#why can’t they just have a weird thing going on?! can’t that be enough for you people

[unlikelycupcaketrash]

You want more?

I gotchu

(It’s all Danny and Lancer with the Waynes crack) (probably)

New rare pare just dropped??? Why do I kinda love Bruce/lancer

what is Mr lancers first name?? *one google search later* we don’t know but it starts with an L :/

I dub thee: Lucas

Lucas “Luke” Lancer (hell yeah, alliteration!)

So anyway Tim and Danny meet and are suspicious of each others odd behavior but ultimately end up with a more or less “I don’t ask questions about where you sneak off to and your spontaneously unimportant injuries and you don’t ask about me and mine yeah? Alr.” Type relationship, and actually hang out a lot.

The first few times Tim asked Danny about that Danny would always say that “you haven’t unlocked enough of my backstory” and move on. Tim doesn’t like this but he gave up on trying because he cant find anything weird about his paper trail and Danny’s a chill guy so it’s probably fine, I mean it not like he’s a vigilante right?

In the show his top speed was 112 mph so ima say he keeps improving his speed as he goes back n forth from Gotham to amity because let’s be so fr Valarie is handling most of the ghosts but there are some nights where it gets too much and she hast to call in backup, and by some nights I mean twice a month at least. What can I say? Amity park ghosts are mean and don’t care about your education

After Jason gets back whatever plot shenanigans you want make it so that lancer is checking up on Danny at the same time Jason has to pick up Tim for whatever and Jason recognizes Lucas but he doesn’t recognize jay yet (he will later), see where I’m going with this? Ok so they get talking (the literature nerds) and Jason decides to double down on shipping Luke with Bruce. Bruce could seriously use the normal and positive influence and hey he’s good with kids so why not? It’ll be funny!

How could he do this the most efficiently, effectively and flamboyantly?? A gala probably, but first Bruce and lancer need to be to the level of friends where they would interact/maybe even seek each other out at a high society event, so *sigh* I guess he’s going to have to invite Danny and lancer to a family dinner or something, but he’s not close enough to either of them do do that without it being weird! His whole plan is falling apart!

Oh Timmy!!!!!~~ has Jason ever mentioned that your his favorite brother?? and he’ll give you his desert at the monthly family dinners for three months if you do this one little thing for him?

So Danny ends up being invited to a Wayne dinner and oh Mr. Lancer you come in too, you came all this way, we insist! (He realizes Jason is Jason Wayne at the dinner btw)

Tim is floundering around Danny because this is the first time Danny looks well rested and with actually styled but also messy hair and what the fuck that’s his roommate! He has no right to look this cute! Tim can see his freckles instead of the ever-present eye-bags and-! wait what why is his heart beating so fast, he’s been trained by the bat! A cute boy should not be able to affect him as much as it is. He need to do some more heart rate exercises because why is Danny so cute all of a sudden and maybe it’s one of his meta powers? No they’re roommates, they live together, he would’ve noticed, and now he’s spiraling but he can’t really stop and-

Bruce is similarly struggling but he can deal with it by being such a clueless bimbo and tired dad because why are so many of his kids here? It’s not even the monthly dinner yet? Is it because of Danny and Lucas? It probably is, he should invite them over more, jay is here and talking passionately about whatever lit thing with Lucas and he will totally invite Luke over more, I mean see how much he cares about his kids? Gah he’s just so perfect- wait what?

DCxDP: The Roomate

Despite all their madness, it's no secret in Amity Park that the Fentons are certified geniuses. When Maddie and Jack Fenton first move to town, they are all anyone can talk about.

Maddie was well known among women because, at the time, women in STEM were rare, and it was even rarer for them to actually gain recognition for their efforts. Her work, confusing to most of the public, meant a lot to the women in Amity Park.

Before she arrived, she had been featured in three separate magazines: one for science, another for sponsoring a scholarship for STEM women, and the last for her inventions of self-defense accessories to arm young women. Yes, most didn't know about her until they learned that she was moving into their small town, but that was beside the point.

Her husband was a little less known, but it came as no surprise that he was also said to be rumored as a well-educated man. He had two PhDs. Two.

At the time, almost everyone in Amity Park had a high school diploma, the highest degree level of the masses. Sure, some well-off families could send their children four towns away to the closest college, but it was rare.

It was also a privilege—a means to show off at the annual street market, where the proud mothers would smugly describe their children's dorm rooms or majors to the tightly smiling neighbors.

In the early eighties, having a higher education made people appear more respected, and here was Jack Fenton, a man who had two Ph.D.s and was rumored to be working on his third. The man who had bought out the old Steward faculty building by the main street was having a crew removed into a home/laboratory.

Everyone buzzed for weeks about the new neighbors, and sharing any new details about them was exciting. It may be strange to people outside their little town, but with a population size of at least five thousand (at least in the eighties when the Fentons arrived. and the population grew well into the thousands when Axion Labs was built), news of changes was rare and few in between.

Amity Park didn't have big-shot names on their roads, much less stay to live. Heck, they only recently started getting a carnival to go by, and that was at least seventeen years since the Fentons moved in.

So, it was no surprise that Fenton's daughter showed just as large a brain as she did. Yes, the Fentons were less academic types than they were expecting, showing a rather odd obsession with the paranormal, but no one could deny their ability to build anything.

The Fenton boy was the only one who didn't live up to the family name. Danny was on the right path until Freshman year, when his grade rapidly dropped to the bottom of his class, he vanished for hours on end and went into destructive fits randomly.

He has been found among enough rooms ripped apart to know that Fenton was out of control. School staff spoke to Mr. and Mrs. Fenton often, and the two parents genuinely seemed to take their conversations to heart, attempting to instill better behavior within Danny.

Nothing seems to work. No grounding, detentions, community work, or group meetings seem to get through the boy's head. The Fentons were at their wit's end with their youngest. Mrs. Fenton, fretting that her son had never behaved like this.

Then, ghost attacks started appearing around the same time to make things worse. While the town laughed at them at first, everyone quickly realized the Fentons were one of the few who could provide defense against the ghosts. Throughout more and more attacks, the people started to defer to the Fentons in times of crisis.

The people who once booed them now rallied around them, and it took no time for everyone to acknowledge that the Fentons were now among the highest in the town's social ladder.

That came with some benefits.

"Are you sure this would help Danny?" Maddie asks, staring at the pamphlet in obvious doubt.

"Mrs. Fenton, I assure you that I would not have recommended Daniel for the program if I didn't think it would help him," Mr. Lancer responds with great patience. "It is apparent that he is dealing with something that needs more support than the school staff can provide."

"But to send him away?" Jack cuts in, looking close to tears.

"Don't think of it as sending him away. Think of it as putting him in an environment that can help him. Frankly, Daniel is struggling here. He's been having more and more destructive fits, his teachers have noticed he's paying less and less attention in class, and a few students have even approached me saying he seems to be hiding weapons in his bag."

"Weapons?" Maddie gasps. "Our Danny?"

"Rest assured, we have done searches and investigations as these accusations are not accepted without reason. Daniel does not seem to have any on him, but I worry he may be facing severe bullying if children were willing to lie about something so serious." Mr. Lacner sooth swiftly. He sighed, leaning back in his seat as neither adult looked particularly happy by his words. "The staff and I attempt to step in when we can, but bullies always find ways to slip past us. For example, bothering him off campus. I just think Daniel will be better away from those causing him harm, especially if he really is dealing with a previously unknown mental illness."

He pulls out more pamphlets, one with testimonies from previous program participants. When Lancer left Amity Park for college, he never planned to return. He got his teaching degree alongside his associates in English and History.

Lancer had taught at a different school, a more well-known and better-funded school, but he missed his small town. He missed the neighborly people, the less noise, and Amity's clean, crisp air. He found himself quitting his Gotham Academy job in Grades six to eight, moved back home, and attempted to drag Casper High out of its failing pit.

He still struggled as the school couldn't find enough teachers. He taught four different subjects—math, History, English, and Science—whenever he could, and there was almost no funding.

But Casper High was slowly getting better every year due to the connections Lancer had made in his seven-year tenure as a Gotham Acadamy Professor. One of these connections was the father of his favorite English student.

Bruce Wayne.

Mr. Wayne attended every single one of Jason's plays, and as the Drama Club sponsor, Mr. Lancer would chat with him. Most people knew Wayne was an airhead, but Wayne was delightful to be around. Like Mr. Lancer, he cared deeply about education and always took the teacher's suggestions to bring up at PTA meetings.

When Lancer chose to move back to Amity, Jason was devastated and insisted he had Bruce's number. It was heavily implied that the board wanted Lancer gone due to his "questionable" teaching plan—he tried to teach empathy a little too much, according to some parents—and the boy thought his sudden departure was due to this.

Mr. Wayne assured him if he had been let go or pressured into leaving, he would provide Lancer with an entire team of lawyers. Touching as it was, Lancer assured them he was leaving on his own accord.

He contacted Mr. Wayne, asking for advice on how to apply for school grants or any other tips the billionaire could give him. The man was the most involved Father Lancer had ever met, including fundraising and supporting art programs.

Casper High had been this close to removing Band, Drama, Cheerleading, soccer, and Baseball because it needed more money to afford them. Not to mention all the other clubs that had vanished when Lancer was a Casper student. Bruce was happy to help him save the programs for the students.

It was the main reason Lancer was made vice principal so quickly. He was basically keeping Casper High running.

Two years later, he heard the news that Jason had been murdered. It shattered Lancer's heart. He went to the funeral and watched Mr.Wayne slowly fall apart. Even as he returned home, he tried to reach out to the man whenever he could.

It may have felt different to the other man, but Lancer always thought they were friends. Eventually, Mr. Wayne bounced back—never forgot—from Jason's death, and slowly, the gap between them was reconnected.

The reason for Mr. Wayne's mental recovery was the one that suggested this program. He had personally invited Mr. Lancer to send Daniel.

"Tim Drake is a brilliant boy," Mr. Lancer continued, watching the two couples struggle to decide. "His team is filled with trained psychologists, he has the facilities to deal with Meta children, and Daniel won't be uncomfortable rooming with him as a teenager himself."

Maddie looks at Jack, but while she sees the hurt in his eyes, she also sees his resolve. "Alright, we'll send Danny to the Meta Mentoring Program. It's what's best."

"I'll let Mr. Drake know he'll have a roommate."

[blackenedsnow]

thin as air

WARNING: Mentions of anorexia and body dysmorphia, violence, injury, unhealthy relationships, dark themes, rough handling, unhealthy attachment.

PAIRING: Art the Clown x Anorexic! Reader

NOTE: Hey, just sharing this because i know a lot of us are going through it too. It’s very scary. I’m in a rough spot myself so i wanted to write something that might feel like a weird kind of comfort, even if it’s dark and messy. Remember, it’s fiction; take care of yourself. Love you all, take what you need <3 (Also this is in first person.)

SUMMARY: Art’s affection is all-consuming, and you don’t quite understand why you’re the object of his twisted love. There is NOTHING sexual even if it may sound like it!!

Sometimes, I wonder if Art even knows what I am – this mess of bones, thin skin, hollow eyes. I see the way he looks at me, with that dead, unwavering gaze of his. The way his black-rimmed eyes flicker over my body, taking in every protruding rib, every visible vein. It’s like he’s fascinated by me, by this shell of a person I’ve become.

And honestly? I’m just as fascinated by him.

I don’t know how it happened. I don’t know why it happened. I don’t even know if Art knows why he’s here with me, this painted monster, this creature who has taken me as his own. He’s rough, always has been – he’s broken one of my bones before. My wrist, I think it was, his grip too tight in one of his fits of… whatever it is he feels. Love, rage, lust? I don’t know. I don’t think Art knows either. But he’s always there, his hands wandering over me like he can’t get enough, even as he’s hurting me.

It’s like he’s drawn to my fragility.

I guess that’s the irony. I’m so close to death already, bones so thin you could snap them with a careless touch, a body starved down to the barest scraps. Sometimes I think that’s what he’s here for – to watch me die slowly, to revel in the sight of me wasting away. I wonder if that’s the appeal, the reason he never leaves.

But then he’ll reach out, his hand cupping my cheek with a gentleness I didn’t know he was capable of. And I realize – no. That’s not it at all. He’s here because he loves me. Art loves me.

It doesn’t make sense. But it doesn’t have to. Not to him, not to me.

I think he likes the sharp edges of my bones, the way my body feels fragile beneath his hands. There’s something about the way he touches me, careful sometimes, rough others, like he’s afraid I’ll break if he’s not careful – but sometimes he forgets. Sometimes he’ll grip me too tight, his fingers pressing into my skin with enough force to leave bruises, marks that will linger for days.

Once, when he’d been particularly careless, I felt something crack beneath his fingers. The pain had been sharp, sudden, and I’d cried out, my voice weak, but he’d just stared, his head tilting to the side as if he were studying a work of art. And maybe, to him, I am. A fragile, breakable thing, something he can hold in his hands and twist, bend to his will.

But he’d stopped then, his hands falling away, his eyes wide with something like surprise. He hadn’t meant to hurt me.

The thing is, I love him too. Maybe that’s the sickest part of it all, the fact that I look at him, at this monster who kills without remorse, who breaks me without meaning to, and I feel something like warmth in my chest. I don’t know why. I don’t know why I feel this way, why I keep letting him touch me, hold me, break me.

Maybe it’s because he sees me. In his own strange way, Art sees me. He sees the parts of me that I try to hide, the emptiness that gnaws at me from the inside, the hunger that never seems to go away. He sees the hollowness in my eyes, the way I wither away piece by piece, and he doesn’t turn away. He doesn’t tell me to stop, doesn’t tell me I need to eat, to get better.

He just… stays.

I don’t think I’ll ever understand it. But in a way, it’s comforting. Because in his silence, in his wordless presence, I find a strange sense of belonging. I find a twisted kind of love, the kind that doesn’t judge, that doesn’t demand anything of me except to exist. To be here, with him, in whatever form I am.

And maybe that’s enough.

Sometimes, when he’s lying beside me, his hand resting on my hip, his touch feather-light as if he’s afraid to press down too hard, I’ll close my eyes and pretend that he’s human. That he’s just a man, lying beside me, his warmth seeping into my skin. But then I’ll feel his fingers tighten, his grip growing possessive, and I’m reminded of what he is – a killer, a creature who takes lives without a second thought.

But he doesn’t take mine.

No matter how close I get, no matter how many times I think this is it, that I’ll finally slip away, he’s always there. Sometimes I wonder if he’d let me die if I truly wanted to, if he’d just sit back and watch as I faded into nothing. But I think he’d fight for me. I think he’d drag me back, kicking and screaming, because he loves me.

I feel his hands on me again, his touch rough and insistent, and I can feel the bruises blooming beneath his fingers, but I don’t mind. I welcome the pain, the reminder that I’m still here, still alive. And in that moment, with his body pressed against mine, I don’t feel empty. I feel full, filled with something dark and consuming, something that threatens to swallow me whole.

And maybe that’s the real reason he’s here – not to watch me die, but to keep me alive.

The days blend together when he’s gone. Time’s got this funny way of stretching and folding over on itself in his absence, like the hours are conspiring to keep me waiting. I lose track of them – they bleed together in a mess of dark corners and quiet. Every so often, I glance over at the door, waiting for him to appear in that grimy frame, caked in blood and staring with that quiet, maddening intensity. But every time, there’s just silence. And the longer he’s gone, the more I start to wonder if maybe this is it.

If maybe, he’s not coming back.

I tell myself that’s probably a good thing. That maybe he’s off killing for good this time, slipping into someone else’s nightmare. And yet, there’s this ache that gnaws at me, dull and hollow, a feeling like missing something I never thought I’d have. Because even as he breaks me, even as he holds me with a grip that threatens to splinter bone, Art feels like the only real thing in my life. The only solid, terrifying constant.

So when the door finally creaks open, it feels like time itself stops – or maybe, like it finally begins to move again.

He steps inside, dragging a heavy, metallic scent of blood with him, his face painted in his usual grin but with something else lurking beneath. Something dark, simmering – anger. But it’s not at me; I know that look. And on his head, absurdly, he’s wearing a Santa hat, the red fluff soaked a deep maroon where it caught a spatter of blood.

I almost laugh. He looks unhinged and festive all at once, as if he’s ripped the hat off some poor soul in the middle of one of his routines. Art stands there, his eyes narrowing as they settle on me, like he’s deciding something. But even angry, even with whatever it is simmering beneath the surface, I know he wouldn’t hurt me. Not on purpose.

He prowls toward me, closing the distance in a way that has my heart stumbling over itself, and I’m caught between fear and comfort. I sit up, my mouth dry as I watch him approach, swallowing hard against the question that’s been burning in me since he left.

“I didn’t… I didn’t think you’d come back.” My voice cracks, barely more than a whisper.

He stops, staring down at me, his mouth stretching wider into that unsettling smile. Art doesn’t talk, but his eyes – there’s something fierce and sharp in them, a promise I can feel. He tilts his head, raising one finger, wagging it back and forth like he’s scolding me for even thinking it. Like the very idea of him leaving for good is ridiculous.

And maybe it is. Maybe Art’s always going to come back, no matter how many people he kills or how far he roams.

I’m still staring at that absurd hat, unable to help myself. “…Did you kill Santa?”

He gives a low, soundless laugh, his shoulders shaking as he reaches up and tips the hat toward me, his face stretching wider in a mockery of something playful. It’s disturbing and almost sweet all at once, like a monster trying to be human. He’s close now, and I can feel the roughness of his gloved hand as he brushes it over my cheek, trailing down to the sharp line of my jaw. His touch is careful, just enough pressure to remind me he’s here – and that I’m his.

“What?” I say, my voice shaky but edged with a faint smile. “You bring me a Christmas hat instead of a present?”

He rolls his eyes, shaking his head as he lifts his hand, holding it up as if to say ‘wait.’ Then he reaches behind him, pulling something from the garbage bag he always carries around. It’s a small, battered box, dented and stained but unmistakably a gift.

I look at him, surprised, and he just grins wider, holding it out. My hands shake as I take it, heart pounding as I pry the lid open. Inside is… a ring. Old and tarnished, probably pried off a victim. But it’s beautiful.

He watches as I slide it on, something warm flickering in his eyes – if anything warm could ever live in those black pits. There’s no need for words. His gaze says it all, a silent declaration that I’m his and he’s mine, even if it makes no sense, even if it’s a nightmare stitched together by blood and broken bones.

The absurdity of it hits me, and I laugh, feeling lighter than I have in ages. “Guess this makes it official, huh?”

Art raises one hand in a mock toast, his grin impossibly wide, and for a second, the air between us feels almost… normal. Like we’re two people who understand each other in a way no one else could.

[wonsdoll]

A STONER’S GUIDE TO GET THE GIRL › LHS

TIP 8: totally ditch the boys for her

you walk up to the table heeseung was sitting at, he was accompanied by beomgyu and sunghoon. your cheeks flashed shades of pink from embarrassment, hoping you didn’t ruin their day. quickly, the boys eyes gazed on your body, not looking away once. their eyes quickly met with yours.

“hey y/n what’re you doing out here on this nice day?” beomgyu asks, taking a bite of his chocolate chip cookie.

“oh umm.. me and yunjin were about to go shopping, we just wanted some coffee..” you looked at them, hoping to end the conversation quick.

yunjin leans in close to whisper. “i know you want some alone time, i got you.” she pulls back, you turn around and mouth “no”, but you know your best friend can’t take no for an answer.

“hey hoon and gyu.. can you come help me with my car? i need help.” yunjin asks, hoping the two boys would quickly catch up on her signal. the two boys got up from the table “be back hee.” they said, walking behind yunjin ask they leave the cafe.

heeseung leaned back against the chair, glancing at you as you sit in sunghoon’s chair. “you know.. it’s weird how different i feel nowadays.” he looks at you, a soft vulnerable look in his eyes. “ever since i quit, things have been very different.”

you felt your heart melt, remembering the way he confessed the reason as to why he was quitting in the first place. “that’s really great, heeseung.” you smiled, your smile fading out a little. “it’s not an easy thing.. making that choice.”

heeseung smiled shyly, his fingers tracing around the rim of his hot latte cup. “yeah it’s definitely not easy..but uh..” he hesitated for a moment, debating whether he should continue. “i guess i just kept thinking about you.”

you couldn’t help but smile at his words. “well, for the record, i think you’re doing amazing so far.” you reach for his hand, gently squeezing it.

you spent hours talking to heeseung, his eyes never left yours. his gaze of love only grew stronger every time you laughed, everytime your arms touched or the space between you only minimized. soon enough, heeseung was close to you, almost as close as that one night back at his place.

“i missed this.. being with you, and being so close to you.” you confessed, a streak of pink hitting your cheeks as you realized what you had said.

“i miss you too, princess.” heeseung quickly responded, not realizing what he had just said. “i mean..y/n.”

silence quickly grew between you and heeseung, leaving you both staring at each other as the clock ticked slower than it originally was. it was starting to get dark out, soon night took over the once bright blue sky.

“do you wanna go back to my place?” heeseung asks, zero hesitation in his voice.

“yes.” you quickly responded, without even thinking. you heart raced as you had no clue what may happen tonight.

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[bqstqnbruin]

Just Friends - Part 1

Hello friends here we are with a new/old fic. like I said with the prologue, this is a rewrite of a fic I started back in 2021 so here we go

General Warnings for all parts: Swearing, drinking, sex, parental death, panic attacks

WC: 4147

Read the prologue here

____________________________________________

The last thing Emeline wanted to find when she got home from work that day was Francesca and Maddy in their apartment with the music so loud she could feel the vibrations through the door. If their neighbors hadn’t complained yet, as someone did just about every single time the two of them were home with Emeline with them, there was no doubt they were going to. The fact that they hadn’t gotten kicked out of the building was baffling, if Emeline had to admit it.

“There’s no way you can hear anything,” Emeline yells over the music, dropping her bag on the floor and kicking off her shoes.

“What?” Fran yells back, she and Maddy showing no care to the fact that Emeline was unusually late getting home and dancing to Maddy’s ‘feral pop punk garage rats’ playlist that Emeline didn’t need to hear right now.

Emeline reaches over to their speaker and turns the music down a little, ignoring Maddy and Fran’s protests. “Why is it so loud?”

“Music is meant to be heard,” Maddy protests. 

“Yeah, heard, not blowing out your ear drums.” 

“Aw, did someone have a hard day at school?” Fran teases, giving her roommate a playful shove on the shoulder.

“Notice what time it is?” Emeline gestures to the clock she had hung over the TV when they first moved in, 8:15 flashing on it when she normally got home around 5:30 every day.

The three of them sit down in their living room, Maddy on the floor, Fran in the chair she had claimed as hers for the last two years, and Emeline cross-legged on the couch, the music just loud enough that Emeline could still feel the vibrations the sound waves were sending through the apartment, not helping the growing dehydration headache she had.

Emeline recounts her day, from the lab that she had set up the night before for her honors students somehow dismantled and parts of it thrown out, knowing that the janitorial staff had a habit of mistaking some of her lab equipment as garbage at times, which meant she had to scramble to reset it before her AP students showed up to review for the test they had that day. The two free periods she was banking on using to take down the honors lab and set up the college-prep lab she wanted to do last period were both taken away because everyone in her department was getting sick, so she had to go cover other classes and use that time to plan out a new lesson for them for last period. Then, since she can’t say no to her students and they found out she played lacrosse in college, she then had to go to practice despite the fact that their season was in the spring, and it was fall. Once that was over, she finally had time to set up the lab, forgetting that she also still needed to prep for the next school day. 

“So what you’re saying is, we’re ordering pizza, drinking wine, and definitely getting drunk this weekend,” Maddy says, already tapping away on her phone their usual pizza orders.

“Have fun with that. Keelan is coming over tonight, too.” Her roommates groan at the mention of her boyfriend's name. “We haven’t seen each other in two weeks since that weird conversation about the guy in the elevator. Order his pizza, too.” 

“I knew I was happier these last two weeks,” Fran snides. Maddy and Fran had a strong dislike for Keelan since the four of them met during their freshman year of college. No matter how often they were together, no matter what he did for the girls, they never warmed up to him. 

“Knock it off,” Emeline tells them, getting drowned out by Maddy turning the music back up, louder than it was when Emeline first walked into the apartment. Emeline groans, lying down on the cushions and putting one of the pillows over her face. She really wanted to just go to her room and rot in her bed by herself after the day she had. If Keelan wasn’t coming over, she could have changed into one of the hoodies and pairs of sweatpants she had stolen from him and sat in the dark with something on Netflix that she wouldn’t pay attention to playing in the background.

“Do you guys hear that?” Maddy asks, pulling Emeline out of the trance she fell into. “Is someone knocking at the door?”

“We would know if the music wasn’t so loud,” Emeline mutters, definitely not loud enough for either of them to hear it.

“Nose goes,” Fran says, her and Maddy holding their finger to their nose like children, pointing at Emeline to get up from the couch. “Have fun, Em.”

“I bet it’s Mrs. MacGregor,” Maddy laughs, their senile downstairs neighbor constantly coming over to tell them that they were walking too loud and it was disturbing her parrot.

“If it is, you’re buying dinner this weekend,” Emeline calls, hoping their eighty something year old neighbor wasn’t on the other side of the door. “Oh, hi.”

Two guys she was sure she had never seen in the building before were standing in front of her, practically towering over her. “Your music is kind of loud,” one of them says, his cheeks turning red, shoving his hands in his pockets like he was afraid to tell her. There was something about him that she found endearing. His beard was a different shade than the rest of his hair, adding to his charm, the nervous shake of his voice making her wish she met him in a different circumstance. If she wasn’t in a ‘murder everyone’ type of mood, she would have actually wanted to be nice to him. 

“No, it is loud,” the other says, clearly not amused with his friend trying to sugarcoat the subject as Emeline makes a face at them. There was something about them that made her briefly think that they were brothers, cousins, some sort of genetic relationship had to exist between them. Either that or they were both just guys with brown hair and she was too tired to comprehend anything else.

“I know.” The shorter her answers, the shorter their conversation, right?

“Who is it?” she hears Fran calling from her chair. Emeline can picture the smug faces they had as they hoped it was Emeline who had to deal with Mrs. MacGregor and not them.

“People telling us your music is too loud.” 

“Tell them to come in and say it to our faces.” 

Emeline rolls her eyes at her roommates' antics, gesturing to the strangers to come in despite not knowing who they are or why they were in their building in the first place. “They could be murders that you’re inviting in,” she points out.

“We aren’t murderers,” the nervous one says to her before turning to Fran and Maddy once she leads them into their living room. “We aren’t murderers.”

“We just got back from a trip that was way too long. We’re eating dinner and then going to bed, but we can’t do that if the music is too loud,” the other one says. 

Maddy scoffs, finally turning the music low enough that Emeline can finally think without the music interrupting her thoughts. “Who are you, anyway?”

“Murderers,” Emeline mumbles, reclaiming her spot back on the couch.

“We’re your neighbors. I’m John, this is Jeremy.”  

“Well, John, Jeremy,” Fran starts, leaning forward on her chair, “We were just about to order pizza. Want to join us?”

Emeline glares at Fran. She knows what a long day means for Emeline’s social battery. She knows that there is nothing more that Emeline wants than to go to her room and go to bed, Keelan coming over or not. 

The nervous one, Jeremy, starts to stammer. “Uh, no, it’s fine. She doesn’t really look like she’s in the mood for company, we don’t want to bother you.”

“If you’re buying, I’ll eat,” John shrugs, plopping down on the floor next to Maddy as she hands him her phone to put in what he wants. 

“Johnny, we can’t.”

“Emeline is fine. She’s just grumpy,” Fran mocks her. Emeline throws the pillow at her, silently wishing she had something harder. “Exhibit A.”

“It’s been a long day.” 

“Ours was longer,” John counters.

“It’s not a competition,” she shoots back. Before they can say anything else, she gets up, leaving the four of them in the living room. She didn’t need this. Her room was calling. Her sweatpants and sweatshirt were on her bed waiting to be changed into. 

Someone knocks at her door just as she pulls the sweatshirt over her head. She really wasn’t in the mood for Fran to just barge in like she did. “Can you at least be nice to them for like, an hour? They’re cute. And Jeremy seems to be nervous around you,” Fran tells her in a sing-songy voice. 

“So?”

“He likes you.”

Emeline scoffs, tying the strings on her hoodie just the way she likes them. “He just met me.” 

“He said he’s seen you around the building and he’s been wanting to talk to you.”

“So he’s a stalker. How does that get brought up in the less than five minutes I’ve been in here, anyway?”

“Jesus, Emeline. Not everyone is looking to commit a felony.” Emeline avoids looking at her roommate, really just wanting to be left alone. “The pizza is gonna be here soon, the guys are nice, and I’ll even be nice to Keelan when he comes if you come back.” 

“You’re annoying.”

“And you love me, anyway,” Fran tells her, throwing her arm around Emeline and dragging her back out to the living room, finding Jeremy on the couch still looking nervous when she comes back.

Emeline sits down on the other end of the couch, tucking her feet under her. She tries not to stare at the two of them in their apartment, but Fran was right, they are cute. John looks a little younger than the three of them, but Jeremy is about the same age, she guessed. There was something familiar about both of them, though. 

“So, uh, Emeline,” Jeremy starts, not making eye contact with Emeline. “Fran and Maddy said that you’re a teacher?” 

“She teaches chemistry.” 

“I can speak for myself, you know,” Emeline tells Maddy. 

“Not according to that one guy,” Fran points out, she and Maddy exchanging knowing looks about the one coworker that Emeline hated talking about the most just as her phone vibrates.

Her roommates really did forget that she can order sulfuric acid with a few clicks of a button on her computer.

“Should we ask?” John asks, noticing the scowl that was forming on Emeline’s face.

She rolls her eyes, knowing that thanks to her roommates, these guys would find out anyway, checking her phone and groaning, throwing it to the side. She was outside contract hours, he couldn’t make her work. “My department head is a dick. He takes my lessons and my labs and passes them as his own because he claims his ‘department head duties take up so much of his time he can’t plan on his own.’ He just texted me asking what I was teaching to college-prep so we’re ‘on the same page.’” 

“Do you think he’s the one who took apart the lab you set up yesterday?” Maddy asks, Emeline noticing she stole a glance of Johnny while saying it.

“Either him or our custodial staff thought some of it was actual garbage so they threw it out,” she shrugs. “Which, reminds me, I have to order more filter paper tomorrow, remind me to do that.”

Fran and Maddy exchange looks, both of them knowing that they were going to forget to tell her, scrambling for their phones to put a reminder in for themselves.

“That sucks,” is all Jeremy can add, still not looking at her.

Emeline shrugs, her phone buzzing beside her, probably another text from Anderson. “Eh, I have some of the guys in the department who try to stick up for me, and my students seem to like me, so who cares?” 

“One thing you’ll learn about Em is that part of being a teacher is that she can never check out from being one,” Maddy explains, Johnny being the one to steal a glance at her this time. “It’s constant.” 

Fran, Maddy and John fall into conversation, Emeline trying to process that even though she knew it was true, while Jeremy just sat there awkwardly on the couch next to her not saying a word. Emeline was getting more tired by the minute, and Jeremy was still too nervous to say anything to her.

“You left the door unlocked again,” they hear, interrupting their conversation. Fran and Maddy roll their eyes, Emeline’s anxiety growing suddenly as Keelan lets himself into their apartment. “Do you know how many people could just walk by and rob you when you do that? I’ve told you not to -oh, hi.” Keelan stands there, clearly expecting to only lecture the girls about their door. His face turns red, a cup from Dunkin in his hands.

“Keel, this is Jeremy and John, they’re our neighbors,” Emeline explains as he walks over to her, kissing the top of her head and handing her the drink. Emeline took a sip, grimacing at the tea he had brought her, way too sweet for her own taste despite the fact that she had told him multiple times she didn’t like sugar in her coffee or tea.

“Huh, it’s like a triple date,” he says, leaving to drop his bag in Emeline’s room, the three girls exchanging equally confused glances. 

“He really had to come tonight?” Fran whispers. 

“He’s staying over, isn’t he?”

“Yes, and yes, stop it. You knew he was coming. You said you would be nice to him.”

“I said I would be nice to him, not about him.”  

John and Jeremy sit there in awe, trying to figure out what they had just walked into. Before her roommates could protest more, Keelan comes back, sweatpants and sweatshirt on just like Emeline. Both were wearing Boston College lacrosse gear, Emeline definitely changing into the old gear because it was comfortable after what had been a day from hell, Keelan only pulling it out because the guys were there, despite the word ‘club’ written on the breast of his sweatshirt being the noticeable difference between their clothes. That didn’t matter to Keelan in the moment; Emeline didn’t even have to ask, she knew he never wore that sweatshirt unless he felt threatened by something.

“Did either of you play lacrosse?” Jeremy asks, trying to break the awkwardness.

Keelan puts his arm around Emeline, pulling her close to him faster than she was expecting. “We both did, actually. That’s how we meet.” 

“At BC?”

“We all went to Boston College, we all played lacrosse. Three of us did all four years, too, on an actual varsity team, not the club team,” Fran snides, a not so subtle dig at Keelan, causing him to roll his eyes and hold Emeline almost uncomfortably close. 

“That’s because there’s only a club team for men. For some reason, the AD decided the women having a team was more important despite you losing in the championship three years in a row,” Keelan tries to counter, only earning an eyebrow raise from Fran who was, without a doubt, about to say something much worse to him. 

“We only lost twice and won the championship our senior year,” Fran corrected him. “BC hasn’t had a varsity lacrosse team for men since 2002. If you wanted varsity, you should have went to BU.”

“What time is the pizza getting here, Mads?” Emeline changes the subject before the dick measuring contest between her boyfriend and her roommate somehow ends with her roommate winning. Fran was, as usual in her verbal sparring against Keelan, remaining calm, while Keelan himself was two seconds from saying something that would result in him getting kicked out of their apartment permanently. 

“Oh, I didn’t know you were ordering pizza,” Keelan snides.

This was awful. This was the last thing Emeline wanted to deal with when she got home. If she went to her room, then Fran or Keelan would just follow her. As soon as the pizza was there, all she wanted to do was eat it as fast as possible and run away to her room. She needed peace. She wanted quiet. 

“I’m getting a drink, who wants something?” Emeline asks, wriggling free of Keelan’s grip and heading off to the kitchen with the practically full tea still in her hands. Emeline sighed, leaning against the counter with her eyes closed. It was already pushing 9:30 pm, half an hour from when Emeline normally went to bed happily since she had to wake up to take her train way earlier than she would like to every morning. 

“Hey,” Jeremy startles her, causing her to bump her hip harder against the cabinet, making her wince at the pain that would definitely turn into a bruise. “Sorry, we can go if you really don’t want us here. We just wanted the music to be a little quieter.” 

Emeline sighs, knowing that she was acting like a bitch. “No, it’s fine. It was just a long day that was part of a longer week. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Jeremy says, quietly. He shrugs. “It happens to all of us.”

Emeline looks at Jeremy, her entire being feeling calmer with him standing there for whatever reason. “Thanks.”

Jeremy swallows, clearing his throat. “Uh, the pizza should be here any minute. If you want, you can just take it to your room instead of staying out with us,” he tells her, somehow reading her mind, “I don’t think any of us would mind. Well, Fran seems like someone who might.”

Emeline can’t help but laugh. “She means well.”

“She seems to want what’s best for you. And for Maddy. I can respect that.” 

“She’s very protective, that’s for sure,” Emeline says, throwing out the tea and grabbing a glass of water. Without asking, she pours one for Jeremy, him taking it and smiling at her, sending a shiver down her spine that she didn’t quite know how to process. Fran had been there for her and Maddy’s darkest moments during college, which sounds dramatic, but she really was the first person either of them wanted to call if something was going wrong. She just cared, probably a little more intensely than either of them asked for. 

 The two of them go back into the living room without saying anything else, glasses in hand. The pizza had arrived, Maddy and Johnny passing them around, reading off everyone’s order. 

“Why’d you order me this?” Keelan asks when Emeline sits down, box in hand as Maddy  passes off the last two to her and Jeremy.

“You always get the honey barbeque chicken one,” Emeline points out, opening up her box, her favorite pizza making her suddenly excited. She didn’t realize how hungry she was, or remember the fact that she hadn’t eaten since her lunch at 11 that morning. 

“Yeah, you have made a very big deal about how you always get that one pizza, because it’s your favorite,” Maddy continues, spraying bits of her own pizza everywhere. 

“You’re a creature of habit, as you love to say,” Fran deadpans, not looking away from her own food. 

“I don’t want this. What did you get, Emmy?” 

Emeline freezes with her mouth open as she was bringing a slice to her mouth, already knowing where this conversation was going to end up. She tried to ignore Fran mouthing ‘Emmy,’ to Maddy, mocking the nickname Emeline admittedly hated that Keelan always used for her. “The White Greek pizza.” 

“It’s fine, we can just switch.” 

“But,” she starts, looking at her own pizza. “I don’t like barbeque. You know that.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want this.” 

The two of them stare at each other for a minute, Emeline’s mind trying to process the fact that Keelan even had the audacity to ask her to eat his pizza when he knew she detested the entire thing. They were nice enough to buy him a pizza, a surprise that he wasn’t expecting, and here he was, demanding that she give him hers? She had called him on the way home and told him all about her day and what happened, and now he was adding to it? “Take mine.” Both of them turn to Jeremy, him already holding his box out for Keelan. “I thought I ordered the barbeque one anyway, not the buffalo one, it was my mistake.” 

“Hey, thanks, man,” Keelan says, all too happy to take the pizza from someone he just met. 

Fran, Maddy, and John start to have a conversation, tuning out the three of them on the couch. Not that they were saying anything. Emeline was too mad to eat the entire thing, only picking off the olives instead. Jeremy was trying his best not to cringe at the overly sweet pizza that he had never had any intention of ordering. Keelan just existing at that moment was enough to make Emeline irritated.

“You know what,” Emeline says, closing the box of pizza, all five of them startled and suddenly turning towards her. “I think I’m going to turn in.”

“Are you sure?” Jeremy asks, a sound of panic in his voice.

“Yeah, I mean, I’m tired, I have to wake up early and I have another long day tomorrow, anyway.” Emeline leaves before anyone can protest.

The five of them watch Emeline leave, Fran and Maddy sending death glares at Keelan. 

“Why must you have the personality of a guy who’s had back pain his entire life? What is wrong with you?,” Fran scolds him, throwing a napkin at him.

“What kind of insult even is that?”

“‘I don’t want this,’” Maddy mimics in a high pitched voice. “What adult talks like that?”

“Go apologize to her or I’m going to shove my foot so far up your ass you’re going to taste that instead of the pizza you took from Jeremy,” Fran threatens.

“I offered it to him,” Jeremy tries to diffuse the situation.

“You love buffalo chicken though. Linus has fed you buffalo wings in the locker room before,” John points out.

“We’re going to talk about that in a second,” Maddy starts, “but Keelan, come on. You know how stressful this time when lacrosse starts back up for her. You could have just taken the pizza she was nice enough to order for you.” 

“I knew I should have let you starve.” 

Keelan huffs, putting the pizza down on the table in front of them. He knocks on the door to Emeline’s room, not waiting for her to invite him in since the lights were already off. He sees her in the dark, lying on her back scrolling on her phone. “I’m a dick.”

“I know.” 

He sits down on the bed next to her. “I’m sorry.” 

“For?” she asks, treating him like one of her students.

Keelan sighs, lying down. “How long have you known Jeremy?”

“I met him like an hour before you got here.”

“He was the guy in the elevator.”

Emeline groans. “I thought we were past this.”

“Well.”

“Well?”

“Well, he likes you, Em.” Emeline can’t help but scoff. “I mean, I obviously can’t blame him. But, Em, he hasn’t taken his eyes off you the entire time he’s been here. He didn’t take his eyes off you in the elevator either. John even said Jeremy had mentioned that he’s been wanting to talk to you.”

“Oh, for fucks sake,” she groans again, putting her phone on her stomach and covering her face with her hands. “So what? That doesn’t mean he likes me, it means he’s kind of a creep. And if he does, what does it matter?” 

“I’m afraid.”

Emeline reaches over to turn the lamp on, wanting to get a look at Keelan for this, this confirmation she was waiting for. She studies his face as he stares up at her ceiling fan. “Afraid of what?”

“What if I lose you?” 

Emeline lets out a little laugh. “To Jeremy? Please.” She rests her head on his chest, Keelan wrapping his arm around her and kissing her forehead. “At most, he can be a friend. Just like Jack. Just like Marc,” she says, referencing his college teammates.

“Jack and Marc didn’t so obviously like you.”

“Jack and Marc both tried to hook up with me multiple times during college.”

Keelan sighs, pulling her closer. “Just a friend?”

“Just a friend.”

[mashounen1945]

For anyone wondering if this actually is effective: the OP said at the very beginning of this post that this strategy was already used to stop the so-called "Kids' Online Safety Act", and it worked. So yes, this is worth it, but only if enough people (especially USA citizens, which I'm not) contribute to this.

The OP also added this in the replies: proof from the FBI about election interference:

A couple of users pointed out something important in the reblogs: Kamala Harris did concede, but that's just a formality, not something legally binding.

Oh, and there's one more thing I found kinda weird in this election: Michigan, Wisconsin, Arizona and Nevada were four swing states were Biden won in 2020 and Trump apparently won now; they're also four swing states where Democrat candidates won for the Senate at the exact same time. I'm far from being an expert in the USA's election system (I'm used to Argentina's system, which works in an entirely different way and encourages each citizen to vote candidates & lists of one same party/coalition for all categories), but this might be another sign that something went wrong and both a recount and an investigation are needed.

Here are other similar posts with additional information, by @welcometoqueer, @adumbdemon, @kachikirby and @feralcringeman:

And lastly, for anyone who feels exhausted and is thinking about disconnecting from politics and is just done with everything after wasting months on the campaign effors for nothing:

I get it. I felt the exact same way when Milei, our local Trump wannabee, won for President last year. But there are two things you people have and we don't: actually functional & effective ways to contact your representatives directly (which allows for democracy to be more than just voting once every few years, instead of merely being a "delegative democracy"), and one big nation-wide political party working like a well-oiled machine to concentrate and coordinate your efforts (and that party will remain in control of the Presidency and the Senate for the next two months, no matter what happens). Both of those tools can get things done, but only if enough people are informed about their existence and use them. This is also why this whole thing absolutely must be known outside of social media's (namely Tumblr's) echo chambers.

Besides, doing these calls and sending this messages is just as easy as voting, if not easier. Do you remember how we insisted that voting is the bare minimum any citizen can do to participate in politics? The same goes for this. Not only is easier and much less exhausting than campaigning, but it might be more effective as well.

If both the recount and the investigation are carried out, it's very likely that Trump loses: either it's found out that he actually didn't win, or it's blatantly confirmed that he won by cheating. And even if he doesn't fall, this goes beyond who becomes the next President of the USA: the exact composition of the House of Representatives isn't clear yet, so you people can still "turn it blue" and ruin his day forever.

This is it for now, I guess... Oh! And if you meet any other Argentinean like me, tell them to spread this too. At least it'll be useful to give Milei the middle finger as well.

PLEASE CALL THE WHITE HOUSE TO CONVINCE THEM TO DO A RECOUNT. IT WORKED FOR KOSA IT CAN WORK NOW

Use this number to text Kamala directly and demand a recount and investigation

And here’s a script to use. Also personalize it to make sure it isn’t spam

Hello Ms. Vice President. I'm contacting you to request that you do not concede, and instead request an investigation and recount of the votes. Right now, many people on social media are finding suspicious signs that may point to Trump cheating (links at the end of the message). Additionally, many media outlets are declaring his victory before all votes have been counted. I understand that you have a duty to protect democracy and a peaceful transition to power, but I fear that accepting these results would also mean accepting a potential dictatorship that can still be avoided.

Thank you for your time.

[mylambandmartyr]

Sitting alone with my controversial Frank Castle and Karen Page opinions

[dykedvonte]

If Ulysses has a million haters, then I'm one of them. If Ulysses has one hater, then I'm THAT ONE. If Ulysses has no haters, that means I'm dead. If the world is with Ulysses than I’m against the world.

[thereareeyesinsidethetrees]

last post for the night i swear

the real tragic part about the whole science fair incident is that perpetual motion is impossible to achieve

ford’s machine would have never worked, regardless of whether or not stan had interacted with it

(warning i accidentally wrote an approximately 30-tag dive into ford’s character in the tags don’t click see more if you don’t want to read that)

anyway!! good night everyone ❤️‍🩹

[itspileofgoodthings]

Porfiry telling Raskolnikov that at least he was honest and in one bound took the furthest leap to put his theory to the test of actual action——

[dykeza]

Ichigo being a stay at home dad who works online is so in character for him actually…… he’s the type of dad to enforce 1 hour of no screen time outside playing in the yard and/or playground. He texts Orihime goofy pictures of Kazui jumping around in some water fixture in the local park and carries him home soaked to the bone and shivering with the biggest smile on his face and then they eat ice cream and wait for Orihime to get home so they can have family game night.

[automatic-midnight]

My biased, really unpopular take is that I think rit/su/maya is an objectively boring ship.

[kavehater]

I wish I could inject pasilyo into my brain so I can have permanent happiness

[icelogged]

*2015 voice* i wish i had the chillness instead i got the mental illness

[bandsanitizer]

.

[fingertipsmp3]

I really think I only get by at work because I look a bit pathetic all the time and people take pity on me

[galactic-feelins]

Been rotating some characters and shows I like around in my brain, but something went wrong and now some wires crossed in unfortunate ways. I’ve been trying to get back into the drawing mood, but considering there is now a jumbled mess of fandoms and characters in my head now, be warned I may end up sharing something unfortunate

Details are in the tags here if you’re curious, just be warned it’s messy…