#like please .. pls

[nyehhehhehs]

What Papyrus Deltarune has been up to

[chimaeraonwards]

John Cusack, the voice actor for Dimitri in Anatasia (1997), shared his statement on Palestine 🇵🇸 🇵🇸 🇵🇸 🇵🇸

P.S. He has been a Palestinian supporter for years

[hinamie]

this is an ideal illusion .

[chloesimaginationthings]

Jeremiah and Mike’s first conversation in FNAF 2

[catgrandpa]

Gotham has always been weird, so when the groundskeeper at the cemetery noticed the Wayne kid’s plot was disturbed, he just chalked it up to more of the same ol’. Alright, so ‘disturbed’ may be a tad too light of a word, but what’s an empty grave in the grand scheme of Gotham? God knows in a city like this one, they could use all the burial room they could get. He figured he’d just jot it down on the website and hope nobody noticed for a while.

Too bad he didn’t account for the 13 year old boy in Bristol who periodically checks the cemetery’s website when he’s feeling particularly lonely.

Plot Removed.

Tim Drake stared at the two words under the heading for Jason Todd’s plot number. Removed? What do they mean ‘removed’? They can’t just remove a plot? That’s a person down there! That’s Robin down there! You can’t Remove Robin!

Calm down. Deep breaths. Assess the situation.

Robin has been dead for 5 months and 14 days. There is no reason for a grave to be removed that early, especially one of a member of such an affluential family. Chances are likely it’s a simple clerical issue. He can call first thing in the morning and make them aware of the mistake. He can have it all fixed in 5 hours.

Just a phone call.

In 5 hours.

…

Tim hates talking on the phone almost as much as he hates waiting.

Well it won’t be the first time he’s snuck out to head to Gotham proper at 1am. It can’t even really be considered sneaking out if there’s no one home to catch you.

Buses stop running at 2, so he layers a couple sweaters under his coat and grabs his best running sneakers so he can comfortably make the trek back.

Just a quick trip to settle his nerves. Maybe get a few shots in if he spots Batman, but really he just wants to see with his own two eyes that things are okay and Jason can rest.

It’s 1:37 by the time he gets to the headstone reading ‘Here Lies Jason Todd’ and the gaping, muddy pit in front of it.

This- This doesn’t make any sense. This is not removal. This is destruction. Desecration. Somebody did this. Somebody-

Assess the situation.

A hole in the ground, approximately 1.5 feet in diameter.

Mud and grass flung outward but with little force.

Large chunks of earth turned over and shoved away.

No signs of tool marks or clean lines of entry into the dirt.

Dragging claw marks.

Staggering, shuffled pairs of foot prints in the mud.

A trail of dirt.

Something… Something large clawed its way out of the ground here. Something large and bipedal and- and humanoid.

Tim refuses to jump to any conclusions he can see all the facts laid in front of him. He’s going to cautiously follow the trail and simply hope to any god listening that he isn’t the world’s first line of defense against the zombie apocalypse.

He’s been walking for 23 minutes and there’s good news and undecided news. Good news: he’s closing in on the target and the trail isn’t taking him out of the way so his trip home won’t be prolonged. Undecided news: The potential Zombie Robin is heading directly for Wayne Manor.

As zombie apocalypse news, this is very bad. From Tim’s collected observational evidence, his not-so-professional opinion is that Batman, faced with a horror movie level zombie of his dead son, would not respond well, and would likely not fight back.

In Batman and Robin news? Tim’s unsure. If Jason is simply back? What could that mean for them? Batman can have his Robin. He wouldn’t have to continue nearly killing others and himself every night in his grief. Jason could-

No. Stop. Do not jump to conclusions.

Hope only brings heartbreak.

What would Batman do? Get close and see if the target is a threat.

Target is male. Mid-teens. Dark hair. Pale skin. Leaning against surfaces as he walks. Appears injured and disoriented.

Minimal risk assessed. Approaching and attempting contact.

Target identity confirmed: Jason Todd.

“J-Jason?” It comes out as a croaked whisper. Jason shows no sign of acknowledgment.

Tim clears his throat, steps right in front of his path, and tries again.

“Jason. Jason, stop I want to help you.” Still nothing.

“Please, Jason. I can help, I promise I can help!”

Why isn’t this working?! Why can’t he just do something right for once?! He wants this to work, he wants to help Bruce, he wants to fix Batman, he wants to not be alone, he wants-

“Robin!”

Robin jerks to a stop.

Tim reached out his hand.

“Robin. Robin please, I’m sorry you’re going through this, it’s really scary, I’m really scared. But I just want to help you. Help you find Batman. Help you get home.”

Jason just stares at him. Of course he does. Of course it’s not going to work. Why did he even bother hoping he could help?

Hope only brings heartbreak.

His sight blurs as his eyes fill with tears and he starts to lower his outstretched hand.

His arm is slowed as a cold hand weakly grasps his own.

“Don’t… scared… Bat… help… Dad… help.”

A relieved sob tears out from Tim’s chest and he gathers himself together. He yanks his extra sweater off and gently pulls it over Jason’s cold shoulders. Jason lets Tim drag his arm over his shoulders to try and carry some of his weight.

“Okay, Robin. Yeah. Your dad will help us.”

Batman will solve everything once Tim gets Robin home.

[rhysroshalfile]

Remmick sinners funny moments, ft my version of Femmick. you get one regular Remmick on the right as a treat but its me making fun of him sorry:/

[fizkid]

me when my gf is freaking out about me leaving her garden but i gotta aura farm

this screenshot alone kills me because esc is losing her mind over losing hollyberry as holly stands there and looks cool and rugged

[crowatyourwindow]

Kenji and his cow Hanako II were the best duo from wan change my mind

[noctunis]

[bennetsbonnet]

I know I turned this scene into a joke about how gorgeous Colin Firth is... but the pineapple that lurks in the background of the Netherfield ball when Mr Collins is yapping to Mr Darcy is such a subtle detail that I really appreciate!

The wealthy at this time in Britain were a little bit obsessed with pineapples. Depictions of them featured as decoration in country homes, in political cartoons, paintings and crockery (warning: Margaret Thatcher jumpscare🥴 but you can read more about that here and here).

But to have an actual pineapple on display during a large social gathering such as a ball? That was really showing off.

Especially when you consider it cost £150 (or approx. £28,000 today) to buy the initial plant, build a hothouse to grow them in and run it... with no guarantees they'd grow given the climate was not exactly suited for growing pineapples! It was a huge risk.

All this meant that pineapples were so scarce that they became incredibly sought after. Naturally, rich people did silly rich people things to acquire them and show them off... perhaps they were the NFTs of their day?

A single pineapple was valued at £60 (approx. £11,000 today). Given the cost and effort of acquiring one, you'd think people would be keen to tuck in and sample this exotic fruit? Nope. Pineapples were not eaten! Of course not! They were displayed on plates surrounded by other less prestigious fruit during dinner parties and other social occasions, usually until they rotted. They could be rented for special occasions too. Such was their value that naturally they became the target of thieves and some pineapples even had their own security guards!

In the end, colonialism (because all British history eventually returns to that) meant that pineapples could be imported cheaply and their status was devalued when the working classes could afford to buy them.

But next time you watch Pride and Prejudice (1995), pay attention the scenes in the dining room at the Netherfield ball and look out for the pineapple... which is the second prickliest thing in shot (behind Mr Darcy). 🍍

Also... just to throw in a little etymological rant... as a treat: I know most of the rest of the world calls them ananas... but in English (and other languages) all fruit used to be called an apple of some sort. We just never got around to changing pineapple.

The humble potato has some peculiar names in other languages... looking at you, French and Dutch with your pommes de terre (apples of the earth) and aardappels (earth apples)... and then there is also the Italian for tomato... pomodoro... (golden apple) when most the rest of the world call them some version of the Nahuatl 'tomatl'.

Languages are just funny like that and that's why I find them fascinating!

[voidshrub]

Hello Boots n’ Bombs nation I love them so so so much I want to inject them into my bloodstream

[kokoasci]

watched alien stage :(

[sahisan]

fem reader. nsfwish. is this an anaxa version of dirty talk... and he also worships you. man is so down bad.i swear i had like two free hours and a vision.

"you’re glowing," anaxagoras says.

you blink. you are—the soft shimmer under your skin has been going rampant as of late.

he stands.

and when he walks toward you, it’s with the pace of someone approaching an artifact no one else has been permitted to touch.

you don't speak as he kneels before you, still standing against a shelf filled with the scripts you sorted out earlier in the day, purposeful, and places a hand at your hip.

then both hands.

then his mouth.

you exhale like you're being unmade.

and as his tongue traces patterns only he seems to remember, as your fingers twist into his hair, as the sharp edges of your composure begin to peel back ever so slightly, just with this, he speaks.

no, he recites.

"there is no divinity more cruel than that which inspires silence in the hearts of the celestial, for in that silence burns longing—and longing, unspoken, is the birthplace of worship."

you intake a sharp breath, barely holding onto yourself, a hand braced against the shelves behind you. his voice doesn’t falter.

"to approach the sacred is not to touch, but to know. to taste knowledge is to surrender to it. and to surrender to her—she, of moonlight and collapse—is to find within destruction the shape of paradise."

your thighs tighten around his shoulders. you don't remember a single manuscript that said this.

your breath stutters.

his tongue doesn’t stop. neither does his voice.

"the one who descended with no herald, who bore the grief of falling like a crown—she is not to be pitied, but praised. for even undone, she remains... formless divinity. the mind bends not to light, but to her."

it's a soft, broken sound that leaves you next. your hands slide down the shelf, trembling.

he presses further.

"tell me what you feel,” anaxagoras says softly between phrases, lips never straying far from reverence.

you can't answer. your throat constricts around the truth of your feelings, suffocating.

so he takes that, too, and continues.

"the laws of reason fracture where she treads. every theorem collapses under the weight of her. and i—logic-bound, oath-sworn—i kneel not as skeptic but as supplicant, for what else is left before a truth this blinding?”

your knees nearly give.

he holds you up with one arm around you thigh, the other anchored to your hip.

"you are glowing," he murmurs, more breath than voice now.

you sob, soft, stuttering, fingers gripping the back of his neck, glimmering veins shining too brightly.

you know what he’s doing. taking everything from you, peeling back layers you didn’t even know existed.

and you let him.

and when you fall apart on his tongue, you don't have to say anything. he doesn’t need you to. you're lost in him, lost in the rhythm of his devotion, in the prayer that is his voice.

and anaxagoras just keeps reciting, as if the words are a lifeline that he needs to help live past another night.

"she is not the echo of divinity, but its original form, fragmented into flesh. and i will worship her until silence speaks—"

you can’t speak. tears gather faintly at your lashes, remnants flickering just faintly under your skin like the last pulse of a falling star. he sees it. knows it.

he keeps his mouth on you, and doesn’t stop until you're nothing but divinity, undone and cradled in his logic.

he hums against your skin as your trembling calms down , finally looking up into your very soul.

"—and kneel before her until my knees bleed, and call it knowledge."

his hands are steady. your glow is not.

and then he bends again.

to worship.

[heyimkana]

Sung Jinwoo by Tomoko Sudo 🐐

[naurius]

I'M SO EXCITED but also why is there so many guns pointed at me I'm scared

(twitter | bilibili)

[vic-draws-sometimes]

Batman and his harem