#copying toast

[doraemonfanclub]

Copying Toast 暗記 パン Anki Pan https://doraemon.fandom.com/wiki/Copying_Toast

[shittalkerxox]

Another idea to do with this post I made;

They aren't raised together. The deal between Shiva and David is still intact when they're born, and when Shiva ends up having 3 kids, it presents a perfect opportunity for David Cain to put in a proper experiment with these kids. He takes Cass, raises her as he did in canon, and tells Shiva to raise Tim how she sees fit, and then they give Jason to a struggling couple in Gotham city, just to see if their genetics really do create the perfect child assassins, or if they have to foster the ability into them, and who's better at it.

Tim and Cass end up meeting when they're around 5 or 6, and they end up fighting then, too. It's a pretty even fight, all things considered, but eventually Cass ends up with a knife to Tim's throat, and Tim ends up with two daggers pointed from behind Cass's head and their parents decide to stop things there.

Jason, meanwhile, is being raised just as he was in canon. His dad gets arrested around this time, and he's left alone with his mother, completely clueless to his siblings currently battling it out in a different continent.

David forces Cass to kill when they're 8, and it fucks Cass up. She ends up hunting Tim and Shiva down, and while she still hasn't figured out talking, Tim is able to get that something bad just happened, and they have to go now. So, they run off together and end up in Gotham about 2 years later.

They're 10 when they run into Jason, who immediately gets freaked out because he and Tim look literally identical, but there are a few basic differences, and Cass just looks like them if they were a girl. Jason, newly homeless after his mother's death a few months before, shows Tim and Cass the basics of Gotham, and in exchange, Tim and Cass show Jason how to handle being homeless (and how to fight properly)

Tim and Cass technically can speak English, Tim moreso, but it's definitely not a perfected thing, and Jason becomes a sort of translator for them.

When Jason ends up stealing Batman's tires 2 years later, he runs to get back to Cass and Tim, who are admittedly and annoyingly better at fighting than him. Bruce obviously follows him, and when he stumbles across 3 kids who look a hell of a lot like Lady Shiva, he just has to take them home.

(Other post on this AU)

[johnnyshrine]

★ 024 // “How About A Toast?”

[nyaskitten]

Only a Lego fan could be upset about older minifigures/more exclusive minifigures becoming available in cheaper sets or books.

[pokemon-npcs]

@snickeringdragon, @bread-into-toast

(referring to this post)

[hopkei]

Yagi Yusei x ViVi

[instantpansies]

people who blindly copy over all the prev tags FASCINATE me. i had somebody literally copy over my tags for original posts??? like girl unless we're both named toast idk what youre getting from this

[mermaidsirennikita]

choose your fighter: Immortals After Dark epigraphs edition

[opiumvampire]

@liquidmalice tagged me to do this and i havent done a tag game in forever im so thrilled

fav color: purple :)

last song: Corrode by Dearest

last movie: Kiki’s Delivery Service i thiiiink

last show: im going to be real with you i do not remember the last time i watched tv

last google search: Steam Deck OLED ebay :-)

sweet/spicy/savory: sweet except i do have a yucky stinking tooth when the mood strikes me

relationship: i got left at the altar in november which was cool and im handling it really well as im sure you all can tell

im tagging @lambylune @goldday @cosmictequila and @bodysnatcher4ever if you wanna yaaaaaaaay

[jalattes]

what trump is doing is absolutely abhorrent but I don't think a lot of yall understand how the government works.... biden signed more executive orders than any president since truman. the problem is the content of the executive orders trump is signing

[siriuslyelio]

thinking about the time i made a video on tik tok and it went micro viral and another creator i was mutuals with copied it….same sound…same text…same caption…on her larger account and i literally lost it….

that being said DON’T FUCKING COPY CONTENT WHAT THE FUCK?!?

[dukeoftheblackstar]

by scent.2002 || Meta

So I was going on about how Bossk became Husband #4 and how he's in that chamber of my head drinking and catching up with Husband #1, Jango Fett. Then it hit me.

Someone wants to make a certain someone Husband Number 1. And since it's Happy Hearts Day, who better to pester my artist with than than Banaka!

I also couldn't pick between the backdrop, but ep! They look swell ♥ I have been binging of blueberries lately and well, all of the ones I bought not long ago were all somewhat sweet and not a single sour one. So viola!

A very sweet, usually sour blueberry and his equally usually sweet and smitten toast ... person-hewontsayhelovesbutactuallylovesbecauseiamafirmbelieverthatthisshipiscanonandiwilldiebythehill@sinisterexaggeratorbroughtmeto.

[serpentsurgency]

... Well. I suppose their strategy may work after all, somehow.

... What strategy?

[bridges-to-ashes]

Are you feeling better today?

Yes.

[kaiist]

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐄 ⋯ 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐂𝐂𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐈𝐒

𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑

The soft melody from his expensive royal-looking piano had drawn you in. Xavier was elsewhere in the living room, probably asleep. You couldn’t resist pressing a few keys, trying to recreate the tune he’d played yesterday. As you leaned over to reach a higher note, your sleeve caught on several keys, and with a sickening crack, they snapped loose.

Your hands flew to your mouth. Three keys hung at awkward angles, completely broken from their moorings. The room suddenly felt too small, your heart pounding as tears welled in your eyes.

You heard his footsteps before you saw him in the doorway. His eyes widened slightly at your tears.

“I’m so sorry,” you blurted. “I was just—I didn’t mean to—” You couldn’t finish the sentence as your voice cracked.

“Why are you crying?” he asked. He walk towards you, then knelt beside you, hands gentle as he took the broken piano keys from your trembling fingers.

“The piano...” you managed. “I broke it... I’ll pay for repairs, I promise...” you stammered, wiping at your eyes.

Xavier glanced at the damaged instrument, then back to you. A small smile formed at the corners of his mouth as he sat beside you.

“It was an accident,” he said simply, brushing a tear from your cheek with his thumb, his warm palm cupping your face. His touch lingered there, gentle and reassuring.

“But it’s your piano,” you insisted.

“The keys were already weak,” he replied with a slight shrug. “It’s already old, and I’ve been meaning to replace it.”

When you still looked uncertain, he added, “I don’t want you to be upset. Things break, and it’s okay.”

The way he said it—so matter-of-fact yet somehow gentle—made you feel like the broken piano truly was insignificant to him. In Xavier’s quiet, straightforward way, he’d made it clear that your distress concerned him far more than any damaged items.

𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄

The hospital had called Zayne in for emergency surgeries three nights in a row. When you woke up early on his rare day off and found him already at his desk in the home office, surrounded by patient reports, you decided breakfast was in order.

You pushed the door open with your hip, balancing a tray with coffee and toast, just as Zayne reached for a folder. Your foot caught on the edge of his rug, and before you could regain balance, hot coffee splashed across his desk—directly onto the stack of patient reports he’d brought home. Dark liquid seeped into what looked like hours of meticulous work.

“I’m so sorry!” Your voice pitched higher with panic, ignoring the stinging pain on your palms. “Zayne, I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean—” Your hands shook as you tried to salvage the papers, only smearing them further.

Zayne stood immediately, his chair rolling back. The stern lines of his face were there, but not directed at you.

“Stop,” he said firmly, holding your hands away, and taking the tray from your shaking hands and setting it aside before you dropped it too. “Leave the papers.”

Tears welled up despite your efforts. “Your reports, all your work... I just—I just ruined your day off... I’m really sorry…”

Zayne set the papers aside and surprised you by taking your warm hands in his, turning them over to examine your skin.

“Did you burn yourself?” he asked, his voice soft.

You shook your head.

“Good.” He guided you to sit in his chair. “These are just copies. I can print them again.”

“But—”

“No ‘but.’” His thumb stroked across your knuckles, a small gesture of affection that contrasted with his authoritative tone. “I keep digital backups of everything, so don’t worry. And don’t feel bad about an accident you couldn’t control.”

He leaned down, pressing a brief kiss to your forehead, then reached for his phone.

“The reports can wait. Let’s order some breakfast, and I’ll get us something to heal your palms.”

𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋

The afternoon sunlight streamed through Rafayel’s studio windows, casting a golden glow across his workspace. You’d come to surprise him with lunch since he often forgot to eat when absorbed in his art.

As you walked between tables covered with half-finished projects, your bag caught on something. You turned to see a delicate sculpture teetering on its pedestal—a twisted form of glass and clay that Rafayel had spent weeks perfecting. Your heart stopped as it fell, shattering against the floor with a sound that seemed to echo forever.

“Oh…! No, no, no,” you whispered, dropping to your knees. Your fingers trembled as you tried to gather the larger pieces, tears blurring your vision.

“What happened? I heard—” Rafayel’s voice cut off as he entered the studio. You looked up, seeing his expression shift as he took in the scene.

“Rafayel, I’m so sorry,” your voice broke as you continued frantically collecting shards. “I can find someone who can repair it, or—”

“Hey, hey, stop!” He crossed the room quickly, kneeling beside you. “Leave it. You’ll cut yourself.”

When you continued reaching for a particularly sharp piece, he gently captured your hands.

“Your art…” you said, tears now falling freely. “I broke it...”

“It’s just clay and glass,” he said, pulling you away from the broken pieces and into his arms. “I can make another whenever I want.”

“But this one was special—”

“Not as special as you are to me.” Rafayel’s arms tightened around you as he rested his chin on top of your head. “You’re going to hurt yourself on these pieces,” he whispered. He rocked you gently until your breathing steadied, then pulled back to wipe your tears with his thumb.

“Besides,” he added casually, “now I have an excuse to try that new technique I’ve been thinking about. I’ve been wanting to replace that one with something new anyway. Do you wanna see, cutie?”

𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐔𝐒

The wind through your hair, the purr of the engine between your legs—there was nothing like late-night rides on Sylus’s custom motorcycle. He’d let you borrow it occasionally, knowing how much you loved the freedom it gave you.

The evening ride had been your idea. “Just around the perimeter,” you’d suggested, and Sylus had agreed because honestly—what wouldn’t he do for you?

You didn’t see the oil slick until the bike suddenly skidded, then tumbled, throwing you clear but scraping across the pavement with a horrible screech of metal on asphalt. Pain shot through your arm as you landed hard.

He swore he’d never been so scared before. He just ditched his motorcycle and was at your side in an instant, his typically composed face taut with an emotion you rarely saw—fear.

“Don’t move,” he ordered, kneeling beside you, hands hovering as if afraid to touch you. “Where does it hurt?”

“The motorcycle—” you managed, tears forming as you looked at the mangled vehicle. Half the custom bodywork was destroyed, the handlebars twisted beyond recognition. “I’m so sorry—I’ll pay—I’ll—”

“Forget the motorcycle,” he snapped, voice sharp but hands gentle as they examined your scraped arm. He was mad at himself for letting the situation even happen.

You’d never seen him this shaken—Sylus, who always had a plan, who always remained calm and controlled.

“I shouldn’t have—” he cut himself off with a sigh before carefully helping you sit up. His fingers brushed your face, wiping away tears and examining you for injuries with tenderness. “I’m just glad the feisty kitten is all okay.” Sylus’s expression shifted to relief, though concern still lined his eyes.

“I’m sorry it got wrecked…” you whispered again.

“I have others,” he said dismissively. “Stop thinking about it.”

When he helped you to your feet, he kept his arm firmly around you, as if afraid you might vanish if he let go. The destroyed motorcycle lay forgotten on the road behind you as he carried you away to his own.

𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁

The storage room in Caleb’s work room was cluttered with mementos from his piloting days. You were searching for an old photo album when your elbow knocked against something on a high shelf.

You turned just in time to see the model spacecraft—the intricate replica of Caleb’s first fighter that you’d given him last year—tumble and crash onto the floor. Pieces scattered everywhere, the delicate wings and engines breaking apart on impact.

Panic seized your chest as you dropped to your knees. Caleb had spent two days putting it together; you remembered how his face lit up with boyish excitement when you’d presented it to him. Now it lay in ruins.

Frantically, you gathered pieces, trying to fit them back together, but your shaking hands only made things worse. You were so focused on your desperate repair attempt that you didn’t hear the door open.

“Hey, what are you doing in—” Caleb’s voice cut off abruptly.

You looked up to see him staring at the broken model, he looked surprised but his gaze softened when your eyes met, and tears welled in yours as you held broken pieces in your trembling hands.

“I’m sorry…” you whispered, voice breaking. “I didn’t mean to—”

Before you could say more, he was on the floor beside you, pulling you on his lap, into a tight embrace. His arms were firm around you.

“Hey, hey, hey… it’s okay. It’s just a model,” he murmured against your hair, his voice steady and reassuring.

“But you worked so hard on it...”

He pulled back slightly, brushing tears from your face with a gentle thumb. His smile alone radiates comfort as he looks at you.

“Then we’ll build a new one together,” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “And I bet we can make this one even better.” He looked down at the pieces scattered around you both. “Maybe add some modifications here and there, what do you think?”

His warm laughter finally broke through your guilt, and he held you close as if the broken model was the furthest thing from his mind.

Based on this request.

[bloodshotgun]

strahm just casually stalking and tailing hoffman. am i meant to believe this is normal police procedure