đđđ

gracie abrams

No title available
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
No title available
cherry valley forever
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
occasionally subtle

ellievsbear
đ
untitled
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"

Kiana Khansmith
Fai_Ryy
ojovivo
No title available

Origami Around
Phantogram Three
d e v o n
tumblr dot com
Claire Keane

seen from United States

seen from United Kingdom

seen from United Kingdom

seen from Malaysia
seen from Philippines
seen from Philippines

seen from France
seen from TĂŒrkiye
seen from Myanmar (Burma)
seen from United States

seen from Netherlands
seen from Indonesia
seen from TĂŒrkiye
seen from Senegal

seen from United States
seen from Canada
seen from Australia
seen from United States
seen from Poland

seen from Malaysia
@draw-me-some-stories
đđđ
Headcanons you can(ât) pry from my cold, dead hands:
Jason. Peter. Todd. Wayne. Has. Freckles.
Booping available on mobile!!!!!
Ao3 is down.
So naturally, I am on Tumblr.
Finding more fics.
That I cannot read.
Because Ao3 is down.
:(
Man, I hate when I get to the end of a story and the author hasnât finished it yet!
(Itâs me. Iâm the author. đ„)
Sometimes you have a really shit night of sleep and come up with a whole new fic idea while half awake.
It's like insult on top of injury.
@amaralie
Plot bunnies are most productive during those hazy hours. Terrible shame. What's the plot about?
Well, since the plot bunnies have been well fed some coffee... (ty so much, you're an absolute delight) I can give into them a little...
It's about Jason's motorcycle dying in the middle of nowhere and him being forced to walk it down the highway until finally, like salvation, he sees the neon lights of a mechanic's shop.
There in that space that seems one step from reality, Jason ends up taking the captivating mechanic up on his offer to stay the night- and the following offer to stay in his bed.
It's about the next time Jason gives his bike a tune up it turns out the bike has been modified in a way that seems impossible- that none of the Bats understand.
Dick and Jason setting out to solve the mystery only to end up in a deserted, long destroyed town that Jason swears is the place.
It's about the people that Dick walks right through without seeing them.
It's about how Jason can.
It's about how there in that literal ghost town that comes to life after Dick drives on that Jason learns he's not as alive as thought.
It's about Jason finding a way to finally grieve and accept what happened to him while wrapped in Danny's arms.
It's about Danny finding something worth living his half life for wrapped in Jason's.
It's about Jason returning to Danny and the town full of the dead again and again to gently lay with Danny in the dark of the night and beg 'Come back with me'.
Because Jason doesn't want to live without Danny any more but Danny doesn't know how to live at all.
It's about how Jason begs.
Okay, wow. Got some serious Orpheus & Eurydice vibes here. (Come back with me.)
Which unfortunately feels like itâs foreshadowing tragedy.
If Amity Parkâs destroyed, and its inhabitants (sans Danny) are fully dead, it means that Danny failed in protecting them. And does he have to leave the dead behind to be with Jason and his life full of living loved ones? Or if Jay canât stand to leave Danny, does he have to give up the living life heâs clawed out for himself after his return so that he can stay with a ghost?
I have feelings about thisâŠ
Not a swiftie, but fuck that killed me.
You know what Taylor, I do hate it here.
Prompt 340
You know what I think is fun for a cryptid batfam AU? Living Armor.Â
They do not realize that people think they have civilian identities. Or that people assume human when they tell them they have no powers. They are literally their armor and vigilante outfits, that is what they are, and they arenât trying? To hide it?Â
Somehow it should be obvious in their opinion! They donât have heartbeats! Or skin! No itâs not just shadow and lead, why would you think that??
Theyâre hermit crabs!!!
They change armor as they grow, often passing the old one down to a younger/smaller bat-sibling.
If you're struggling to write sex, write food. if you're struggling to write food, write gore. if you're struggling to write gore, write sex. They're all variations on the same themes.
I keep thinking about this and it is actually really freaking helpful.
Theyâre all desire and intimacy and consumption â a play between offering or enforcing that, and accepting or submitting. Itâs all very personal and human.
Wow, really eye opening.
You knooooowwww... >.>
The only difference, technically, between a school in the Zone? And on Earth? Is the American government won't recognize your Zone diploma...
Not accredited. But like..... I'm JUST SAYING? If you didn't try to pass your school off as some Big Ivy League type? Pulled the "oh yeah, you'd never have heard of it, it's local." And the COMPUTERS say it's legit?
How many people will dig deeper?
If you legitimately have the knowledge, you legitimately have the knowledge. Not YOUR fault you left out the whole "extra-dimensional" part. It makes folk nervous! And nervous folks get stabby.
So like? If you were ALREADY planning to "Move" as you euphemistically put it? Talked it over with your VERY concerned folks and friends? Who do NOT like the look of the steady but concerning rise of Anti-Ghost Powers That Be? Who finally put their foot down and reminded you that you are a TEENAGER and it's NOT your responsibility to fix the world?
Well...
Fuck those guys, I guess. You'll miss the old house, but Team "Taking our ball and going literally anywhere else" makes some good points. Why ARE you putting up with this?
And honestly, you've never SEEN your dad have so much fun. Him and the Reality Realtor just sorta... Vibe. Himbo to Himbo communications. Smatters of advanced physics. Fudge. It's great.
They move the portal. Collapse the old one in a way that makes it impossible to recover or recreate. You... kinda don't want to ask. They had that "mad scientist glint" in their eyes.
And while everyone's checking out brochures to different realities? You? Head off to the nearest College. It's the Zone, so technically you could go to any of endless billions. But you'd like your education some time this century.
Cue! Danny Fenton! Entering?
Tim, Tim hired him. Tim was interviewing. They had a two hour long discussion about sub atomic thermo something or other. Tim needs this man as his co-worker. Is Danny deeply worrying? Mayhaps. But Tim needed someone who could keep up with him. Danny is allowed into Tim's lab. The batfam? Are concernedâą. Tim has a work bestie. Oh fuck. The two of them sometimes hole up for days. Wander out having revolutionised science. Again.
At least they can keep an eye on them? Tim is intrigued by Danny's college stories. He, he wants to go. Let him into the place of forbidden knowledge? Please? He just, it sounds amazing!!! Is he pretty sure it isn't on Earth? Absolutely! Does he care? No. Take him to the sacred place of learning!!! Danny is tempted. But also, not sure Tim, squishy human, would survive. Is it ethically ok to take him? Just asking!
Tim is having so much fun with his new science buddy!
If it wasn't wildly inappropriate, he would LICK HIM to claim Danny as his then wrap around him and gaurd like a territorial cat.
Stop laughing Steph! No it doesnât have anything to do with the fact that the man could easily pick Tim up and pin him to the wall with one hand. Itâs the science!
everyone saying "art doesn't need to be perfect" hasn't taken into account the art monster, the monster that comes and kills you if art doesn't look exactly like it did in your head
Pastel doesnât look like pencil doesnât look like acrylic doesnât look like oils.
Even if theyâre depicting the same objects.
Even if theyâre depicting the same image.
In my head is a different medium. Of course it doesnât look the same.
I want less of "the Drakes were terrible people and parents and Bruce rescues poor sad Timmy" (not knocking the trope it just got old for me)
And more of Bruce suffering a hell of his own creation as he tries to figure out how to parent Timothy "latchkey kid" Drake, who doesn't respect the concept of having parental supervision in general and more specifically Bruce's authority as his new guardian at all, because Tim was basically his caretaker for the entire beginning of his tenure as Robin
Any kind of Parental Action would have Bruce choking in his own hypocrisy. Like... imagine trying to get your teenage son to go to bed when he's been putting your ass down for naps for like, years, by that point. Imagine telling him to eat healthier when at 13 years old he was helping your butler with designing your meal plan 'cause you were too depressed to eat
Bruce gently tries to get him to stop working on a case to take a break, and Tim raises a single withering eyebrow (he learned this from Alfred) and Bruce immediately shuts up. Tim only listens to Bruce when he wants to and being legally adopted by the man hasn't changed that
(And I want fics of the rest of the batfam reacting to this dynamic soooooooo bad)
Exactly! Like on ao3 itâs just little Timmy bursting into tears bc somebody finally loves him.
Whatever happened to the Tim who made up a whole fake uncle just so that Bruce wouldnât adopt him?
Whatever happened to the Tim who had Bruce jokingly call him dad that one panel?
Whatever happened to the sassy Tim who took none of Bruceâs shit?
After Red Robin Timâs been turned into a soaking wet cat and somebody needs to get the blow dryer out to reveal his feral form again.
I read a fic (donât remember what) where Tim had the line âBatman canât make me do shit.â And that completely changed my hc characterization of him, because itâs just so true.
never let anyone tell you that trawling through mediocre victorian poetry isn't worth it. we just happened upon an absolute BANGER of a worm poem. go read it or else đȘ±đȘ±đȘ±
the reviews are in... glad everyone's enjoying song of the worm
[id: tumblr tags reading 'dude This Fucking Rules', 'holy fucking shit! that was legit so cool?', 'holy shit that is fucking metal', 'oh this fucks severely', 'yeah no this fucking SLAPS', 'yo this RULES']
Holy fucking shit this is one of the most incredible things I have ever read. I am dead serious. I PROMISE you that you want to read this, and you're going to immediately send it to all your weird friends who you also know will love it.
This poem is AMAZING, and I can immediately think of three musician friends I need to send it to so they can do projects with it.
Yeah, that slaps đȘ±
I am successfully adulting this week!
My office plant is still alive (a cactus which Iâve had for 3 days) I fixed my dryer (needed a new door switch, which took me 5 months to discover and replace) and I filed my taxes (put off for about 3 months and completed in about 3 hours.)
This kind of sounds like Iâm being down in myself the way I said that. But thatâs not what Iâm feeling right now. Seriously, life is hard.
Make it easier on yourself where you can. (Cactus.)
Celebrate your accomplishments. (Warm, dry, free of lint and wrinkles from air drying.)
You can do hard things. (Taxes.)
And remember to stop and smell the flowers.đ”
Cable tights and Muk Luk boot socks â super cozy when itâs super cold. đ„°
I want to write a movie that is sort of the flip side of a Hallmark holiday movie. Not an anti-Hallmark movie, just like the other side of the same coin.
It starts with a well-dressed professional woman driving a convertible along a country road, autumn foliage in the background, terribly scenic. She turns onto a dirt road/long driveway, and stops next to a field of Christmas trees, all growing in neat, ordered rows, perfectly trimmed and pruned to form. She steps out of the car--no, she's not wearing high-heels, give her some sense!--and knocks on the door of a worn but nice-looking farmhouse. An older woman, late fifties maybe, answers the door, looking a bit puzzled. The younger woman asks if she can buy a Christmas tree now, today. The older woman says they don't do retail sales--and the younger woman breaks down crying.
Cut to the two women sitting at the kitchen table with cups of tea. The young woman (Michelle), no longer actively crying, explains that her mother loves Christmas more than anything, but is in the hospital with end-stage cancer. Her doctors don't think she'll live to see December, let alone Christmas. Nobody is selling Christmas trees in September, so could the older woman please make an exception, just this once? The older woman (Helen) regretfully explains that they have a contract to sell their trees that forbids outside sales. The younger woman nods, starts to stand up, but the older woman stops her with a hand and asks her what hospital her mother is in. After she answers the older woman says that "my Joe" will deliver a tree the next day. "Contract says I can't sell you a tree, but nothing says I can't give you one."
Next day "Joe" shows up at the hospital in flannel and jeans, with a smallish tree over her shoulder. Oh, whoops, that's Jo, Helen's daughter, short for Joanna, not Joe. Jo sets up the tree and even pulls out a box of lights and ornaments. Mother watches from hospital bed with a big smile as Jo and Michelle decorate the tree. Cue "end of movie" type sappiness as nurses and other patients gather in the doorway, smiling at the tree.
Cut to Michelle sitting in her dark apartment, clutching a mug of tea, staring out at the falling snow and the Christmas lights outside. Her apartment has no tree, no decorations, nothing. She starts at a knock on the door, goes to open it. Jo is standing there, again holding a tree over her shoulder.
Plot develops: the second tree is a gift, because Michelle might as well get it as the bank. The contract for the tree sales was an /option/ contract, which prevents them from selling to anyone else, but doesn't guarantee the sale. The corporation with the option isn't going to buy the trees, but Helen and Jo can't sell them anywhere else, and basically they get nothing. They'll lose the farm without the year's income. Michelle asks to see the contract and Jo promises to email it to her.
Next day at a very upscale law firm, Michelle asks at the end of a staff meeting if anyone in contract law still needs pro bono hours for the year. No one does, but a senior partner (Abe) takes her to his office and asks about it. She says the contract looks hinky to her ("Is that a legal term?" "Yes.") but contract law's not her thing. He raises an eyebrow and she grins and pulls a sheaf of paper out of her bag and hands it over. He reads it over, then looks up at her. "They signed this?"
More plot develops. Abe calls in underlings--interns, paralegals, whatever--and the contract is examined, dissected, and ultimately shredded (metaphorically). It's worse even than it looks--on January 1st Helen and Jo will have to repay the advanced they received at signing. The corporation has bought up a suspicious number of Christmas tree farms in previous years after foreclosure, etc.
Cut to Abe explaining all this to Helen and Jo while sitting with them and Michelle in a very swanky conference room. The firm is willing to take on the case pro bono, hopefully as a class's action suit for other farmers trapped by the contract--but there's no way it can go to court before January. Which will be too late to save the farm's income for the year. They might get enough in damages to tide them over, butâŠ.
After Michelle sees Helen and Jo out, she comes back and asks Abe if there's anything they can do immediately. Abe looks thoughtful for a long moment, then gets a really shark-like grin on his face. "MaybeâŠ."
Cut to Helen wearing a bathrobe, coming into her kitchen in the morning. She looks out the windowâŠand there's a food truck stopped in her driveway. She pulls a coat on over her robe and goes out--two more trucks have pulled up while she does this. Driver of the first truck asks her where they park. Another truck pulls up behind the others. Behind that is a black BMW--Abe rolls down the window and waves. Helen directs the trucks to the empty field/yard next to the house. Abe pulls up next to Helen's car and Jo's truck and parks. He and Michelle get out--Abe wearing a total power suit, Michelle in weekend casual.
The case will be easier if the corporation initially sues them for violating the (uninforcible!) contract, rather than them suing to corporation (damn if I know, but it's movie logic). So they're going to sell the trees now, and rounded up some food trucks and whatnot to draw people in.
Cue montage of Jo and Michelle running around helping people set up while Abe and Helen watch from the kitchen table. The table starts out covered in file foldersâŠand slowly gains coffee cups and plates of cinnamon rolls. It becomes increasingly clear here that Abe and Helen are becoming as close as Jo and Michelle.
Everything gets set up and a very urban, very motley crowd appears--tats and studs and multiracial couples and LGBTQ parents and everything--and everyone is having a wonderful time eating funnel cake and choosing their tree so Jo and a bunch of rainbow-haired elves can cut it for them. At which point someone shows up from the corporation (maybe with a sheriff's deputy?) and starts yelling at Helen, who's running checkout. And suddenly Abe appears from the house and you realize why he's wearing that suit on a SaturdayâŠ.
Cue confrontation and corporate flunky running off with their tail between their legs, blustering about suing. Cue Jo kissing Michelle. Cue Helen walking over and putting a hand on Abe's shoulder and smiling at her.
I want the lawyers to be the heroes because they are lawyers and know the law. I want a lesbian who lives in the country with her mother. I want urbanites to turn out as a community to help someone who isn't even part of their community. I want Michelle to keep working at her high-power job, loving Christmas and grieving her mother.
I love love love this!
But, they shouldnât sell the trees.
As bad as the contract is â unethical, obviously predatory, purposefully confusing, stupidly unenforceable â itâs really clear about not selling the trees. Doing that would give the corporation actual ammunition for their lawsuit.
Fortunately, Helen and Jo have already discovered a workaround for that. Give them away.
They canât sell the trees, so they donât.
These are the kind of situations that draw communities together.
So what if, all those food trucks are giving Helen a percentage of their sales as âpaymentâ for parking on her farm. Customers leave big tips to go to Helen too.
They canât sell the trees, but you get one free if you buy a tree stand/tree skirt/etc.
People have shown up with hot chocolate and Christmas cookies to sell, and hand-made ornaments and decorations and gifts.
They canât sell the trees (though several have been given away) so they string them up with lights. Local musicians show up from somewhere and now thereâs carols and singing and dancing.
Now itâs a festival. Itâs a fair. Itâs a Christmas miracle.
They havenât sold a single tree. When the corporationâs lackey shows up to shut them down, he doesnât have a leg to stand on. Helen hasnât broken their ridiculous contract. âSheriff, please escort this gentleman off my property â heâs trespassing.â
(The only problem with this is that you have to establish that the food truck chefs, performers, vendors, etc. have all been helped by either the lawyers or by Helen without making it a whole new story.)
âŠ
I actually really want to write this.
For the Danny pretents to be a Vampire AU
he looks like Jareth from Labyrinth.
Me: Seeing just the text of the reblog in the notification
Me: ??? What ??? Who??? I havenât seen any Labyrinth on my dash lately ???
Me: Clicks through to view post
Me: Again bludgeoned over the head by this image. Dies.
Yeah, he doesâŠ