#horizontal aggression

[liannaedgelord]

whenever i really want to start a fight on the internet that will lead to nothing useful, this song plays in my head and, most of the time, that's enough to talk me out of it

genuinely one of the more concrete impacts a piece of art has ever had on me

[cinnamoontopography]

Shit like this is sooo dramatic. Many women have a disease where they think women are their besties by default and have dramatic falling outs when they realize women are human and not divine angels. Instead of being normal about it, they think the offense of being a catty nurse or scrub tech or attending towards an annoying PGY-1 is the deepest betrayal of all time. "But I thought it was gonna be fun Barbie vibes all the time ever!" Come on fam....

[oynonrings]

trying to describe daniils fuck ass cravat pin in this fic and im struggling because all i can see is a uterus, which is very fitting symbolically but also seems like there could be something im missing, so i checked the wiki and it says its supposed to be a snake (i cant see a snake at all, maybe if those are the eyes and theyre are really far apart? but snakes dont look like that????) and this made me laugh so hard because no way

and then i checked the screenshots and yeah. yeah he does just have the pin in the cravat, not in the collar of his shirt. it is so clearly and emphatically not pinning it to anything. its just floating there. for decoration. i cant believe i never noticed this before oh my GOD

daniil dankovsky your fashion crimes will always be famous

[ljuerlav]

often susceptible to that human folly that is wanting people who are also part of a thing to at least acknowledge when you spent a bunch of hours working on something thats is for that thing

[homunculus-argument]

I would not say that I'm a scary-looking guy. I don't dress particularly alt, just pretty basic dad rock band tees, black skinny jeans with a chain, plenty of assorted jewellery and accessories, dyed black hair and seven piercings around my head, but this is apparently enough to make old people give me A Very Long Stare. But this post isn't about them.

Today I was walking homeward, and there were these two kids (about 8-10 years old?) standing in the middle of the road. They stood there talking, one was on foot but the other one had a pastel pink bicycle, which she had apparently unintentionally stationed horizontally across the walkpath, so the two effectively blocked the whole way. So I kept my eyes on the girl with the bike the whole time I approached their happenstance roadblock.

Now, the finnish culture is both a high context culture and an introvert culture, which means that finns regularly behave like weird animals. A prolonged, maintained eye contact directed at a stranger is a mild, but certainly clear, aggressive gesture. Not as outright hostile as verbally telling them that they're in peoples' way and should move, but intended as a stern gesture to correct them anyhow. The way that dogs sometimes do that very specific low growl at misbehaving puppies, just to say "I have no intention to hurt you, but you better cut that shit out."

And the girl with the bike kept eye contact with me the whole time I approached, while pulling her bike out of the way in a pointedly slow, deliberate way. Looking down or away and moving the bike hastily would have been an apologetic gesture, and this kid clearly wanted to let me know she wasn't yielding just because she did, in fact, move out of the way. And once I was just about to pass, she said "hi?" to me, in a mildly confused and disgusted tone. Not confused by my intentions themselves, but by my evident audacity.

While this may not seem like anything odd, as I mentioned earlier, finns are an introvert culture. Talking to strangers unprompted is rude, a downright hostile act, more aggressive than prolonged eye contact but not as hostile as physically touching a stranger without warning. And I was caught off-guard so badly that I just said "hi" back to her while not slowing down as I passed them.

So just this week, I've had two random old people stare at me like they've correctly identified me as a Manmade Horror Beyond Their Comprehension, and this little girl dressed head to toe in pastels with a pink bike and sparkling unicorn backpack just glared right back at me and stared me down like Can I Fucking Help You.

[lolasangelz]

easter at the cameron-hills

w/c: 565

a/n: happy easter!! im imagining if this was at gigi's family due to their traditions it would be religious (and intense)

ᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕ

easter at the cameron-hills household was never simple.

whether it was at the camerons, the hills, or at home, it always came with a side of chaos - strained smiles, too many expectations, and kids way too hyped on sugar before 9 a.m.

but this year, it was at home.

and it started with screaming.

"has the easter bunny came?!" "CHOCOLATE!" "i saw something by the sofa!" "it was probably dad’s sock." "EW!"

rafe groaned beside her, face buried in the pillow. georgia cracked one eye open and saw the clock blink 6:41 am

“they’re too loud,” he mumbled.

“they’re your kids.”

he rolled over, arm thrown across her waist. “they’re only mine when they’re quiet.”

grayson burst through the door then, basket in hand, cheeks flushed. “mama! mama! the bunny CAME!”

gigi sat up, rubbing her face. rafe stayed horizontal.

it only got messier from there. there was chocolate smeared on the wall by 7:06 am, and maggie had somehow managed to get an entire foil wrapper stuck in her curls. maddie wore her bunny ears upside down and insisted it was fashion. emerson - clipboard in hand - had drafted a detailed egg-hunting map, complete with time slots and a “no dad interference” rule.

gigi gave up after grayson hid an egg inside a shoe.

rafe, to his credit, handled breakfast. store-bought cinnamon rolls, sliced fruit, coffee so strong it made gigi blink twice. he moved slowly but with purpose - and not once did he look at his phone. not once did he talk about work. just… was there.

“you let them eat chocolate before breakfast,” gigi muttered, walking past him in a cloud of bunny stickers and glitter.

“you were still asleep,” he said gently. “you needed it.”

she wanted to argue, but he smiled at her, soft and knowing, and she didn’t. she just stole a sip of his coffee and leaned into his shoulder for a second longer than usual.

photos came after. gigi wrestled the kids into pastels, rafe snapped the pictures, and somehow one turned out perfect - four laughing, wrinkled-nosed babies, and gigi standing behind them mid-laugh, rafe’s hand just barely visible on her waist.

“we’re getting good at this,” he said quietly when he showed her the photo.

“what, parenting?”

“no. surviving.”

the day died down after that. the kids watched a movie, half-asleep in a nest of blankets and sugar comas. maggie drooled on rafe’s chest, grayson curled against his side. gigi watched from the kitchen, heart full in a way that made her ache.

later, when they were alone, rafe found her in the bedroom folding tiny pastel clothes into a too-small drawer.

“you okay?” he asked, voice low.

“just tired.”

he wrapped his arms around her from behind. she leaned back, let herself breathe.

“remember our first easter?” she said.

“you cried in the bathroom.”

“i didn’t cry.”

“you did. your sister sent some passive-aggressive gift basket and you threw a chocolate bunny at the sink.”

she laughed, soft and surprised.

“we were a mess.”

“we still are.”

she turned, rested her forehead against his. “i don’t mind anymore.”

he kissed her then, sweet and slow. like something that had always been there, just waiting for the quiet to come out.

outside, the sky turned that easter-evening gold, and inside, in the warm hush of home, everything felt a little more possible.

ᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕ

[duvetchico]

Write me karina mall date n I'll kiss u 👅👅👅

(Pretend I'm a male bird trying to seduce u into writing this)

mall rat

summary jimin’s boredom drags you out of your depression nest and into a mall date full of cuddly crimes, weird juice, and the slow realization that she’s your favorite person to suffer with.

genre fluff / crack / girlfriend brainrot

pairing yu jimin x fem!reader

i hate birds especially when they're male so im only doing this for the ppl

masterlist.

it begins at war. well, not really. it begins with you horizontal on the couch for the fifth hour straight, remote lost somewhere under your ass, half-dead from whatever seasonal depression was cooking up this time.

jimin’s draped over your legs like a stylish barnacle, wearing her 'i’m up to no good’ hoodie (you knew because it was yours, stolen, and she only wore it when plotting). she’s scrolling through her phone aggressively, thumb tapping at light-speed.

“i’m bored,” she said.

“congrats.” you didn’t even look at her. you were emotionally and spiritually one with the couch.

“no like,” she huffed, dramatic as ever, “i-need-to-go-out-and-buy-things bored.”

“what the fuck,” you muttered. “you literally ordered six shirts last night.”

“yes. and now i wanna touch them in real life.”

“jimin i am in a state of complete and total sloth. i cannot mall. my body will evaporate under the fluorescent lights.”

she sat up fast, excited now, like a toddler who just saw a dog. “mall.”

“no.”

“mall.”

“absolutely not.”

“mall date.”

“no.”

“i’ll buy you that overpriced cinnamon pretzel you like.”

pause.

“...fuck.”

- jimin had her sunglasses on even though the sun was nonexistent. she was strutting in like she owned the food court. you were ten steps behind her, still waking up.

you looked like her tired little assistant. she looked like she was about to host a ted talk on how to seduce women in the cologne aisle.

“babe,” she called over her shoulder, “should we get matching tote bags?”

“should you stop financially ruining us?”

“that’s a no.”

- you weren’t even in the squishmallow store for ten seconds before she screamed, “LOOK, IT’S THE WEIRD TOAST ONE YOU LOVE.”

you tried to deny it. tried to act normal. but the squishmallow had eyes. and a smile. and you folded.

“you’re weak,” she said proudly, already buying it for you.

“you enable me.”

“and i��d do it again.”

you walked around the rest of the mall with a giant smiling piece of bread in your arms. at some point she took a photo of you and posted it on her story captioned “baby’s first loaf”

- you sat on the fitting room bench watching jimin do stupid little runway spins in outfits she had no intention of buying. she was narrating herself like it was a documentary:

“here we have the rare lesbian, hunting in her natural habitat… hunting for discounts.”

“jimin.”

“she spots her prey—an overpriced corduroy jacket. will she attack?”

“please shut up.”

“she attacks.”

you laughed against your will and she grinned so fucking smug.

- “try this,” jimin said, handing you a mystery cup of juice from some random vendor.

“what the hell is this?”

“i don’t know. it was free.”

you drank it. instantly wanted to curl up and die. “it tastes like grass and feet.”

“why is it spicy,” she whispered after sipping. “who puts ginger and feet in a drink??”

“capitalism.”

you both made matching disgusted faces and tossed it in the trash like war survivors.

- you were sitting side by side outside the mall now, sun setting, squishmallow between you, her head on your shoulder.

she was humming something dumb and playing with your fingers absentmindedly.

“today was nice,” she said, voice soft.

you hummed. “you dragged me out of the house like a hostage.”

“but did you die?”

“emotionally, yes.”

she giggled and kissed your cheek. “you love me.”

“shut up.”

“you do love me.”

“say it.”

“fine. i love you. now buy me ice cream or i’m taking the squishmallow hostage.”

“deal.”

[luv4freddie]

Aerophobia (fear of flying)

Your fear of flying had kept you off a broom ever since first year, but dating Oliver Wood was bound to fix that. 575 words, fluffy mini story

“Please doll?”

You’d been very adamant about one thing in your time at Hogwarts, and it was that you would not be getting on a broom.

Your first year flying lessons had been a very unfortunate experience, with the amount of falling and bumping into other students you did it was a miracle they even let you finish the class.

And ever since then you’d sworn off getting on one of those cursed cleaning tools.

A relatively easy ban, until you ended up dating Oliver Wood— someone who might actually spend more time on his broom than on his feet.

One thing led to another, and now here you are, with your boyfriend giving you his pretty puppy eyes and a broom hovering next to him.

“I told you-”

“I know,” he says, familiar with your objections, “but your wonderful boyfriend is here and he’s an amazing flyer and he promises to not let you fall off.”

“He’s also talking in third person, which is weird,” you mumble.

Oliver laughs, but he recognizes that you’ve given up.

He holds the broom horizontally and lets you climb on, before climbing on behind you.

He’s reaching around you to hold his hands in front of you so that you’re trapped, his arms acting like the bumper rails you’ve seen at muggle bowling alleys.

“Relax,” he whispers, his breath tickling the shell of your ear.

“Just go before I change my mind.” You state, gritting your teeth in nervousness.

He lets out another chuckle but kicks off anyway, and you screw your eyes shut as a gust of wind hits you in the face.

The broom stabilizes in the air, and you wait to feel him take off zooming, but he never does.

You cautiously open one eye, squinting around at your surroundings.

You’re hovering about ten feet in the air— not moving.

“Ollie?” You have to speak up to be heard, as you’re too scared of shifting the broom to turn his way.

“Yes love?”

“Why aren’t we moving?”

“Do you want to?”

“I just thought you would.” You risk the small movement of shrugging your shoulders, and you can hear the smile in his voice when he speaks again.

“I’ll move, but you can’t close your eyes, deal?”

“I don’t know…”

He lifts one of his hands off the broom to offer his pinky to you, but you let out a squeal, leaning your back further into his chest.

“Oliver Wood you put your hand back on this broom right now!”

He laughs, “make the deal then.”

You let out a groan, still pushing further into him, and decide that anything is better than falling off the broom.

“Fine. Deal. I’m not moving my hand though.”

He places his hand back on the broom in front of you, at the same time placing a kiss on your cheekbone.

“Good answer.”

You brace for the broom to take off, clutching the handle tighter but keeping your part of the deal up— your eyes stay trained directly in front of you.

Oliver moves one hand further up and the broom gives a small lurch forward.

You hear him laugh at the squeal you let out, but you’re moving much slower and less aggressively than Oliver usually is on his broom, and your fear starts to drain as he continues to gently move the broom forward.

“Look, you can see the courtyard over there,” his voice is calm in your ears, and you excitedly look over.

“I see it! Look! Do you think that’s Fred and George?” You question, pointing to your left at two ant sized figures with red hair.

“Might be.” He hums, trying not to point out your sudden confidence as your hand moves again, pointing at something else.

Five minutes later and you’re back on solid ground, Oliver helping you off the broom with a satisfied grin on his face.

“That wasn’t so bad now, was it?” He teases.

“I guess not,” you concede, popping up to give him a kiss on the cheek.

“What’s that for?” He asks, although he’s already got a smug smile on his face.

“For taking such good care of me.”

He grabs your hand, interlacing your fingers and placing a sweet kiss on your knuckles while leading you back to the castle, his other hand holding the broom.

“I’ll always take care of you.”

[mysticlael]

Here. More Inco Quotes With The Bats. Have Fun

Jason, after watching Dick get shot by someone: You’re dead. You are very dead. When you are a corpse I will hack away at your flesh and eat you raw. Dick: Wha- Jay, I’m not dead yet! Jason: Let me have my moment of rage to avenge you. Dick: I’d prefer it if you didn’t let me die.

Tim: How do tall people possibly sleep at night when the blanket can't possibly cover you? Jason: Bitch, it's four o'clock in the morning. Tim: So, you can't sleep, huh? Is it because of the blanket?

Dick: “I miss you” is the nicest text you can receive. Duke: “I bought a monster truck.” Jason: You’re both wrong, it’s “I have too much money, you can have some.” Tim: “I got you pizza.” Steph: Fools! I present to you this: “Cass is driving to your house right now.” Duke: “Cass had too much money so she's driving to your house in a monster truck with a pizza that she got for you.” Dick: “…Because she missed you.”

Steph: Did you bring Jason? Dick, gesturing to Tim: No, but I brought the next best thing. Steph: Tim? The next best thing would be Cass. Tim: I would be offended, but Cass is freakishly talented.

Cass: Everything will be ok. You can not stop it. Cass: Everything will be fine. You have no choice. Steph: What the fuck kind of pep talk is that? Cass: Ominous positivity.

Bruce: Why is there blood everywhere? Jason: I may have aggressively poked someone with a knife. Bruce: You stabbed someone? Jason: No, no. I aggressively poked someone with a knife.

Duke: How would you guys deal with a toxic friend? Barbara: Tell them how you really feel. Dick: Slowly distance yourself from them. Damian: Engage in a 1v1 sword battle and if they lose, they have to stop being toxic or pay the price. Duke, being handed a sword: …well heck.

Jason, at the slightest provocation: I came into this earth screaming and covered in someone else's blood and I'm not afraid to leave the same way.

Bruce: So, you lied to me? Jason: That depends on how you define lying. Bruce: Well, I define it as not telling the truth. How do you define it? Jason: Um, reclining your body in a horizontal position?

Steph: So, what’s Cass' type? Tim: Brown eyes, kind, oblivious, good sense of humor, purple lover. Steph: Sounds kind of like me. Too bad we’re just friends. Tim: Did I mention oblivious? Steph: Yeah, why? Tim: Okay, just making sure.

Jason: Is there a cactus where your heart should be? 'Cause you're a real fucking prick. Tim: What’s up your ass this morning! Roy: *walks in* ...Hey. Tim: Hmm… nevermind. Jason: WAIT NO!

Dick: So you’re dating Roy? Jason: What? No! I’m just buying him an accessory since he has terrible fashion sense. Dick: That’s literally a wedding ring.

Selina: Bruce is playing hard to get. Selina: Little does he know, I'm a master at playing hard to get rid of.

Bruce: The first time I saw you, you stole my heart. Selina: But I'm a kleptomaniac, so that doesn't mean anything.

Dick: If I fall… Kori: I’ll be there to catch you. Tim: *looks at Bernard* What if I fall? Bernard: Then I’ll fall with you, never leaving your side. Roy: *watches these two interactions* Roy, to Jason: And if I fall? Jason: I’ll be the one who pushed you.

Roy: Since we're in a relationship now, your clothes are my clothes too. Don't ask me why I have your shirt on, this is our shirt. Jason: Fine, but when I come strutting in with your fuzzy socks, I don't want to hear shit.

[bovineblogger]

saw that video of the bull bumping the little cow with his horns while he ate and suddenly had so many questions about bull horns. what are they made of? do they ever get broken and lopsided? would it hurt the cow to cut them short? I assume the original purpose for them is fighting for mates, but do bulls actually fight a lot, and if so, how is it functional to do so with horns that stick out so far horizontally from the head as the ones the cow in the video had? are there undomesticated bovines with such big horns? Many Questions

hiiiiiIIIIIIIIIIII SO BASICALLY!!

cow horns are made of keratin and filled with tissue and blood vessels! but there is a small bit of bone connecting them to the skull. basically, they stick out to the sides and cool down all the blood running through them, which is awesome for cattle in hotter environments!

cattle tend to butt heads as a way of playfighting or asserting dominance! they don't typically actually aim to injure each other in these spats, but if a cow wants to gore you it absolutely will. theyre very aware of their horns and how to use them. (bulls definitely tend to do this more often as theyre more aggressive and territorial than steers or cows/heifers. )

[deadsetobsessions]

Tim drake triplet au owns my soul I’m not gonna lie

Have some more ✨

——

Moral and ethical crises aside, having three Robins increased the crime fighting rate exponentially. Crooks could not do even a mildly villainous scheme without being cheerfully beaten down (Lionel), robbed blind (Tim), and having their operations permanently crippled (Archy). At this point, the only reason the Rogues were still alive was because Batman insisted on handling them.

“There’s a weird ship coming into Gotham bay~!” Lionel sang, skipping into the room with an armful of papers. Alfred sedately followed behind him, with a plate full of snacks and milk. He had been passive aggressive in feeding them, muttering something about making up for lost time.

“Thanks, Alfred,” Tim mumbled, grabbing a snack. One hand was doing case work, the other (the hand that grabbed a snack) was doing homework. “Yeah, I clocked that. Some pretty interesting people on it.”

“Once again, Bruce’s old flings haunt our doorstep.” Archy crossed the room and plucked some of the papers off of Lionel.

“Ugh, don’t remind me. People are gonna come flocking to his gates with the fake baby traps again at the end of the social season.” Tim grimaced, remembering all the cheek pinches he endured last season as he headed off anyone that would approach Bruce in his Brucie persona.

“Talia al Ghul is a different kind of issue.”

“I’d take fist fighting her over Mrs. Laughfy’s pinching any day.”

“Gee, I kind of want to meet Talia. She seems kind of badass.” Lionel plopped down onto his seat, dumping the rest of the papers onto the table. “Dick hates her though. Oh, Archy, here’s all of the paperwork from that shady chemical plant.”

“Thanks.” Archy went back to the drawing board, drafting up a complicated corporate scheme that ended up with Drake industries acquiring said shady chemical plants. They were planning the reveal of the Drake triplets soon, but their method had much to be planned.

As a matter of fact…

“As expected,” Archy scribbled something on a piece of paper. “Our best bet is to pretend we were always there.”

“Gaslight, gatekeep, girl-boss!”

The triplets nodded and moved on, Archy forging their birth certificates.

Idle conversation started up again, rotating between their upcoming gaslight gatekeep girl boss masterplan, Talia’s arrival, and whether or not they should dye Jason’s hair bright purple.

“I wonder why she came? She got on the ship with a… kid.” Tim stilled, dawning horror and realization settling upon his face. “No way.”

“Oh. Oh, that’s juicy.” Lionel grinned like a bat fresh out of hell.

“We need more information.” Archy set aside his papers, an indication of intense focus from him.

The door clicked open and three heads swung in unison.

“Hey, guys, what are you…” Dick faltered as three sets of piercing blue eyes locked onto him. “Uh. Something wrong?”

Lionel dove at the door, shutting it closed and locking it.

Tim sprung up and clamped a hand onto Dick’s wrist. His smile became eerily polite. “Dick! We had a couple of questions for you!”

Dick glanced down at him, back at Lionel, and then forward at Archy’s widening grin. He shuddered.

“Am I about to die?” He wondered out loud, resigning himself to his fate as his baby-birds dragged him over to their war table.

——

“You didn’t know about me.”

“…No.”

“But we did!” Damian startled, unsheathing his sword in record time and swinging an arc of deadly blades towards the voice.

“Heya! I’m Robin!”

“I am also Robin.” Damian sidled back and looked up, weapon at the ready. Two identical Robins perched on the flickering street lamps, tilting their heads down at him.

“Hey, Damian. I’m Robin.” The one on the left waves.

“Boys,” his father sighed.

“Can it, B. I can’t believe you did the horizontal tango with Talia, of all people.”

Damian bristled. “You would not be worth the ground mother walks upon, you ingrate!”

The three robins looked at each other and simultaneously looked back at Damian. “Oh, we like you. Yes, you’re about to be our new favorite brother.”

Damian didn’t know whether to lunge at them or be flattered.

“C’mon, Wayne junior. We’ll show you around. Pick an alias, one you can use before we train you to be Robin.”

“I… I will fight you! Robin is mine by right! I am father’s blood son!”

One of the Robins perched on top of the lamp post grinned, half feral as he swung down. “We’d like to see you try, little bird.”

“Stop antagonizing him. Damian, you’ll become Robin eventually, but the only way is to get acknowledged by the former Robins. There’s so much more to becoming Robin than being good at combat like you are.”

“We’ll teach you! Robin lesson number one! Annoy B with competence!” The cheery Robin cheered.

“No.”

They ignored Batman. Damian, after checking his father’s face and not finding anything other than exhaustion, followed their example hesitantly.

“Here, take this grapple.” The serious Robin handed him a grapple and a domino mask. “Second lesson, Robins fly through the sky. We can stalk, sure, but we fly better than anyone else.”

Damian glanced at Batman again, before taking the grapple. In unison, the Robins shot up and away.

“Let’s go, Damian. We shouldn’t leave them unsupervised.”

“They are not competent enough to patrol alone?”

Father grimaced. “They are. But if we leave them be, they’ll take over Gotham in a matter of weeks.”

Damian’s respect towards the Robins went up a couple of notches. He put on the domino and grappled after the Robins.

When they find Joker goons transporting goods, the third Robin (Timothy, he found out later) turned to him and smirked.

“Third lesson? The punishment has to fit the crime. Those are stolen goods. So we rob them blind.”

“Those goods are evidence, Robin,” Father rumbled. Damian tensed, but the Robins remained relaxed.

“Okay, so we don’t touch the evidence, but everything else is fair game. Wallets, keys, lightbulbs.”

“That is incredibly petty,” Damian snapped.

“Well, B said we can’t murder them and maiming someone for stealing is too much. So, petty we must be, to refrain from going off the deep end.”

Damian considered tossing them off the roof, but these infernal fools would probably laugh and return to the roofs like cockroaches.

——

Damian watched the carnage in awe. The Robins were incredibly efficient and effective, drawing terror from their victims even before even commencing a beat down.

“I will accept their guidance,” Damian muttered to himself.

Behind him Batman lowered his head into hands in a moment of weakness. He prayed to allah and his parents for patience… and sanity.

——

“Jaaaaaaayyyyyyyyyysonnnnnnn!”

“Oh, fuck no!” Jason shot out rubber bullets without hesitation. “Fuck off, you demon!”

“But don’t you want to meet our youngest brother?”

Jason lowered his guns, glaring at Lionel’s chirpy face. “What? I’ve already met Tim.”

“Nope! Apparently, Bruce had a kid with, I shit you not, Talia al Ghul!”

Jason holstered his guns, interested in any mockery aimed at Bruce. “No way. You’re lying.”

“Nope! Meet Damian!”

Behind Lionel, Bruce’s mini-me stepped out. “Todd.”

Jason straightened and stepped closer, though noticeably giving Lionel a wide berth. He was never going to let the old man live this down. And from the looks of it, he had allies in the form of the three terrors.

——

Bruce looked down at the cake. He looked back up.

On one hand, his kids were getting along.

On the other hand… he was getting bullied by his kids.

Bruce heard a low chuckle.

Scratch that, he was being unjustly bullied by his kids and Alfred.

In front of the exhausted dad of six (and future dad of so many more), sat a cake with the words “congrats, it’s a boy!” and a picture of Talia.

[probablyautistic-definitleygay]

sometimes a babygirl is a bisexual neurodivergent 28 year old Sudanese-English Chief Medical Officer with gender issues who loves space tennis and being horizontal that gives you such intense cuteness aggression you actively see red and start ripping apart furniture like a feral dog every time he and his pretty little deer legs prance on screen <3

[immiebee]

“You wish to spar with me?”

Oh god. You and your big mouth. You meant it as a joke. Well partially. How could you resist poking fun and making a smart ass comment at the Yautja currently tossing and body slamming a dummy around the small arena you had wandered into. At first you were watching in curiosity and awe at how agile and a strong the lone Yautja was. He was practicing with a dummy that one of the Elite Yautjas had been sparring with a few days prior. Said Yautja had only practiced a few moments with it before moving onto a more intricate climbing beam. It was far heavier than what most would normally spar with. You had only seen Elite or a few Young Bloods who were itching to prove themselves spar with it, most of the time the Young Bloods would hobble away with a disgruntled hiss and bruised ego when they realized just how heavy the dummy was. But now, you were a bit too focused on his waist, the way he rolled positioning the dummy under him to pin it from its mechanical AI movements. His mandibles pulled into snapping in aggression near the dummy’s neck as if it was another Yautja he was bullying into submission. The comment you had meant to be inside your head, spilled from your lips a little louder than what you realized and filled the air. The albino Yautja pausing before turning his head towards the voice. Which lead to this awkward, well for you, stare down.

Your focus was brought back to present when the Yautja sat back on his heels, his breath heavy while he tilted his head. His red eye sparkling in mischief when he slowly took you in. You had poked the bear and the bear was in a mood to toy with his prey rather than outright get hostile.

“You said you wouldn’t mind a horizontal battle with me. I’m not a Yautja who backs down from a challenge. Now is this battle more for pain…or pleasure.”

You felt your face heating when he kept staring. His mandibles pulled into a smirk as he stretched his arms up and out waiting for you to respond. Sometimes you should keep your mouth shut….

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

(Full Spice/ Uncensored is on my Twitter and Bluesky @/owo.shroom)

[steviewashere]

A Lesson in Love Aggression: Performed by Steve Harrington, Narrated by Eddie Munson

Rating: General CW: None Tags: Post-Canon, Humor, Fluff, Minor Hurt/Comfort, Established Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington Has an Oral Fixation, Steve Harrington Gets Cuteness Aggression, It's More Like Love Aggression (if that exists), Awkward Steve Harrington, Dork Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Loves Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson Loves Steve Harrington, Love Confessions, Silly Goofy Fun Time

👅—————👅 He shoves him away slightly. “Harrington,” he chuffs. “Did you just fucking lick me?”

Steve Harrington, seemingly normal guy, has all the poise and confidence and skills, the dude who’s got the whole world wrapped around his finger, that Steve Harrington just swiped a glob over his cheek. With his big, warm hands squeezing him tight. His hair wet from the shower, towel wrapped around his waist, droplets still beading down his broad shoulders. A tongue—usually choked down Eddie’s throat, usually used for envelopes sent from Family Video, usually cleaning up ketchup at the corners of his mouth—that just maimed him like a dog with too much energy and love.

Yeah, that’s what Steve is.

A lovable dog with wiry fur and the eagerness of the whole sun.

And he licked Eddie.

“Mmm…maybe I did…maybe I didn’t.”

Eddie narrows his eyes, his arms holding Steve out about a foot away, and he quirks a brow. “Why?” he asks slowly.

Shrugging his shoulders, Steve has the audacity to be bashful—almost shy. “You looked good,” he mumbles quietly.

“And you licked”—

“Uh-huh.” Steve smiles dopily at him. Eyes bright, crinkled. Teeth shining, mouth stretched wide. Rosy cheeks. Stupidly endearing wet hair. Lightly toned arms and his wicked chest hair. “I sure did.”

“Right,” Eddie mutters. “And…”

“And you tasted really good. Like…like kinda musky? Y’know, like when you suck down a cigarette? But also kinda spicy. Did you use new aftershave? Or maybe you sprayed your cologne?”—

“Steve”—

—“Oh, I love that new cologne you got, by the way. I’ve been thinking about it for fucking hours now and I’ve barely smelt it—well, because you’ve been at work all day and I’ve been home—but I’ve been thinking about it and”—Steve gasps for air, red faced, chest seizing for it. Then, once a moment passes and he doesn’t pass out, he continues on—“You also smell good. I think it might’ve been because it rained not too long ago or”—

“Steve”—

—“maybe because you were just outside or maybe it’s because I just love the way you smell, but you smell really good. And I’ve been thinking about other things that smell good and was wondering if maybe, after I get dressed, if you wanna go catch a movie at a drive-in? We can get popcorn—I’ll pay for it, don’t worry—and also sodas. Oh! And RedVines. They work good as straws and I bet that would taste good, too—not as good as you, but”—

“Steve!” Eddie finally shouts.

The room quiets. Goes eerily quiet. Silent, though. Finally silent.

Steve’s chest is moving up and down and up and down and up—

He blinks. Shifts his eyebrows all over: sideways, upside, downside, vertically, horizontally—at least it feels that way. Purses his lips. Can’t really conjure more words than just Steve’s fucking name, but. Well, this doesn’t happen.

And by this, Eddie’s talking about whatever garbling mumble-jumble just poured out of Steve’s mouth like a forever fountain that won’t shut off. He gets some of it. Or, he caught a bit of what was being said. Something about scents? Good? Him, he knows. But Steve getting all awkward and clammy and rambling nonstop?

Well, that doesn’t happen.

Eddie springs his left hand up to Steve’s face. Places the backside over his forehead, patting around his skin; testing.

“What’re you doin’, Eds?” Steve murmurs.

“You’re not warmer than usual,” Eddie quietly remarks, “and you don’t feel tacky. Maybe a little pale, but that could just be the lighting…” He drops his hand away. Purses his lips again, harder—hard enough he can make out every wrinkled etch around his chapped mouth. Carefully, he rotates Steve left and right, twisting him around like a cake on a Lazy Susan. When they’re back to staring directly at each other—and he finally has his bearings—he asks, “Are you feeling okay? No visions? Nose bleeds? Stomach issues?” He whispers that last one, as if he could save Steve’s dignity. (As if Steve’s dignity could be redeemed. He’ll remember the bathroom break of Christmas, 1986. He’ll remember.)

“I’m doing just fine,” Steve chirps. “So…drive-in? M&Ms in popcorn? Or should I go with my Sour Patch Kids?”

“No. No, no, no. Hold on.” Eddie darts his eyes over Steve’s face. “Something’s different about you. You’re…more Robin than Steve today and I need to figure out why.” He shakes Steve’s shoulders, rocking him like a low-battery flashlight. Narrows his eyes once more. “Why. Why did you lick me? That’s usually my move.”

Steve shuffles nervously and awkwardly from side to side, his hands rubbing against each other as if they’re cricket legs. “Uh…you want me to be embarrassingly honest or, like, cool guy honest?”

He raises his eyebrows.

“Is there a difference?” Eddie teases.

Part of the bitchy, prissy, and confident Steve cracks through. But not enough. Not his usual self. Or the version Eddie’s known for a little over a year. Steve rolls his eyes and huffs. Then, he mumbles something too quiet for Eddie to actually hear.

“What?”

Steve sighs, long and heaving. “I said that maybe I’ve been wanting to lick you, or whatever, for a while now.” He shuffles again, timid. “Look, I know it’s weird and maybe not what you’re used to out of me, but I felt like I needed to do it and I’ve been thinking about doing it since this morning and maybe I’m really nervous because now you’re gonna realize how lame and awkward and so uncool I am and then you’re gonna feel all conned or something because I’m not the Steve Harrington everybody seems to love, but I am weird and I love a little too much and maybe I just…” He trails. Stops.

Eddie’s eyebrows crinkle with concern. Well, that was a lot of information at once. “Stevie, I’m not gonna”—

“I just love you, okay?” Steve bursts. “I love you a crazy lot and my way of showing it is both really over the top and also very weird. Like…like, sometimes, I look at you and wanna bite you or lick you everywhere or hug you so tight that we both just turn into big ol’ puddles of SteveandEddie and nobody would know any better and—fuck. I’m being weird.” He blows out a shaky breath. “Sorry,” Steve whispers, “I’m sorry. Not…not what you’re expecting, I’m sure.”

After that, the room goes quiet again.

Tension steaming from Steve’s now goosebump riddled body, his slow-to-dry hair, and his thoroughly dried shoulders.

Eddie wasn’t sure what he was expecting. Maybe that wasn’t something he considered at all. Maybe he didn’t take the time to wonder if Steve was weird, a weirdo just like all the other dorks and freaks he’s known over the years. But. Well, it makes sense. Doesn’t it?

“Baby,” he coos.

“It’s weird,” Steve half-whines, “I’m weird.”

He snorts. Rolls his eyes. “Baby,” he repeats emphatically. “Sweetheart, I’m a capital W Weirdo. You think…you think any of what you’ve done today, said today, is going to scare me away?” Eddie tugs Steve a bit closer to him, bringing him into warmth. “So you get a bit in your head…and you get all aggressive and territorial about your love. Am I supposed to take offense to that? Any of it? Being loved by you is so special to me, you have no idea.”

“Is it?” Steve asks meekly, “you don’t think my love is too much?”

“Stevie,” he whispers, “I love all of you. I love you so much, too much sometimes.”

“Really?”

He nods his head, gazing deep into Steve’s eyes. Taking his hands off of Steve’s shoulders, he instead cups his face. Holding him tenderly.

“I love you, Steve Harrington. No matter how weird we get.” He leans in, pecks the tip of Steve’s nose. Draws back, gooey smile on his own face. “‘Sides,” he murmurs, “we’ll only get so much weirder. I promise, sweetheart.”

“Does that mean I can lick you again?”

Eddie laughs hard and hearty from his stomach. Laughing so hard he bobbles Steve’s head in his hands. “You can do whatever you want to me tonight. After sodas with RedVines, got it?”

Steve, all on his own, bobbles his own head. “Got it,” he says breathily. “Whatever I want.”

👅—————👅 Weirdo Steve, my beloved

[rottenpumpkin13]

Do you Zack’s parents ever had to burrito him? 🤔

*Angeal walks in to find Genesis aggressively wrapping Zack in a giant blanket on the floor*

Angeal: When I said you two should bond more, this is not what I meant.

Zack: >:(

Genesis: I'm disciplining him. He didn't follow orders during drills, and since every other method has failed, I contacted his mother. She said this is what they used to do when he was a "problem child."

Angeal: Don't you think that's a little—

Genesis, reading dramatically from the email: "Step one: fold him inside the blanket horizontally."

*Genesis folds Zack in half. Zack lets out a muffled "thump" of protest*

Genesis: "Step two: roll tightly, like a burrito you intend to eat but are also mad at."

*Genesis starts rolling Zack across the floor with determination*

Angeal: Is this even legal?

Genesis: "Step three: pick up the burrito. Make direct eye contact to assert dominance."

*Genesis scoops up the fully wrapped Zack like a swaddled baby, staring into his soul. Zack angrily starts wiggling*

Genesis: Ah! Angeal, he's resisting!

*Angeal rushes over to assist. Right then, Sephiroth walks in, sees Genesis and Angeal fussing over burrito Zack*

Sephiroth: TRAITORS.

[exitwound]

How can we use [Deleuze's] philosophy in everyday life? Does he supply new or preferred ways of not only thinking but being? In other words: if I was looking for philosophy to guide me ethically and aesthetically, how does Deleuze show me how to live? Danger warning!  Deleuzian ethics are unconventional in ways that tend to piss people off, especially Marxists! Prevailing wisdom would suggest that opposition is essential to change.  Put in Hegelian terms, a thesis meets its antithesis in order to create a synthesis.  Tit for tat.  Action is met with reaction. For example, the government or big business or whomever does something you dislike, so you protest.  They throw a punch, so you throw a punch.  Back and forth.  Eventually, this way of thinking tries to convince us, the tides will change.  Eventually my punch will be the knockout punch, and those aggressive forces that pushed me to react will meet their doom.  (“And the meek shall inherit the earth.”) This is, unfortunately, a fantasy.  Action will always prevail.  Reaction will always fail. (Did protest end the war in Vietnam?  Did protest stop the war in Iraq?  Did protest stop the destruction of collective bargaining in Wisconsin recently?  — No.  It did not.  Why?  Because protest is reactive, not active; it is negative rather than affirmative; it assumes the subordinate position “I am against X!” rather than the dominate position “I am for X!”)  It is the myth Nietzsche exposes in his groundbreaking and devastating Genealogy of Morals, a book that is central to my understanding of Deleuze’s ethical applicability.  For Nietzsche, Deleuze, and myself, direct engagement is a mistake.  Diffuse or indirect engagement is preferable.  Diagonal rather than horizontal or vertical attack.  Non-Euclidean game plans. Rhizome rather than root, molecular rather than molar, dynamic rather than static: reroute the flow of power toward new creative constructions.  Think of it like a tug of war: the opposition relies on your engagement, on your antithesis.  Without it, they would fall on their butts in the same way a person would fall on their butt if you were playing tug of war and suddenly let go of your end of the rope.  By engaging with the opposition you merely serve to validate and empower that opposition.  The only form of power one can truly wield is the power of action, of affirmation, of creation.  Let go of the rope!  You’re tired of going to the grocery store and finding fruits and vegetables from overseas, which have been treated with cancer-causing chemicals?  Don’t bother fussing with the management or writing a letter to your congressman…let go of the rope and go build an organic community garden. Action.  Creation.  Do not be duped into thinking that you can win a battle against the powers that be – they are the powers that be because they took action, because they created something.

Christopher Higgs in an interview on Ken Baumann's blog