1% Funny, 99% Sarcasm

30 ♀️ | She/her

[ka-go-me]

. Gɾαƈҽʅҽʂʂ

Was drawn by @Mojamojanaraku on Twitter/X, But they have removed themselves from the platform

[comfortvillains]

tomura had been pacing the length of the throne room for nearly an hour, the long cape dragging behind him like a frustrated shadow. you kept your head lowered as you swept the marble floors, pretending not to hear him muttering under his breath.

“reject me… again… unbelievable… stupid nobles…” his voice was sharp and brittle, like cracked glass that somehow hadn’t fallen apart yet.

you’d watched him grow from a prince into a king who never wanted the crown in the first place. and now you watched him be pushed toward something he wanted even less: marriage.

all for his dynasty, or that’s what his father’s advisor, all for one, kept saying.

tomura suddenly stopped pacing. “that’s the fourth one this month,” he snapped. “four. and they all gave the same excuse. ‘i’m honored, your majesty, but i cannot in good conscience—’” he mimicked the voice in an exaggerated, mocking trill. “liars. all of them.”

you swallowed a tiny laugh, poorly hidden behind your hand. he noticed immediately.

“you think it’s funny?” he turned sharply. you froze, broom clutched tight.

“i didn’t mean—i’m sorry, your majesty—”

he stepped closer. not angry, but exhausted. “no. go on. i asked.”

your heartbeat fluttered. “it’s only… you don’t actually like any of them. so maybe it’s better they say no.”

he blinked. his red eyes, so often sharp, softened a little. “and who exactly am i supposed to like?”

you shrugged. “someone who sees you for you.”

he scoffed. “that person doesn’t exist.”

“i think they might,” you whispered before you could stop yourself.

tomura’s gaze dropped to your hands—calloused from work, steady on the broom. not shaking the way the noblewomen did. not recoiling. simply… there.

“you’re different,” he murmured, almost to himself. “you don’t look at me like i’m some monster walking around in a crown.”

“you’re not a monster,” you said softly. “you’re just lonely.”

the air changed. it stilled. he reached out before catching himself, curling his fingers into his palm. “if i asked you… hypothetically… would you reject me too?”

your breath hitched. “hypothetically… no.”

his eyes widened to show real surprise. maybe the first true surprise he’d felt in years.

“come here,” he said quietly.

you stepped closer, pulse pounding. he lifted a hand slow, like he was afraid touching you would make you disappear. his fingertips brushed your cheek, hesitant, reverent.

“you’d really say yes?” he whispered.

“yes,” you breathed.

tomura let out a shaky laugh, disbelieving, relieved and a little stunned. “all for one is going to lose his mind.”

“does that bother you?” you asked.

“not even slightly,” he said, a hint of a smirk lifting his mouth. “if i have to choose a bride… i choose you.”

your cheeks warmed. “you should probably say it properly, your majesty.”

he huffed and stepped closer. he lowered his forehead to yours like a vow. “be mine,” he murmured. “just… be mine.”

your answer came without fear. “always.”

for the first time since he took the crown, king tomura shigaraki didn’t feel trapped by his throne. he felt chosen.

[comfortvillains]

tomura had been waiting for this moment. his whole life, really. someone to sit on his couch, grab a controller, and let him go full “let me show you how it’s done, babe” mode.

so when you admitted, all soft and shy, “i’m… not good at playing video games,”

he perked up like a feral cat hearing a bag of treats shake. “don’t worry,” he said, puffing out his chest, already imagining himself explaining mechanics and doing that smug gamer laugh he thought was sexy. “i’ll teach you. stick with me, baby.”

you smiled sweetly, innocently.

he booted up a fighting game. his territory. his kingdom. home turf. “okay, we’ll start slow,” he explained, putting on his gentlest voice. “just buttons and movement for now.”

first round starts.

five seconds pass.

five.

suddenly you unleash a combo that has tomura staring at the screen like it just spoke in tongues. your character launches his into the stratosphere. you hit him with air juggles he didn’t know existed. and then finish with a special attack so brutal his health bar evaporates.

“KO!”

tomura just sits there completely still. controller limp in his hands. “what the fuck was that,” he whispers.

you blink. “did i do it wrong?”

“WRONG?!” he sputters. “YOU—YOU COMBOLOCKED ME INTO OBLIVION. THAT WAS ILLEGAL. I THINK THAT WAS A WAR CRIME.”

you tilt your head. “so… do i win?”

he turns slowly to look at you. offended. bewildered. humbled. questioning reality. “who taught you that?”

“no one,” you giggle. “i was just pressing things that felt right.”

he stares. then he suddenly scoots closer, eyes wide, clutching your hands dramatically. “do it again.”

“huh?”

“DO IT AGAIN. i need to see it. i need to understand. i need to study you like a rare Pokémon.”

you laugh, starting the next match. three seconds later your character grabs his mid-air and slams him into the ground.

tomura screams, drops the controller, and falls back on the couch like he’s been emotionally assassinated. “no. no way. i refuse. i REFUSE to believe this. i—i TOLD you i’d teach you! what is THIS?!”

you poke his cheek. “still proud of me?”

he groans into his hands. “i’m in love and humiliated at the same time. this is awful. do it again.”

you grin, raising the controller. this man is never recovering.

[suksatoru]

the art of flustering tomura shigaraki was something you considered to be sacred. your boss was a difficult man to distract, so the fact that you have him acting like this is nothing short of embarrassing.

for starters, tomura's pale skin works wonders against him—if you so much as brush against him while passing by, his cheekbones are blooming pink before he knows it with his voice getting all high and cracked around the edges. his hands become clammy and twitchy at his sides—fighting between tearing all the hair off his head and reaching out to touch you once more

his gaze bounces around the room often, too. and he'll find himself tripping over his own words. forget embarrassing—the way you have tomura acting up is downright humiliating. he hates that another person can have this much control over him so effortlessly. so, he devises a plan.

you're lounging on one of the couches in the hideout, body draped over the edge of the seat as you hang upside down and play some video game on your phone. tomura approaches you with his usual scowl and furrowed brows, and you tilt your head when you see him approach you

"hey, boss." you greet

"i need you to slap me. right now."

you blink slowly before a grin overtakes your face. sitting up, you swing your legs forward and rest your cheek against your fist with an intrigued giggle

"where's this coming from? something happen orrr?" you question curiously as tomura sighs impatiently

"i've had enough of you distracting me every single hour of the day. you're so annoying it makes me want to turn you to dust—you're lucky you're a valuable asset to the team or i would have done it a long time ago. now, the sooner you reject me or do something that pisses me off, the sooner i'll be able to get you out of my head and focus on more important things."

you hum, lips curling upwards at his words before you tap your chin in thought. tomura squirms uncomfortably in front of you—he's never had a problem with speaking his mind before, but he basically just admitted he was so attracted to you that he couldn't get you out of his head—and, well, that's embarrassing for anyone to admit, right?

"well, let's think about this. for starters, what if you're into it? i dunno boss man, you are pretty weird... you might discover something about yourself if i slap you and you like it. some guys enjoy degrading stuff like that, you know?" you grin cheekily, and tomura's ruby eyes widen to near comical size as he stupidly sputters for a response

"w-what the fuck?! no, i'd be fucking pissed if you slapped me! it'd make me hate you, not—"

"well, if it makes you hate me, won't i still be on your mind and distracting you? hatred is an intense feeling, after all. that won't help you focus on your work, now would it?" you tease, leaning closer as tomura's ears go pink. he clenches his fist tightly, blunt fingertips digging crescent moons into the palm of his hand, before he looks away begrudgingly.

"whatever then. reject me. tell me the truth. tell me i'm disgusting and tell me you'd rather die than be with someone like me. that might lessen my attraction for you." he says firmly, glaring at you with nothing but irritation in his eyes as you frown

"but i don't want to be mean to you. you're a great boss!" you whine playfully, reaching out to poke tomura's cheek as he swats your hand away with a grunt

"shut up. just tell me you don't like me so i can go back to living my life without your stupid smile taking up every single one of my thoughts."

your eyes soften at that, and so does your smile. you lean back into the couch as you hold tomura's gaze, and he sits there unwavering. did he seriously think he was that unlikeable? you were unbelievably fond of him, and the fact that tomura found himself so unlovable was... really sad. you know your boss hates pity, so you mask your sadness with a grin

"ahh, but who said i didn't like you back?"

dead silence. tomura freezes—and you watch the gears turn in his head in real time. he leans back, whole body gone slack as he stares at you in disbelief, searching for lies—but he can't find any. your expression is as sincere as ever.

"...what?" he croaks

you can't stop the small huff of laughter that slips past your lips as you reach out and gently tap tomura's chest—specifically the spot right over his heart

"i said i like you, you idiot. you're an enigma, but i like you regardless. or, rather, i like you because of it. anyway, i think we should totally date! i'll be a great partner—and i bet the relief of knowing i'm all yours will let you focus on your work more. it seems like that is the only solution we have to this crisis!" you sigh dramatically, and your smile is so bright and beautiful that tomura feels his breath physically catch in his throat

"you're crazy," he breathes, heart beating erratically as he watches you reach for his hand—your fingers dance over his palm, tracing the lines of it with a gentleness he found near ticklish as you shrugged

"maybe. but so are you. you in?" you question

"...you mean with dating you?"

"yup!"

tomura wonders for a moment if he's dreaming

"i—well—there's not—i don't—we—"

"i'll take that as a yes!"

you lean forward, lips pressing a chaste kiss onto his cheek as tomura sits there slack jawed. you're up a second later, faster than he can process, before you're bounding towards the door with your phone in hand

"bye bye, tomura! come sleep in my room upstairs tonight, 'kay? i'll leave the door unlockeddd!" you singsong before disappearing—and tomura stares blankly at the now empty doorway in absolute disbelief. his hand cradles the cheek you just kissed, and it feels like his whole body is on fire.

"...what the fuck..." he whispers incredulously, but despite it all, he feels the heavy weight on his chest finally ebb and flow away—because holy shit, you like him back.

spoiler alerttttt he gives in and ends up visiting your room with a pillow under his arm and demanding a proper do-over of your first kiss <3 <3 <3

[wasntlyra]

Quick question

Does anyone else notice disappearing followers? I get an email from tumblr, follower name and then a witty way of saying they now follow you. I go into the tumblr app and I have a notification. When I open my notifications there is nothing there, when I look through my followers for the name that just followed me, it's not there either and when I go into the mail and click on the profile name, it takes me to tumblr but to a screen of sorry we couldn't find what you're looking for or this account doesn't exists. Even though the mail is only a couple of minutes old.

This has happened a couple of times now enough to make me go this is weird...

And the combination of email and notification makes me think it's not spam but I could be wrong.

Anyone else notice this or know what is going on?

[astra-lun]

It's been a long 10 years

[wasntlyra]

Mulan - my favorite one of the old disney movies

[wasntlyra]

Should I start doing this again? Watching movies and making the most hilarious screenshots I could possibly make? 🤔🤔

[wasntlyra]

10 years on Tumblr 🥳

[writing-prompt-s]

You’re a regular office worker born with the ability to “see” how dangerous a person is with a number scale of 1-10 above their heads. A toddler would be a 1, while a skilled soldier with a firearm may score a 7. Today, you notice the reserved new guy at the office measures a 10.

[captain-acab]

You decide it’s best to find out what you can about this person. Cautiously, you approach his desk. He’s a handsome man, tall, but with a disarming smile. How could such a friendly guy with such cute, dorky glasses be dangerous?

You extend your hand. “I noticed you’re new here. What’s your name?”

He shakes your hand warmly. His gaze is piercing, as if he’s looking right through you. “The name’s Clark,” he says. “So, how long have you worked for the Daily Planet?”

[misscrazyfangirl321]

This one wins.

[janothar]

It’s been a few weeks, and one of Clark’s friends shows up.  She’s pretty and all, enough muscle that she must work out.  First thought would be that she should be maybe a 6.

Clark’s introducing her around.  “This is my good friend, Diana, she’s in from out of town.”

You blink, and take a step back in fear.  You’ve never seen an 11 before.

[aniseandspearmint]

The day Bruce Wayne shows up for his long promised interview with Lois Lane, you can’t help it, the mug your holding drops from your fingers and sends a shock of hot coffee and ceramic shards across the floor.

Clark stops a few feet away and squints at you worriedly from behind those ridiculous glasses you’re 99% sure he doesn’t actually need, and asks tentatively, “Everything all right?”

You ignore him in favor of staring at the inky dark numerals hovering over the beaming fool gesticulating some fantastic yacht story for a gaggle of secretaries and minor columnists.

That’s it. Your gift has officially gone haywire. There is no other explanation. Because there is absolutely no way that Brucie Wayne is a 10.

[petitstar]

At this point, you’ve seen it all. Miled manner reporters and billionaires at a 10 and a model-like woman at 11. You were really starting to doubt your power. The day you really stopped believeing in it was when Bruce Wayne came for another visit, and this time with a kid. The kid couldn’t be more than 10 years old, a bit on the short side.

He was an 8.

[lainathewitch]

The day you started believing in it again was when you saw on tv the formation of something called the justice league.

There were those same numbers over superman, batman, wonder woman and robin. That’s when you put two and two together. You wonder how nobody at the daily planet noticed that Clarke was Superman with glasses. You wonder why you didn’t notice. You wonder why nobody put two and two together that Diana Prince and Wonder Woman looked exactly the same. You look in the mirror as the realization hit you and you see your own number change from a 3 to a 9.

[rainnecassidy]

IT GOT BETTER

[somewhat-honest-abe]

Despite this, you go about your life. You don’t talk to Clark – Superman? – and kept out of his way. His girlfriend Lois Lane – she was a five when you first met, but now she’s a nine just like you – tries to get you to interview Bruce Wayne, but you refuse. You meet other people in Clark’s group of friends with high numbers. The daughter of the police commissioner from Gotham. The forensic scientist from Central City. More and more people to avoid and worry about.

Meanwhile, your paranoia gets to you. You start working out. Training in self defense. Studying the Justice League, trying to find its members. Finding out all their identities so you can be ready.

One day you wake up with a ten above your head.

That day you get a call. You recognize the area code. Gotham. Your heart is in your throat. You should throw the phone away, run. They’ve found you. You’re doomed. You might be a ten, but you can’t beat them all.

You pick up the phone anyways.

“Hello?”

“Hey, this is Clark Kent. I was wondering if we could talk.”

Your mouth goes dry. “About what?”

Clark’s voice goes quiet. “Well. About the Justice League.”

[somewhat-honest-abe]

You stiffen in your seat. Your adrenaline kicks in, and your eyes dart around the room. You can hang up, pack, grab a plane ticket to wherever and disappear. Your passport hasn’t expired, and you’ve been talking to Perry White about a vacation anyways. You could say it’s a family emergency and never come back.

But they’d find you. You know they’d find you. They’re goddamned superheroes. They can carry buildings. They could probably manage finding you.

“Hello?” Clark’s voice returns, tinged with concern, and suddenly you stop. Calm down. They’re the good guys. At least they’re supposed to be.

“Yeah, sorry, just a little shocked you–”

“Caught up to you?” Clark asked. He laughed a little, but it wasn’t teasing. His voice had his regular ease, the same casual tone he would employ to talk about the weather in the break room. “Yeah. Lois noticed your odd behavior, actually. We didn’t realize it was linked to the League until you refused to interview Bruce, and then we knew something was up.”

“Speaking of Bruce Wayne, are you using his phone? Your area code is Gotham, not Metropolis.”

Clark laughed. “Damn. Lois wasn’t kidding when she said you were the best investigator working for the Daily Planet.”

“I just notice things is all.” You laughed nervously. You still can’t shake your general unease. This guy could kill you without any effort. You’re no match for him, or for any of his friends for that matter. Hell, Batman didn’t even have powers and he’d still fuck you up.

“Yeah, and that’s a skill we could use around here. Would you like to talk about joining? Bruce can send you a car, bring you here–”

“No,” you say, sharper than you intended. “Sorry. I’d rather meet in public, if that’s okay with you.”

“Of course. Lunch or coffee? It’s still early, but it’s a bit easier to cram all of us in a restaurant than a coffee shop.”

“Lunch, I guess. And no superhero stuff.”

Clark pauses, then sighs sadly. You’ve heard this sadness before in rare amounts. When bad things happened and fear and greed overtook people, he’d always frown and sigh, like someone watching their best friend self destruct, unable to help or save them. “You’re afraid of us. Aren’t you?” His voice is concerned and hushed.

A pang of guilt starts to replace the fear. “You can throw around buildings like a sack of potatoes, Clark. Your friend is powerful on an impossible level, Bruce’s kid is a fucking eight–”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Clark said, the sadness disappearing. “You have a number system for us?”

“Look, it’s a whole thing. I’ll talk about it over lunch.” You grab your laptop bag. “Where are we meeting?”

Clark said something to someone else. “Got any restaurant ideas? They want lunch.”

Bruce Wayne – you’ve heard enough interviews to recognize his voice – said, “Saffron’s pretty good.”

“Jesus,” someone else said. You’ve heard the voice, but you couldn’t place it. “I keep on forgetting you’re rich.”

“You don’t think it’s a little much, Bruce? The pay at Daily Planet is good but not that good,” said Clark.

“I’ll cover their tab.”

“Okay…” Clark returned to the call. “Saffron, in…thirty minutes? You’re downtown, right?”

“You can get a table to Saffron in thirty minutes?” said the strange voice. “Boy, am I glad I made friends with you guys.”

“Yeah, that works.” You’re a bit hesitant, but you swallow your nerves. At least for now. Your thoughts about threat levels made you forget that Clark is a decent guy. All you could do is hope that he thinks you’re decent, too. “See you then.”

“See you then. Be safe. Bye.” Clark hangs up, and you’re left in your room. The worry is starting to turn into something different. Excitement.

You shove the phone into your pocket, grab your keys, and head out the door. You’re so full of restless energy you walk the whole way there. Once you arrive, you catch your reflection in the mirror and notice that you’re starting to suit that ten above your head.

[harbingerofsoup]

KEEP GOING!!!!!!!

[somewhat-honest-abe]

The hostess takes you to a hidden corner of the restaurant. It’s mostly empty, as though it’s only just opened. Sitting at a long table, chatting politely, was the Justice League.

They aren’t wearing masks or uniforms, no bright colors and costumes. Clark Kent is in his usual office wear, Bruce Wayne is wearing a tailored suit, Diana Prince dons a nice blue dress, and Oliver Queen wears a nice button down. You don’t recognize two of them – a twenty something in jeans and a hoodie, a man in a green shirt, and a burly guy in a baggy t-shirt and old jeans who looks like he had just washed up from the sea. All of them, aside from Diana, are tens, of course.

Clark Kent stands, shakes your hand when you come in. “Glad to see you made it.” He introduces you to the others, and they all shake your hand quite happily and greet you like a friend. You learn that the guy in the hoodie is Barry Allen, the dude in green is Hal Jordan, and the beach dude is Arthur Curry. Waitresses, all ones, twos, and threes, come in with drinks, and one plops a mug of coffee in front of you, along with a small menu. Clark Kent gives you a knowing gaze.

Once the waitresses clear out, Bruce sits up straight. “Clark, would you rather I do the honors?” His silver watch glitters in the light from the windows.

“No, no, Bruce,” Clark says, setting down his glass of water. “I think it’s best if I ask them myself.”

Within a moment, you piece it together. “You want me to join the Justice League?”

Clark Kent cracks a smile. “How’d you guess?”

“You call me out of the blue, mention the Justice League, invite me to Bruce Wayne’s place, and then here, where you introduce me to a group of people who all look strikingly similar to the members of the Justice League.” You take a sip of coffee. “Subtlety is hardly your strong suit.”

Barry Allen laughed. “They got you there on that one.”

“Well, you’re right. At first Bruce wanted to handle the situation himself,” – you’d rather not think about what handle was a euphemism for – “but I insisted we do some more digging. We did, and what we found was…surprising. To say the least.”

You look at him oddly. You aren’t normal – no one else saw numbers floating above people’s heads – but you weren’t surprising. Your parents were the only ones who knew about your ability, and they’re long gone. You’ve got no checkered past, no odd history–

“You have powers.” Clark’s voice was clearly impressed.

“How did you find out about that?” The fear comes back, forming a knot in your stomach. “I’ve never told anyone else about it.”

“It’s not hard to notice,” Barry Allen says in between sips of soda. “Most of the information we got we got from Lois after she’s hung out with you.”

“I’ve never her told her anything about the numbers, though.”

Oliver Queen sits up, flashing you a confused look. “Numbers?”

Okay, something’s not right here. “The number I see over everyone’s heads,” you say, keeping your voice low. “It ties into how dangerous everyone is. Usually it’s just a one or two, maybe a three or four or five if they’ve got some kind of training or if they work out or whatever. Almost everyone at this table has a ten.”

“Almost?” Diana furrows her brow.

“You have an eleven,” you add.

Diana nods, smiling with a bit of pride and making an “I told you so” face to Bruce Wayne, who rolls his eyes. Oliver Queen clears his throat as Bruce and Hal pass him a couple bills.

“Ignore them,” Barry says, rolling his eyes at the three of them. “What you said was interesting – I might have to ask you a few questions on that later – but it wasn’t what I found. Remember the sensory and memory study you did when you were ten?”

You do remember it. Your parents were contacted by a scientist friend of theirs who needed kids to run a study on memory and stimuli. You remember it clearly. The large sterile room, the tests, the person conducting them, a handsome woman with a four above her head, the questions, the smell of latex gloves and fresh bleach. But you don’t remember the results. You were never told the results, other than that they were good, though with a test like that it was hard to say.

“Well, I found the tests. And they were superhuman.”

[mentallydobious]

Oh shit this is the best one!

[rjmeta]

Please please please keep it going!

[obsessed-and-ace]

“Wait…” You couldn’t even process something that ridiculous at first. “My best friend all through high school was in that trial too, that’s how we met. She was a lot of things, but superhuman wasn’t one of them.”

Barry reached in his pocket and pulled out a pocket sized composition notebook and paged through it.

“What was the name?” Oliver demanded as you, and everybody else at the table watched Barry, but you were the only one who didn’t know what he was doing.

“Uh… oh! Me? Sorry. Her name was Irene. Irene Schumer. Why?”

Barry went back a page and then looked up from the book at all of the heroes around him and shook his head sadly.

“When did you last talk to Irene?” Diana asked gently. Too gently. Gentle to the point that you knew something terrible was up.

There was a tightness in your chest as you tried to remember. I guess it had been a while, but not a lifetime ago. You still saw her spouse posting stuff on Facebook with their kid. But now that you thought about it, Irene was always tagged in the picture, but not in them… “It’s been a few years. Maybe… nine?”

After they all exchanged a glance, Bruce said solomnly, “I’m sorry to tell you this, but we have it on good authority that Irene has been killed.”

Shit.

Suddenly the room seemed to dim and all of the Justice Leauge were looking at you, Clark even leaned towards you as if he expected you to break right there. But you had more tact than that.

“You have it on good authority? What the hell does that even mean, Mr. Wayne? Who’s authority is good?”

Clark stopped Bruce from talking and slowly explained, “Once we found out about the… nature… of the experiment, we started trying to track down the results and the participants. Something that Barry found out… well… every year, one person from the trial was killed.”

“Sorry to interject,” Hal suddenly spoke.

That was the first time you actually paid attention to him. His features were nearly as strong as Diana’s and Clark’s, but his hair was much more… shaggy?

“But we thought that maybe the reason they were being killed was because of how dangerous the testers determined them to be-“

He stopped when you snorted.

“Impossible,” you insisted, “Irene was the only fully grown adult I’ve seen with a 1 above her head. I’ve had a three as long as I can remember until recently.”

“Until recently?” Diana repeated.

Oops. Probably best to leave out the fact you were a ten right now.

“Maybe,” Clark said when he saw you didn’t want to answer, “it has something to do with the type of power it is.”

Clark seemed to be trying to put you at ease more than anybody else sitting at the table.

“A person with superhuman abilities or whatever can’t give off a one. That’s… insane,” you started arguing.

“Unless her power was deception,” Oliver muttered. He looked at Barry and asked, “how many people are left from that experiment that haven’t died, disappeared, or become incompacitated?”

He didn’t even look at the book before saying “just one”

Every eye fell to you again.

It was like someone poured something hot over your head. Your scalp burned and tingled and then it trickled down your neck and spine and made your shoulders ache until your arms tensed. You had to decide if you believed them or not. They were supposed to be the good guys, Clark seemed to think you two were friends, but some of the stuff they were saying was… ridiculous. Impossible. Inconceivable. Unbelievable. Just… You picked your coffee up and took a drink. To mask everything you were thinking.

You set it down and tried to lighten the mood by saying, “Might need something stronger.”

That pulled a few smirks out of some.

“Okay,” you sighed, “let’s say-hypothetically- I believe you and I’m willing to go along. What is… I mean, what do you want… what are you gonna do about it?”

“Well, we started with meeting up with you for lunch to see if you’d be interested in joining us. Joining our little team.”

You examined all of them. Perfect, poised, powerful, with some kind of super power- besides Bruce (you assume). You had none of that. You had a history of hapkido, a green belt in tae kwon do, and saw floating numbers above peoples heads. That was hardly as impressive as anyone else at the table.

“Why would you want me to?” You finally asked. “It doesn’t make sense. I’m not a hero. I can’t throw buildings, or fly, I’m not bulletproof, at all. That’s not a… liability? Or a bad idea?”

“None of us think so,” Bruce Wayne leaned forward.

“Mr. Wayne-“

“-Bruce,” He corrected without making much noise.

“Bruce. What do you think I have that somebody else doesn’t have?”

It was a while before he said, “Skill. Spirit. Talent. But more importantly, a calling to be part of our team.”

Destiny.

The word your grandmother had said to you everyday since your parents died until her death echoed in your head. Everything leads to your destiny, but you have to know when you’ve reached it. Was this is? Did you reach it?

“So,” Bruce said abruptly, “What do you say?”

[mantha-has-fallen]

You paused for a moment, your eyes drifting back down to the coffee on the table. What did you say? If you accepted their proposal — if this wasn’t just one big prank — what then? What did they expect you to do? What did you really have to offer? Nothing like this ever came for free, without consequence. What were you going to have to give up?

You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Glancing around, you could see that everybody’s eyes were trained on you expectantly. They were waiting.

Where had your confidence gone?

“I-” Your throat caught on the words. Not a good sign. You tried again, much more successful this time. “I’m going to have to think about it.” You could practically feel the whole table let out bated breaths. Disappointment and something else rang through the air like a gong, reverberating inside your skull.

“I understand,” Clark Kent, a man you’d known for over a year now, nodded as he sought to relieve the tension in the air. “It’s a big decision to make. I trust that you’ll make the best one.”

“Yeah,” Barry agreed. “I mean, my entire life changed the day I decided to become the Flash.” Your attention — and your head — snapped in his direction. So that was who he was? Your realization must have been clear, as he had made eye contact right after saying it with an upturning of the corners of his mouth that read something like: Oops… Well, too late now.

Diana spoke next, “Yes. The life of a hero is very different from that which you have known so far. You must make this choice for yourself.” Sincerity breached her face as she leaned slightly forward in your direction. “But I firmly believe this — the Justice League, with us —  is where you belong.”

Your eyes roamed around the table at everybody who had not yet spoken, taking in the malcontent clear on many of their faces. Guilt pinged in your brain against your will. No, you weren’t allowed to feel guilty. You had as much of a right to deny their offer just as you did to accept it. Besides, you didn’t even refuse yet, just extended the deadline.

You didn’t fail to notice Hal, Bruce, and Oliver’s silence, but right now the anxiety latching onto you was more concerning. Discomfort was racing up your spine and you couldn’t help but be reminded of the values that floated up above everybody’s heads; By agreeing to meet this group of people, you had knowingly put yourself in more danger than you had ever been in before. You rose to your feet and addressed the table once more.

“Thank you for your offer. As you understand, there is a huge choice in front of me and I need time to consider it more.” You nodded at them, receiving a few nods in return. “I will contact you with my answer soon, after I think about it.” You glanced at the two that you knew how to talk to — Clark and Bruce, of which the former was probably the best option — before turning away and taking careful, measured steps past the empty tables in this section of the restaurant.

As you approached an archway that led to a busier part of the restaurant, someone — was that Oliver? — spoke up. “Wait a second, we’re really just going to let them go? Just like this? They know our identities, you can’t tell me that’s not dangerous.”

A different voice this time, one you couldn’t quite make out. “Why wouldn’t they accept? This is a chance of a lifetime and-”

The words faded into obscurity as you got closer to the entryway.

There was so much for you to think about, so much for you to consider. What kind of changes would there need to be if you accepted? What about your friends and family? What would this mean for them? How much would you need to lie to them about this? What would happen if you told the truth? Would they be safe? How much danger would be in store for you? How much danger was already in your life? Your mind wandered to the notebook that Barry carried; Obviously, there was already a lot in store for you if everybody else was-

Your thoughts wandered to Irene. Somebody that you had known for so long and now she was dead. What of the others on that list? All of them were dead too. All of them were kids that you had met back when you were ten. Just kids. And to think that they had been dragged into this just because of something their parents signed them up for? That they were just kids when they were condemned to this fate? When they were sentenced to death? That didn’t settle right with you.

Your feet never carried you any closer to the entrance. Injustice and anger and courage welled up inside of you, replacing the fear and anxiety and uncertainty that had been there before. This was the chance of a lifetime, something that would most likely carry you toward your destiny; you couldn’t just walk away now. Especially when chances were that you were the next target of whoever was behind this. You had to do something, if not for yourself then for all of the others that didn’t have the opportunity to protect themselves. Something was stirring inside you that made you turn in the other direction.

Somebody must have heard your brisk walk back toward the table, because all of them, all of these superheroes, were looking at the doorway when you came through. Fear no longer rose up when you saw these people again; you were a ten too, just as dangerous as almost all of them. You could handle yourself. This was what you were meant to be doing with your life, you could feel it. You stood at the end of the oblong table, next to where you had sat previously, and took a deep breath. Determination coursed through your veins and when you opened your mouth, you spoke the words that changed the course of your entire life:

“Screw this whole ‘thinking about it’ thing… I’m in.”

[lunar-mansion]

8 different writers and this is a coherent masterpiece full of suspense and intrigue that actually sets up character background, development, and motivation… wow I’M IN!!!!

[brightlotusmoon]

[leave-her-a-tome]

(source)

Unsplash -  photography, illustration, and art

Pixabay - same as unsplash

Pexels - stock photos and videos

Stockvault.net - stock photos

freepngimg - icons, pictures and clipart

Veceezy - vectors and clipart

Kissclipart and kissPNG - more vectors and clipart (often transparent!)

Getdrawings - simplistic images and drawing tutorials

Gumroad - photoshop brushes (and more)

Canva - needs login but has lots of templates

Library of Congress - historical posters and photos

NASA - you guessed it

Creative Commons - all kinds of stuff, homie

Even Adobe has some free images

There are so many ways to make moodboards, bookcovers, and icons without infringing copyright! As artists, authors, and other creatives, we need to be especially careful not to use someone else’s work and pass it off as our own. 

Please add on if you know any more sites for free images <3

[negativefeedback-teen]

👏🏾Education 👏🏾is 👏🏾a 👏🏾right,👏🏾 not👏🏾 a👏🏾 service 👏🏾

Pass along and use the shit out of them

[zwoelffarben]

No one should own knowledge, and the pursuit of knowledge should be guarenteed.

[petrichormeraki]

👏👏 NO ONE SHOULD OWN KNOWLEDGE AND THE PURSUIT OF KNOWLEDGE SHOULD BE GUARANTEED 👏👏

[violetsandshrikes]

oh, to be a dutch resident armed with rotten eggs,

[violetsandshrikes]

[wasntlyra]

Dutch person here, I second Kylo. 3000 is not enough we need more! (Make the rotten eggs free and I can garantee the amount of people will skyrocket)

[soljua-deactivated20180215]

reasons i haven’t replied back:

- i’m socially exhausted - i don’t have the time right now - i don’t know how to reply - i have a bad memory and got distracted - i’m having a depressive episode and don’t have the energy to socialise

not reasons i haven’t replied back:

- i’m ignoring you just because - i hate you - i’m fed up with you - i don’t want to be your friend anymore

[sserpente]

Merry Christmas everyone! 🎄

[tastefullyoffensive]

[prismatic-bell]

HERE’S THE THING THOUGH

I used to work for a call center and I was doing a political survey and I called this number that was randomly generated for me and the way our system worked was voice-activated so when the other person said hello you’d get connected to them, so I just launch right into my “Harvard University and NPR blah blah blah” thing and then there’s this long pause and I think the person’s hung up even though I didn’t hear a click

And then I hear “you shouldn’t be able to call this number.”

So I apologize and go into the preset spiel about because we aren’t selling anything, etc. etc. and the answer I get is

“No, I know that. What I mean is that it should be impossible for you to call this number, and I need to know how you got it.”

I explain that it’s randomly generated and I’m very sorry for bothering him, and go to hang up. And before I can click terminate, I hear:

“Ma’am, this is a matter of national security.”

I accidentally called the director of the FBI.

My job got investigated because a computer randomly spit out a number to the Pentagon.

[kuroba101]

This is my new favourite story.

[therobotmonster]

When I was in college I got a job working for a company that manages major air-travel data. It was a temp gig working their out of date system while they moved over to a new one, since my knowing MS Dos apparently made me qualified.

There was no MS Dos involved. Instead, there was a proprietary type-based OS and an actually-uses-transistors refrigerator-sized computer with switches I had to trip at certain times during the night as I watched the data flow from six pm to six AM on Fridays and weekends. If things got stuck, I reset the server. 

The company handled everything from low-end data (hotel and car reservations) to flight plans and tower information. I was weighed every time I came in to make sure it was me. Areas of the building had retina scanners on doors. 

During training. they took us through all the procedures. Including the procedures for the red phone. There was, literally, a red phone on the shelf above my desk. “This is a holdover from the cold war.” They said. “It isn’t going to come up, but here’s the deal. In case of nuclear war or other nation-wide disaster, the phone will ring. Pick up the phone, state your name and station, and await instructions. Do whatever you are told.”

So my third night there, it’s around 2am and there’s a ringing sound. 

I look up, slowly. The Red phone is ringing.

So I reach out, I pick up the phone. I give my name and station number. And I hear every station head in the building do the exact same. One after another, voices giving names and numbers. Then silence for the space of two breaths. Silence broken by…

“Uh… Is Shantavia there?”

It turns out that every toll free, 1-900 or priority number has a corresponding local number that it routs to at its actual destination. Some poor teenage girl was trying to dial a friend of hers, mixed up the numbers, and got the atomic attack alert line for a major air-travel corporation’s command center in the mid-west United States.

There’s another pause, and the guys over in the main data room are cracking up. The overnight site head is saying “I think you have the wrong number, ma’am.” and I’m standing there having faced the specter of nuclear annihilation before I was old enough to legally drink.

The red phone never rang again while I was there, so the people doing my training were only slightly wrong in their estimation of how often the doomsday phone would ring. 

[arctic-hands]

Every time I try to find this story, I end up having to search google with a variety of terms that I’m sure have gotten me flagged by some watchlist, so I’m reblogging it again where I swear I’ve reblogged it before.

[voroxpete]

But none of these stories even come close to the best one of them all; a wrong number is how the NORAD Santa Tracker got started.

Seriously, this is legit.

In December 1955, Sears decided to run a Santa hotline.  Here’s the ad they posted.

Only problem is, they misprinted the number.  And the number they printed?  It went straight through to fucking NORAD.  This was in the middle of the Cold War, when early warning radar was the only thing keeping nuclear annihilation at bay.  NORAD was the front line.

And it wasn’t just any number at NORAD.  Oh no no no.

Terri remembers her dad had two phones on his desk, including a red one. “Only a four-star general at the Pentagon and my dad had the number,” she says.

“This was the ‘50s, this was the Cold War, and he would have been the first one to know if there was an attack on the United States,” Rick says.

The red phone rang one day in December 1955, and Shoup answered it, Pam says. “And then there was a small voice that just asked, ‘Is this Santa Claus?’ ”

His children remember Shoup as straight-laced and disciplined, and he was annoyed and upset by the call and thought it was a joke — but then, Terri says, the little voice started crying.

“And Dad realized that it wasn’t a joke,” her sister says. “So he talked to him, ho-ho-ho’d and asked if he had been a good boy and, ‘May I talk to your mother?’ And the mother got on and said, ‘You haven’t seen the paper yet? There’s a phone number to call Santa. It’s in the Sears ad.’ Dad looked it up, and there it was, his red phone number. And they had children calling one after another, so he put a couple of airmen on the phones to act like Santa Claus.”

“It got to be a big joke at the command center. You know, ‘The old man’s really flipped his lid this time. We’re answering Santa calls,’ ” Terri says.

And then, it got better.

“The airmen had this big glass board with the United States on it and Canada, and when airplanes would come in they would track them,” Pam says.

“And Christmas Eve of 1955, when Dad walked in, there was a drawing of a sleigh with eight reindeer coming over the North Pole,” Rick says.

“Dad said, ‘What is that?’ They say, ‘Colonel, we’re sorry. We were just making a joke. Do you want us to take that down?’ Dad looked at it for a while, and next thing you know, Dad had called the radio station and had said, ‘This is the commander at the Combat Alert Center, and we have an unidentified flying object. Why, it looks like a sleigh.’ Well, the radio stations would call him like every hour and say, ‘Where’s Santa now?’ ” Terri says.

For real.

“And later in life he got letters from all over the world, people saying, ‘Thank you, Colonel,’ for having, you know, this sense of humor. And in his 90s, he would carry those letters around with him in a briefcase that had a lock on it like it was top-secret information,” she says. “You know, he was an important guy, but this is the thing he’s known for.”

“Yeah,” Rick [his son] says, “it’s probably the thing he was proudest of, too.”

So yeah.  I think that might be the best wrong number of all time.

Source:  http://www.npr.org/2014/12/19/371647099/norads-santa-tracker-began-with-a-typo-and-a-good-sport

[arty-ari]

No okay THAT is adorable and I’m queueing this for next December.

[remijaecrowley]

Just scheduled this for re logging December 24th of next year.

[spidaerman]

“i’m heading to bed, goodnight ☺️”

me in bed:

[wasntlyra]

I feel so called out right now...

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Hey guys, since I'm feeling a little down and uninspired, I was wondering if you'd help me get out of the slump? What was your favorite Draw your swords quote?

[wasntlyra]

I mean I'm not that good with just quotes but I do have moments I absolutely loved

This one is a quote though which is absolutely true. And the fact they were speaking this at the altar seconds before the bride arrived just makes it that much better!

IT IS A FUNERAL! 😂 This isn't the Darkling this is the Sassling!

Loved this. I'm going to use this now too whenever I'm not understanding someone 😂

This moment was so badass but also set the tone for who she is without a doubt and I would have loved to see Kirigan's face!😂

You cannot tell me Genya scaring people like this and enjoying it a little too much isn't canon 😂

Would you like some aloe vera for that burn, general?

The fact he heard this, knew she was talking about him and smiling about it was just so funny to me. Sir, we can see you falling... in love that is.

And this is sadly a trope that is still used too much. Somebody needs to put this quote in the 'writing 101 manual'

Okay this was I think up to chapter 10ish? Should I continue?

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

🥺🥺🥺 I love you. I'd love to see more if you have time ♥️

[wasntlyra]

Here I am again! This time with chapter 11 through to chapter 15

I never liked Zoya. So this brought me immense joy 😁

Dear... you do know you're wearing a BLACK kefta at the moment yes? Mel isn't the smartest cookie in the jar but even he isn't this stupid 😂

And I would have applauded her for that. And trust me, I wouldn't have been the only one 😂

The Sassling has returned!

Yes you but also... well that...

They have been married for too long 😂 she's becoming a Sassling as well!

Inside Aleksander's mind "I can help you with that right now."

YES YOU SHOULD HAVE!!

Not Blaming poor clueless David 😂

Genya... you love drama don't you? 😂