#so just oliver...

[real-fire-emblem-takes]

I'm convinced that the Fire Emblem fandom doesn't understand what the terms twink and bear mean.

A twink is a young, thin, usually lanky younger queer man.

A bear is a REALLY BIG, hairy queer man.

Most of the characters in Fire Emblem are neither.

.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Penelope's final gambit, you will always be famous, no matter the subtext.

[inbabylontheywept]

she was dead silent on the drive home, but that was okay. sometimes, after band practice, she was just out of words. it was a short drive to her house. the only part where it actually felt weird was after i pulled up her parent’s driveway. 

after that, the silence stretched so far it smeared and left a weird residue. she kept looking at the car door like she wanted to leave, so i looked at the door too, then she looked at me, and i looked at her, and my first thought was that she was going to tell me that the door was stuck. i was used to that car always doing some damn thing. it was the car me and all my siblings had learned to drive in, and it was really beat to hell. there were dents all over the body, which we’d unsuccessfully tried fixing up with spackle. it had looked nice for maybe a week, but then the sun wrecked it - the spackle cracked up like the mud on the bottom of a dry riverbed and turned a sort of off yellow-white that made the car looked like it had been molded out of chicken shit. it also had a bullet hole it through the cabin that whistled like a toothless old man whenever the car went above 40, so loud it could drown out the radio, and a cabin that smelled so strongly of bugspray that even the arizona summer we drove everywhere we could with the windows down.

(if you have kids one day, you will maybe, possibly, begin to understand how much i loved that car.)

anyway, i was thinking about what else could possibly be wrong with the chickenshitmobile, and she just kept looking at me, and then i wondered if there was something on my face, and she just kept looking at me, and then the penny dropped and i realized she was trying to work up the nerve to break up with me. 

now, i’d seen her work up the nerve to do things like this before – it could take quite a while. and knowing it was about to happen made the waiting immediately unbearable. 

so i said hey. 

and she looked at me, very startled, and said hey back real small. like she’d been caught. and in a way, i suppose she had. 

and i said it’s okay. you can just say it. i’ll be okay.

i’m always okay. 

and she said: i’m really sorry. 

i loved her, you know? it was highschool, but teenagers are capable of love. the way people love changes over time just as much as the way they stand, or the way they talk, but things don’t stop existing just because they're different. opposite really – a thing only stops changing when it's fully gone.

and i said, nothing to be sorry for, and i meant it. she looked a little relived, and i was happy to give her that peace. then she left. i watched her make it through the front door, because that was just habit at that point, and then i sat there a while afterwards, checking how i felt. and the answer was not good, but good enough to make it home. good enough to limp on. 

so i put my car in reverse, took my last look goodbye, and immediately backed into her neighbor’s car. 

crunch. 

air bags didn't go off, which was good. i left a decent dent in the bumper of the other car. genuinely couldn’t tell if i did anything to my car – anything wrong with it just kind of blended together into the general ecosystem of hand mottled, sun cracked, chickenshit spackle. 

i checked my glove box, and my car insurance info was, of course, out of date. my phone was dead too. as a teenager, my phone was less my lifeline to my friends, and more my tether to my parents, so i wasn’t particularly conscious of keeping it charged. both my fault.

i sat there a few minutes, trying to think of the best way to handle things, and there was only one answer i could think of, and i hated that answer, so i spent a few more minutes trying and failing to think of a better one, and then a few more coming to peace with what had to be done. 

then i went back to knock on my now ex’s front door. 

her dad opened, which i was very relieved over, even if he seemed less than thrilled. he looked me over, and in a firm, but slightly apologetic way said: she does not want to see you right now. 

(i think he assumed i was going to try and talk her out of the break up?)

and i said not here for her. i just backed into your neighbor’s car, and i need to call my dad, but my phone’s dead. could i borrow yours?

and he looked at me, then back at his neighbors car, which sure enough was dented, then he looked at the chickenshitmobile, and if there was something wrong with it, it just kind of blended into the general Wrongness of the car, then back to me, and i could see him imagining the last ten minutes from my pov: getting broken up with, backing into a car, having to walk up to your exes door and borrow a phone, calling my dad to tell him that i just reversed into someone.  

and his expression shifted from stern and apologetic to truly sad, which felt more kind that i deserved. things only got here because i kept fucking up - forgot to look behind me, forgot to replace the insurance forms, forgot to charge my phone. it was my mess, but his sympathy meant the world to me. i probably would’ve cried if he said sorry, or patted me on the back or called me sport, but instead he said

stay out here – i’ll bring you a phone.

and then he left.  

i found a nice spot on the lawn in the shade under a sycamore, then settled into his grass.i was trying not to freak out, and was doing an okay job. he came out a minute or so later, not just with a phone, but a juicebox and a jar of green olives, which really threw a wrench in the whole try not to cry thing. soon as i saw those, a few tears squoze out. i was still hoping i could pass them off as Manly Tears but then he told me that he’d gotten the olives a few weeks before and had been meaning to hand them off to me, and that this was his last chance for that. then i made a sound like a horse drowning in a bog, and he patted my back pretty rough, four solid thumps, like he wasn't sure if i was crying or choking on an olive, and was trying to cover both bases at once.

then he went back inside, and i made a few more bog horse noises while finishing off the rest of the entire jar of green olives, and then i called my dad.

he was about ten minutes away that day, and luckily was home. he drove over, and we went to the neighbor’s house, and from there things actually went quite nice. the neighbor was a retired man who actually said he could fix the dent himself, no need for insurance. he said he appreciated that i didn't just drive off, and i said i was really sorry about his car, and he said he was really sorry about my car, and then he gestured to the chickenshitmobile and i laughed because it really was a disaster on wheels.

then we left.

i thought we were going to head straight home, but instead we went to a gas station, and we both got several slim jims that we folded into thick enough coils that we could put them on a hotdog bun because the growing up mormon equivalent of having a sad brewski with your dad is just choosing to make bad decisions sober. then he took me to the canals and we watched the sun turn all orange and pink, and he looked over at me and said:

brains are good at remembering bad days. so you gotta make sure that a bad day has a good part in it, so you can remember that too. remember that when you have a kid. try to do a good job on days like that - they're going to be a big part of how they remember you.

and then he gave me a big hug and said he was never going to eat another slim jim again.

---

the year after that i went to college, which kicked my butt in new and exciting ways. and on a lot of those bad days, after a test that went sour, or a faux paus that was particularly embarrassing, or some other hardship of my new adult life, i’d stop by the gas station and pick up leathery, half jerkied hotdog before heading to the canals to watch the sun set. i’d take a bite and imagine my dad next to me, grimacing through the slim-jim wad, asking what good thing i was going use that time to remember. 

and in my head, i’d say you, dad. 

i’m going to remember you.

[gongyussy]

the bear is a comedy

[blaqcats-fics]

been thinking about jason being petty towards bruce. like, oh, you spend time with your other kids, but not me? tire privileges revoked! it would be over stupid shit too.

like there’s one time bruce decides to take damien to the movies, and jason is just beside himself.

like the conversation would be like:

JASON: So, let me get this straight—you took Damian to a movie.

BRUCE: He asked.

JASON: Oh, and I wouldn’t have wanted to see Kung Fu Panda 4 with you?!

BRUCE: You were busy.

JASON: Busy taking down a cartel. Which, by the way, I learned from you. I deserve quality time!

BRUCE: Jason—

JASON: No. No excuses. You’ll learn.

Jason storms off. Five minutes later, an alert pops up on the Batcomputer.

BATCOMPUTER: Warning: Batmobile rear tires have been removed.

BRUCE: …Jason.

Cut to Jason outside, rolling two Batmobile tires away, cackling.

[0leandermulch]

More s3 spoilers??)) But anyways I’m SO ready for the new episode,, excitedly waiting to see Cecil,,

[arkangelo-7]

It must be so fucking weird for Bruce and Oliver to be on the Justice League. Like here they are with a bunch of metahumans, aliens, wizards and gods and shit, and they’re literally just Two Dudes. I bet they side-eye the fuck out of each other during League meetings bc like what the actual fuck? how can this be my problem? I’m going to the chiropractor after this?

[littlefankingdom]

This man (Bruce) is so abnormal about parenthood and so intense about his love for Dick. "He's not my son, he's more than that" Son is not a strong enough word for what Dick is to him. And the last panel being Oliver with Roy, which is later, implying that Oliver finally understood wtf was Bruce talking about when he got Roy, being like "wtf does his weird bs make sense?!?"

But also, a part of it may come from how Dick wasn't comfortable with becoming Bruce's son, so Bruce got used to immediately correcting people when they called him his father or Dick his son because he doesn't want Dick to overhear it and be hurt (a lot of people in the fandom seems to forget that it was Dick who did not want to be adopted and who was against Bruce being his father. Of course, that changed with time, but Bruce respecting that is great and not "bad parenting". A foster parent should never force a kid to accept them as their father/mother)

[localraccconn]

barry keoghan u lil freak i love u so much

[mid-knight-black]

Eddie was basically like “so when can i have my husband back?” 😭😭😭

[the doctors & nurses totally think these two are married atp 🤭]

[louferrignojrofficial]

this moment has had me in a chokehold for hours

[stevenrogered]

Evan Buckley + tumblr users tags about his lil pink cardigan 

[emziess]

911 - BTS - One word to describe Jennifer Love Hewitt

[bucketbarness]

what the FUCK is in the water this week? first we had ghosts winning an award, 911 bts, destiel went canon like 5 times due to the OFFICIAL spn youtube channel, Jensen proof of life, buddie and destiel both being mentioned in jeopardy, rings of power season 3 confirmed, ostark basically confirming buddie, ostark and Noah Kahan crossover, and now Chris Eccleston and Billie Piper reunion?

good lord I just keep winning aye I genuinely cannot keep up with all that's happening

[thebrainrotsreal]

Honestly a bit disappointed with the new episode, so recovering with single, stepped up Dad of the year: Mark Grayson my love. Why they denied me the beauty of throwing a child at this guilt magnet will forever elude me </3

[chimielie]

another one of your roommate’s hookups is drinking your oat milk.

he eyes you appreciatively, his eyes tracking your legs, covered only by a low-slung pair of sleep shorts, up to where your tank top bares your shoulders and little clavicle divot. you frown at him and slam the cabinet shut so he jumps a little and sloshes coffee over the rim of his mug.

“hey,” he says, “i’m oliver.” when you don’t say anything, he continues: “i’m a friend of himari.”

you snort. friend. he still has her lipstick print on his neck. he’s still looking at you expectantly with a pair of long-lashed heterochromatic eyes so startling they’re almost beautiful, so you take pity and tell him your name.

“you’re up early. i heard you guys come in pretty late last night.”

“ah, yeah,” he scratches the back of his neck, a sheepish gesture, but he somehow doesn’t look shy at all. maybe because you can tell that he’s flexing as he does it. “sorry about that.”

“eh,” you shrug it off, “i was up anyway. cramming, you know.”

you were reading romance manga, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“oh, so you’re a student! i bet you could teach me some things, then.” you turn your back to sit at the kitchen island and try not to let him see you smiling at his total corniness before you sit facing him. he’s so blatant it flips the corner back to endearing. “i play pro football. i’m used to getting up early for practice.”

and to leave before my hookups wake up, you read between the lines.

“cool.” it is, actually.

you’re leaning across the island with your elbows propping you up, not noticing how focused you are on the bob of his throat as he finishes up his coffee. you flutter your lashes, eyes wide as he crosses his arms and does the same, bent at the waist so you’re almost nose to nose, bridging the countertop.

“right! so i was thinking i could give you—“

“is it supposed to look like that?” you blurt, brain momentarily overwhelmed by the minty smell of his breath and the way you can almost feel his lips against yours. he backs up slightly, more than half an inch between you now.

“what?” he has a bemused half-smile on, like he thinks he should be turned off by your bedhead and bluntness but is too intrigued to care.

“your beard. is it supposed to be shaped like that?”

he blinks.

“what is it shaped like? is it bad?” he scrubs a hand over the facial hair in question, suddenly looking so concerned you almost feel bad. it was a genuine question.

you don’t normally go for guys with beards, but he really is good-looking under all the rakishness.

“it’s not bad,” you shrug. “you look kind of like a dog. scruffy. in a good way.”

“that doesn’t sound like it’s in a good way,” he says, aggrieved. “it’s supposed to be handsome. mature.”

that rips a laugh from you. “it’s definitely not giving that.” he makes a noise that almost sounds like a sob. you wonder if all football players are this dramatic.

your roommate chooses that moment to start making waking-up noises from the room oliver left open, and he glances at you with panicky eyes. they’re almost hypnotic as his gaze darts between you and the door.

“better get going,” you laugh. “see you on the sports channel, maybe.”

he whips around, stuffing a pair of keys in his pocket and heading for the exit. he turns around with his hand on the knob, pointing at you.

“come see a game in person. i’ll tell ‘em to let the prettiest girl in for free.”