#thinker writes

[toddthinkeritis]

a small failure

"You know I would have died in your place if I could." Laughter should make someone's lines look softer, gentler. But the Red Hood's body is still sharp, angled lines, meant to cut, one hand on the keris strapped to his belt and the other hand still wrapped around a gun pointed to Bruce's head.

not rated. 1.1k words. jason & bruce relationship study.

[hashimadathinker]

who wanna send in some little ficlet requests... i need to write them...

ill do:

fluff

little bit of angst

silly aus

ships ill write: hashimada, tobiizu, sasunaru, sasusaku, naruhina, kakairu, kakuhida, kisaita,,,

basically anything

just send in an ask w the ship, a little prompt and anything else u want 🙏

[toddthinkeritis]

ishak. written october 2024.

(bruce and jay, father and son, abraham and isaac. a poem.)

[hashimadathinker]

i kinda wanna make a taglist for my writing so comment if u wanna be tagged when i drop stuff :P

[hashimadathinker]

ok so long textpost abt some tbiz and hsmd i wanna write

kinda scared bc i wanna write this but like, so mych word..... too many word.,,,???!? but also stay away and let ME do it or ill bite man the npd is getting to me bad today ANYWAYS

i hv been listening to crack baby by mitski so,,,, i was thinking,,,, pure angst where tbrm is hokage, hsrm is dead alr, he regrets everything every night and recently he has been having his nightmares MUCH more vividly and they seem to change... could it be a time warp,!?!!???!??,,,.....

⁃ chpt 1 intro and a bit of a setup (regular nightmare, what happened since mdr left)

⁃ chpt 2 talking abt hsrm & mdr, regretting not trying for peace even though hed wanted to

⁃ chpt 3 1-2 dreams and he tracks how different they get. at the end of the chpt maybe he makes some theories

⁃ chpt 4 he wakes up in his childhood bed, he doesnt remember why everything feels so nostalgic, his father tells him to tail hsrm

⁃ chpt 5 he observes hsrm and mdr, sees how close they are yadda yadda, he seems to just know that izn is hiding behind a tree somewhere, even tho he doesnt sense it, he searches for him and feels really intense longing the closer he gets, tbrm sees him and can tell hes uchiha and they have a lil standoff. they talk while they fight and they both decide to just tie. they begin to talk

⁃ chpt 6 izn and tbrm figure out that they will have excuses to see eachother as long as hsrm and mdr do. some chaos blah blah till their dads find out, theyre prepared to have to fight eachother blah blah

⁃ chpt 7 uchiha/senju final battle

⁃ chpt 8 all abt how hsmd and tbiz end the wsp together, izn lives blahhh blah c!divergent semantics of konoha and cutie happy ending

tbh if yall have any add ons or suggestions ill love u forever.. :3c

[toddthinkeritis]

thy will be done on earth, as it is in heaven

The city isn’t small by any means, though the closest police station is nearby enough that he can hear the hurried steps of officers rushing into cars, barking orders and starting engines as they speed off into Gotham’s discomforting embrace. Across the town, in another part of the city, there are probably a group of thugs loudly attempting robbery in some small bank. The hubbubs of it aren’t audible where he stands, and sooner or later, the police will get it contained. In a different neighborhood, maybe there’s a rogue on the rise, clamoring for attention to whatever plot they’re concocting and executing. That too, is surely soon to be contained. The protectors of the city are many—and they’re often capable. Though perhaps, not always capable enough. Not when it matters. Some heinous things don’t just happen after sunset. Some things truly cruel only start up where no one can hear, causing noises only strained ears can pick up.

not rated. 2k words. jason & morality & gotham.

[toddthinkeritis]

i have no patience to post one by one so. dump of 2024 poems inspired by jay todd (before i got into jay todd. laughing)

text ver. below. sorry formatting is ass. idk whats up with tumblr mobile app

poem 1. (peter pan)

time in neverland is divided into quarters, small change

like tseday’s mildness into branches detangling

unfurling in kiremt, like the skies melting into drips & drops

of honey, softening ground, like waking up in september

as somebody turns off the pipes in the horizon, slowly, surely,

through highlands and lowlands, it doesn't evade me.

hanging low fruits get their turns to be picked and like floras

blooming and dying with the changes in the wind & wetness

in the air, i’m not unscathed. the leaves flow carried by

breeze, anabainein. and in their winter, where mountains

are dry and at times frosted, when other plants hibernate,

red poinsettias sing with good will in silence atop of the hill,

waving down to the whole world below, saying:

“over my dead body. over my dead body!” and still,

the neverland carols.

poem 2. (little match boy)

a little match boy huddled in the alley, ‘fraid

where he lives the snow got his mama swayed

rather would stay, first match lit, he dreamed

warmth, food, comfort just through a hole gleamed

over ‘fore it started, illusion shattered,

body battered, over ‘fore it mattered

second lit saw to it no heat, only bittersweet

little match boy dragging his corpse across the street

poem 3. (not titled)

the zone of the lawless knows no salvation. it’s not the hailed messiah

who sits on his throne and comes down to filthy earth with

two humble feet in gold anklets. his hand is full of self-made

calluses from the time he chose to wield a carpenter’s hammer,

even as it reaches for the mass’ heads and a melodious voice recites

heavens’ most guarded hymns, prayers only burnt to the back of his

eye. bearing the brunt of the glass shards he steps on below,

bearing the brunt of the father’s tender loving that

beats over his shoulder. bearing. bearing. bearing.

the zone of the lawless knows no savior. there’s no question

on whether god has returned. relief is found in the soil

between yellow teeth, almost decayed and restored by will

of the same people who punched it in, as adam had come

not just by divinity but by the air of eden we breath, the dirt

of eden we walk. as peter had roamed within the people,

his fishnet snagged on branches and rocks, his feet tracing

the same path the messiah had paved. only further along,

as he continued to walk not hand in hand, but

feet in step with you.