a five year old found scissors for the first time. It’s annoying how it actually works for the guy. 

“I have a first aid kit in my truck, wait here,” He orders, then walks off to the left. Jason turns his head to watch him. There is a small white truck parked to the side of a road that no cars are passing through. The guy opens the back door and digs around, then emerges with a white box. 

He kneels on the grass next to Jason and slowly reaches out to help him sit up, narrating as he does. “I’m gonna lean you against the tree so that I can get a better angle for your forehead.” He does that, and Jason realizes that yeah, his forehead is bleeding. Maybe he snagged it on a branch on the way down, or maybe it was debris. “I’m going to disinfect it, brace for the sting, I guess.” 

It does sting, but Jason doesn’t flinch away. It’s not the exhaustion from the back to back panic attacks that’s calming him. He knows what that exhaustion should feel like, this is not it. As the guy gently washes off the blood from Jason’s forehead with wipes and presses bandaids onto it, he feels like he’s being enveloped in a warm hug. 

“Why do I feel safe with you?” It stumbles out before he can stop it. The guy doesn’t stop inspecting Jason’s arms for cuts to answer. Only when he finds traces of burns to wrap against infection does he say anything. Jason’s too warm for a November night. 

“Well. There are two options. Either you’re concussed, or you’ve died before.” Jason takes in a sharp breath, but the guy doesn’t seem to notice. “Oh, three, I guess. Since it could be both.”

“I don’t feel concussed," Jason says. And he doesn’t. Maybe slightly dehydrated, but his head doesn’t hurt and he’s not nauseous at all. The slight slurring is just because he’s tired, probably. 

The guy hums, leaning back to check his handiwork. There’s bandaids on Jason’s forehead and bandages along his arms. He closes the first-aid kit with a snap and stands to his full height. His face is haloed by the full moon behind him. His eyes reflect in the light. “Guess it’s option two, then. I was leaning towards that, anyway. Once Deads tend to have that effect on me, and you do give off Realms Touched vibes.”

The guy offers a hand, and Jason stares at it for a moment before taking it. It’s like touching an ice cube. “I don’t know what that means.”

The guy pulls him up easily, despite being built like a broad-shouldered twig and at least five inches shorter than Jason. Probably a meta, then. Or maybe magic. The guy lets go of Jason’s hand to run a hand through his hair again. The motion brings attention to the layer of scar tissue around his left eye. Likely scarred over in the past month or so. 

“Yeah, my bad. Should’ve assumed. Um, short version: I have what amounts to a biological need to help peop-” He stops, purses his lips, then starts again. “To help the undead. And that stretches over to you, I guess.”

“And the Realms Touched thing?”

He shrugs, not looking at Jason’s eyes, but up at his hair. At the white streak sticking out against the black. “Let me guess, you had an encounter with some green not-quite-liquid stuff sometime after you died?” Jason nods once, slowly. “Yeah, that’d do it. The green stuff’s from the Infinite Realms, and doing stuff with it kinda marks you for people with an eye for it.”

“People like you?” Jason narrows his eyes, but it really does seem like this guy is telling the truth. That this is just some weird coincidence that the spooky guy (who cannot be local. Jason might have ditched the mask, vest, and gloves, but he still has his padded shirt with his symbol on it. No true Gothamite would dare to approach the Red Hood with medical supplies) just happened to stumble upon Jason. The complete blasé attitude he has toward the pits helps. A League devotee would be more reverent. 

The guy tilts his head to the side, his face scrunching. “Technically, yeah. I meant more, like, formal magic users. I’m… different?”

“What are you, then?” 

“It’s complicated?” As Jason’s unimpressed look, he tries again. “I’m, I’m kinda like a protector spirit and a psychopomp rolled into one? But, a psychopomp that’s not good at their job.”

Jason gets the feeling that that’s the best explanation he’s going to get out of this guy. He’s already shifting away, looking past the trees and at what’s probably Gotham proper.

“So I have a sense for dead things. ‘S actually why I ended up coming through here. Something that felt like a meal was coming here, but now it’s faded.” He points past Jason, and he follows his finger, moving to face the green smoke rising from the observatory, glowing in the night sky. “You know what happened?”

“Big fuckin’ meteor,” Jason mutters. The smoke is dispersing slowly but surely. A news helicopter is already buzzing around the observatory site. 

“Sure, why not?” The guy mutters back. His eyes flick to Jason before jutting a thumb backwards. “Welp, I’m gonna get back on the road. You need me to call someone for you or something?”

Jason thinks about it. He could call someone to pick him up, or check in with Rose. But. That would mean eventually going back into Gotham. Back into the fire. Back into a city that’s being overrun with thieves he had helped support. It’s not shame that stops him, but fear. 

Fear that if he goes back, it will just start the cycle again. That it’ll just take another form, but he’s just going to be stuck fighting. He’s always fighting, has always been fighting. If he goes back and he starts fighting again, it will never stop. Fear lodges into the back of his throat once again and Jason realizes that he might not be able to fight like that anymore. 

And standing outside of Gotham, seeing the smoke coming out of it color the same as the Pits that still haunt him, Jason thinks that maybe fear and fighting are all he has left. 

He wonders what would happen if he let himself lose those, too. 

“Actually, which way are you going?” Jason asks the guy, who squints at him.

“North.” 

“Sounds good.” Jason spins around and walks determinedly towards the guy’s truck. The guy stutters and hurries to catch up to him.

“Wait, what? You’re just gonna… come with me? Are you sure you’re not concussed?” He says, but stops at the driver’s side door and just watches as Jason slides into the passenger seat. 

Jason smiles at him, all teeth. “Come on, Charon. Aren’t psychopomps supposed to lead the dead to their next destination?”

The guy just looks at him for a moment, then opens the driver’s side and slides in. He glares at Jason, but it doesn’t feel like there’s any real dissatisfaction behind it. “You’re not dead now, and I told you I’m bad at my job.”

Jason shrugs and swings his feet onto the dashboard, ignoring the guy’s disgruntled and insulted look. “Then you’ll get some on the job training.”

“I’m on the run from the government. This isn’t going to be a fun adventure, dude.” 

That does make Jason pause. But he also knows the government. “What’d you do?”

He scoffs. “Exist. Fuckers think they’re entitled to my organs. For science, they said.”

A victim, it sounds like. Hell, maybe even a clone. Not likely to be a criminal. Jason shrugs and shimmies more into the seat, making a show of getting more comfortable. The guy frowns, then closes his door. 

“You know what? Fine, guess I’m doing this now. But we gotta set some ground rules for this roadtrip, okay?” He points at Jason with his left hand, leaning over a little in what could have been intimidating if he didn’t look dead on his feet. Jason recognised the faint lichtenberg scarring on his finger. Recently electrocuted, and badly. “First, get your dirty ass boots off of the dash.” Jason obliges. “Thank you. Second, seatbelts stay on. I know how I drive, and it is not good.”

He emphasizes his point by buckling himself in and glaring at Jason until he does the same. 

“Third, um, I don’t have a third one.” He drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “Oh, tell me a name I can call you. Yeah, that’s the third.”

“Jason. What’s yours?” He should have hesitated. All bat protocol for getting into unmasked situations with a stranger determines giving a fake name, and to not even think about anything close to real. But he doesn’t. It doesn’t matter. This guy clearly doesn’t know who Red Hood is, if he doesn’t recognise the symbol, so Jason doubts he’d recognise the first name of Bruce Wayne’s dead son, and then connect the dots. 

“Danny.” Danny starts the truck and pulls back onto the empty road. It must be two or three in the morning at this point. Maybe later. “Hope you have an enhanced ID, ‘cause we’re going to Canada.”

Jason, in fact, does. Not one that has his name on it, and it’s for New York, but the picture looks similar enough.

~~

So the original idea for this was they head to a cabin aunt alicia has in canada, but I got like 2000 words into this then realized i didn't have the motivation to continue, plus i wasn't confident about the characterization (i'll admit i read the gotham war event in a vacuum) so i just scrapped it. But!! I figure i would post it here in case someone else wants to take the idea and run with it :P

[meatcatt]

throwing foam bricks at you and we'll see who pays the bills then <3

[fryday]

SLIME Behind The Scenes vs Final Shot

[dumblebumblebee]

no i genuinely think james wilson is insane and i will prove it right now. be amazed at my deductive reasoning.

in season two when wilson is temporarily staying with house as he looks for a new apartment, house ends up deleting a message from a realtor involving information regarding an available apartment wilson was interested in. we're led to believe that this is because house has realized that wilson staying with him means a cleaner environment and real food to eat, and he doesn't want to lose those perks.

but tbqfh i am almost positive that wilson did that on purpose. this man has his OWN phone, so why would he give out house's number for information that only pertains to him? he was 100% trying to gauge house's tolerance of him living there.

i mean, even in episode one it's explicitly stated that house shows affection through actions, rather than words. based on his actions, wilson knows that house cares about him, and also house likes to feel as though he is mischievous and one step ahead of everyone else at all times.

if house, for some reason (say, idk, delicious meals), changed his mind about wanting wilson to move out, would he really swallow his pride and ask wilson to stay? no he fucking would not. he could never admit that he actually is obsessed with wilson's cooking, because that is essentially saying that he's become dependent on something that someone who is NOT himself can provide.

so, instead of having a conversation like a sane person, wilson gave out house's number for information regarding his moving. This way, if house really wanted him to move out, he could shove the message in wilson's face. But, if not, he could start scheming like a cartoon villain for a devious little way to make sure wilson didn't have the opportunity. which is what happened.

wilson 100% orchestrated that entire interaction i am fucking positive

[galedekarios]

so. tara was supposed to be at camp at one point and have idle banter with gale:

edited to clarify: this appears to be cut content

[thekhaninglass]

The truth - as we have painstakingly established across the previous chapters - is this. There is no idea so grand that it may not be murdered one day in the slumber of its own complacence.

There is no tool which may not be repurposed, no meaning which will not turn to nonsense - given time.

Time is the cruellest and the kindest deity, for it mocks those who seek to triumph from it; for it suffers no power, humours no tyrant; it topples every great justice, dismembers reason, rots progress, forgets the stories we laid down at its feet.

@thesiltverses - Chapter 41

[tmntkiseki]

This entire scene makes me laugh harder than it should.

[stargirl230]

Special delivery!

Birthday card i made for a friend that i ended up really liking :)

(no reposts; reblogs appreciated)

[icewindandboringhorror]

I know this is just a silly bad quality random screencap of a screencap that I found on facebook lol, BUT it's a succinct enough image to easily describe the concept in a quick/accessible way hopefully :

-

(and of course, feel free to elaborate in tags, etc.! (especially elaborating about other senses as well.. can you "hear" in your mind just as well as you can "see"? taste? etc.) It's an interesting topic to me, as someone who's like a 4.5 at MOST lol. I'm curious what option will be the most common :0c )

[robinmage]

i know a lot of people are trying to put ivan and till's relationship and feelings into a clearer perspective but i think yall r forgetting that like. they were put into anact garden as children. their whole lives theyve only known other children and alien overlords. theyve probably never had an adult human to look up to. its only natural that the relationships they have with each other exceed the titles and definitions we're used to, because the conditions of their lives are fundamentally different than ours.

[weirderscience]

> people say a piece of media -isnt- influenced heavily by the author's personal life and biases > reads about the life and biases of the author to confirm or deny this > influence

[lurking-loaf]

Who is Sun's best friend? You are!

Day 1 of DCA Promptober - best friend