Procrastination 101

You name the fandom, I’m in it.

[daantjie-fanatics]

I have a headcanon that whenever Pepa got sad as a kid, Bruno would bring her into his room and they’d make sandcastles with moats together until she felt better.

[whumpwillow]

I’m doing a survey. Reblog if you’re asexual and also like villains (aros count too)

[marvellegends]

Iron Man 3 Deleted Scene x

[daantjie-fanatics]

To list a few of the reasons why I love Comicon

London 2019 edition:

• the lift saying “out of order” and someone saying “wouldn’t it be funny if the lift just plummeted right now”. A hufflepuff snapping back “you just had to say it, didn’t you”

• A Samhain cosplayer from Trick r’ treat wandering around the warehouse dragging a bag, stopping and pointing at me then giving me a thumbs up and wondering on.

• Four Captain Jack Sparrows standing in a line for a picture, then a fifth runs in the front and dabs in the centre

• Said Capt Jack Sparrow stumbling on stage of the costume masquerade, with a flawless Johnny Depp impression, putting his rum on the judges table. He leaves at the end then runs hectically back to the judges table for his rum. The host tries some rum, grimaces, and exclaims that he’s just broken a contractual agreement.

• One giant inflatable detective Pikachu stands at the side of the masquerade. A second giant Pikachu, upon seeing the other, barrels through the crowd. Adults and children go flying in its path, as it nears. The two collide, hugging.

• Puhmba and Timone from the musical, singing Hakuna Matata Ben when Simba’s part comes along everyone looks around for him. Only to find a Cookie Monster puppet singing his heart out from the balcony one story up. The Lion King cosplayer break character as the little blue puppet puts its whole body into the performance.

• Waiting for the cosplay masquerade results so we randomly play mariokart on the big screen

[daantjie-fanatics]

Crawly fell. Hard.

He had no idea how it happened, or why, but next thing he knew he was streaking across the atmosphere like a fly caught on a windshield wiper.

Landing in darkness, Crawly stayed coiled tight for a moment, his body singed. Every crevice tinged with pain from his armpits to the backs of his ankles (did ankles have a backs?). The grooves of his fingerprints burnt as if purged right through to the once-celestial soul deep within his corporation, past flesh and consciousness, though rid of something Crawly couldn’t identify. Some great thing was missing, a gap of nothing deep inside his existence, a connection snapped like a telephone pole in a hurricane.

His eyes hurt the most. Curled, he didn’t feel any pressure on his eyelids, no whiteness of heaven that pervaded through skin even when you blinked, a warmth of a sun never tempted to set. That star was drowned now, its sticky residue clung to the air. Or maybe he’d been blinded. It only made sense that for seeking knowledge, the Almighty had nullified the ability - she’d always had a knack for biblical karma. Or was that somebody else?

The general agony that had made Crawly’s outer awareness obsolete was beginning to fade - or rather, he’d begun to adjust to the permanence of the feeling. Wherever he was had a lingering sensation of humidity that made you sweat and gasp, coupled with the pinching of goosebumps on one’s skin as they shivered.

He opened his eyes, snapping them shut almost immediately. The very surface of his eyeballs stung fresh, the sulphur in the air revealing an injury of sorts. His eyes had been slit, cut open like a snake’s and the healthy brown had been poisoned to a yellow, leaking acid. Or he might have been crying.

“Crawly?” A gruff voice called through the void of his eyelids. “Is that you?”

Crawly dared open his eyes again, grunting at the difficulty of adjusting, and the pain. His narrow pupils searched the darkness, his mind changing to the nocturnal underworld. Evolving? No angels weren’t made to do that.

Crawly unfurled, pushing himself onto his arms. Hastur, the ringleader of their small group was sat a few feet away from him, similarly burnt, but carrying it off as if he had simply just been in the sun too long. There was a mild hilarity about it, like he’d been seen falling out of bed. His wings were laid out on either side of him, blackened.

“We’ve fallen.” Hastur grinned, eyes entirely black. He laughed then, his head swung back. “We’re free.”

Crawly sat stiffly up, looking for heaven in the eternal ceiling. Hastur had a different idea of freedom; this was being moved from the tower cell to the dungeon. At least the prior had a nicer view.

...But as long as he was in the one place the Almighty couldn’t- didn’t want see him, he might as well show Her what Her damnation had done to him, and to Her human race.

“Yeah.” He smiled. Purpose was overrated anyway.

[ladymacbethian-deactivated20200]

jodie whittaker in a fucking tux reblog if you agree

[daantjie-fanatics]

don’t tell me Cas is hearing exactly what his insecurities tell him, but dreaded to hear it out loud

[daantjie-fanatics]

Your demon boi is still polite enough to thank traffic

[daantjie-fanatics]

Also, is it just me or is it 500% easier to talk to someone once you know they’re in the same fandom as you. Like today as I was about to pay for coffee on my phone, the barista complimented my phone case (a TARDIS) and we actually had a 30 second conversation agreeing on our favourite doctor (10). My confidence surged for the rest of the day and it was like we were immediately friends.

And, fuck, comicon. At school I’m a social w r e c k, but in that warehouse of a million people all anxiety falls away and it’s like I can talk to everybody and anybody. Like better than family.

[daantjie-fanatics]

Klaus being judged until he believes nothing of himself.

[daantjie-fanatics]

My Pinterest did a thing

[daantjie-fanatics]

The breaks in Five’s facade of pain, seen through by Diego.

[daantjie-fanatics]

He was popular, he was a jock, the kind of person to flurry through girlfriends with each one lasting a mere few weeks. He was happy with this - more than happy, it meant he kept his position at the top of the high school pecking order and got whatever he wanted. He lived his years in education as a king. His popular crowd like servants feeding him grapes, grapes in pretty dresses and painted eyebrows that he knew he was put on this planet to eat or crush depending on his fancy. This was just how this went. As Captain of the football team, he was unstoppable. If anyone dared to challenge him he could wipe them out with the snap of his calloused fingers, his worth like a whole team in a scrum against one outsider. A lion matched against a limping zebra, pitiful to watch and painful to be part of. So no one bothered.

Joyously he looked back on the one time when a nerdy new kid had plucked up the courage and sat in his seat in the cafeteria, when the king had shown up, the punk’s bewilderment had offended him and his fearful expression fed the football captain’s confidence like a mains circuit to a cinema screen projector. What followed was as cliche and predictable as the scenes of an old movie; the boy left on the floor a good feet away from his table with food mushing with blood, his nose indistinguishable from a beetroot. The popular blond took his victory, and sure they had consequences, but a war hero never got away without a scar, and those scars were reward in themselves immediately attracting respect and desire from his close crowd of followers and ladies.

So why now? He was desecrating his previous ringleader role just by being here, but this was necessary to survival. All memories, none of which he’d taken to heart, faded away under this new light. The boy he’d beaten up didn’t even have a face then, but now...

That boy had the most perfect profile, his nose stern and eyes the colour of the sky - no, the colour of the ocean. No, it didn’t- It couldn’t be named, it was just... blue. The bluest blue to ever blue magnified through his black rimmed glasses until the jock could swear he saw stars and planets and alien organisations deep within the irises. A single piece of sellotape kept the glasses together on his nose and the frame disappeared in his hair. Oh, his hair. His hair was raven black, sticking up like gravity didn’t apply to it to fit the perfect description: sex hair. It was obsidian at the roots like the depths of its owner’s soul, escaping through his hair follicles. Only it wasn’t just black, the darkness was dominated by blue. The dye hiding his true self from strangers, that didn’t matter to the jock, because he knew the boys true self and wondered at his beautiful blue hair, standing like ruffled feathers on his skull and not quite the same shade as his eyes on closer observation. His eyes reflected the calm serenity of reading books by moonlight, the smell of rain after sun and the beach at low tide. But his hair was the exact shade of Pantone 2955c; the colour of adventure through time and space, the origin of an aggressive fire, or a cold supernova burning on and untouchable, the colour of buried sadness, and the excitement of a fight.

Studded ears brought his eyes back to his mouth. The mouth that would be the jocks downfall, and his uplifting. The one that would steal away his kingship but make him feel like more, the one that would make him feel normal and special and everything all at once. Because this was the pair of full lips, smirking at the corners, that the once popular captain of the football team wanted to kiss most.

[daantjie-fanatics]

Are you telling me that Five named his mannequin ‘Grief’ then gave it shade in the Umbrella Academy

as in he literally protected his feelings with the only people he ever cared about.

[run-mcd-90]

Do it for Stan Lee!!! 😭😭😭😭😭

[spideyjlaw]

one month // avenge the fallen

[daantjie-fanatics]

I’ve been thinking a lot about Klaus snapping at the others about his trauma, so here goes...

Luther: Klaus, you’re look out.

*They move to leave*

Klaus: What? No no no, guys. Come on, give me a real job. I can do something!

Allison: Klaus...

Klaus: Okay, so I may not be strong or *motions* stabby or be able to teleport, but I can do something. You guys don’t think I’m that useless, do you?

*silence*

Klaus, *laughing in sad disbelief, disappointed but unsurprised*: Oh my god.. You do, you really do. I cannot believe this.

Diego: bro-

Klaus, smiling: No, you know what guys. You don’t even know me. You literally don’t even know me. But I know what you think; you think I’m just junkie number four, too weak to sober up and so irresponsible to have gotten addicted in the first place. You think I like being high and having rehab as my only home? Being disrespected by society and family because of it?

Allison: Klaus, no-

Klaus, uncharacteristically emotive: GODAMN IT YOU GUYS! I have been doing drugs since I was thirteen years old, not because I liked to or because it was fun or ‘cool’ but because our asshole of a father made me. Because since I was thirteen, he would lock me in a mausoleum for days on end to ‘get over my fears’. A dark, cold shit hole filled with screaming spirits. Of course, you can’t understand that drugs is the only way I could cope with them, to block them out. And it works. *the word stretches out and his eyes close with the revival of the feeling of relaxation that accompanied his first buzz. There is a subtle shift in Vanya* Then, a few weeks ago, I was kidnapped, tortured, and locked in a cupboard, whilst going through withdrawal by the way! Oh, *puts hand together in mock prayer to heaven* but thank god I had a brother come to rescue me, *pause* of course the only one who could be bothered to show was Ben. Then, when I escaped I found myself in Vietnam 1968, I thought I might have died and reached heaven then, and I made my peace with that. Though some part of me must have known on some level that it wasn’t - when, I turned my head to see... *Klaus approaches this part of the monologue as if it were an unexpected dead end he hadn’t thought about saying aloud, he attempts to gesture, words failing to express “the only person I ever loved”* to- to see ... *Klaus purses his lips and looks down, stifling memories, then, quietly:* with a hole blown through his chest.

*Ben puts a hand on his shoulder*

Luther: Klaus-

Klaus: No! You’re too late. I was in hell twice over without any of you and then whenever I returned, none of you even noticed! You, *Klaus points at Luther in accusation* When you got high and stupid in public Ben convinced me to help you, he said you’d do the same for me. Only you wouldn’t- didn’t. In that rave I went through withdrawal for a second time and was so overwhelmed I actually died. I did the whole heaven shabang and met dad in the after life, and guess what- his cynicism isn’t blunted by death. And where were you? Sleeping with a woman back home whilst the strangers at the party resuscitated me. I’ve been sober for the past week and still no one takes me seriously, clean for the longest time I remember in order to help you guys despite the consequences. But I guess I’ll always be your high idiot brother.

Vanya: Klaus we’re so sorry, I’m so sorry.

*The mutual understanding between Vanya and his shared past eases him slightly*

Klaus: yeah, well-

*Armed men barge through the door, too quick for many of the group to react. Klaus grabs hold of a gun, cocking it expertly and firing the opposition down with accuracy such as if they were tin targets at a fairground. The Hargreeves are confusedly amazed, grinning in fear and disbelief.*

Klaus: I did mention I spent 10 months on the front lines of the Vietnam war.

*Five takes his gun back.*