#stuck in the drafts

[forsworned]

Being the only female on TF141 is like Simon constantly scolding you for getting into sheningans with Johnny and Kyle while Price sits on his arm chair with a good book, whiskey in hand and him puffing out smoke like a chimney from his cigar like the daddy he is.

"Delete it."

"Why?"

"Cos I fockin' said so."

You cock an amused brow at him as you look up from the embarrassingly cute photo of the skull-masked behemoth fast sleep and cuddling your Hello Kitty plushie. "Cos y'fockin' said so?" You mock his gravelly Manchester accent and it sends Johnny and Kyle into a fit of giggles. And even Price is chuffed by it. It's contagious really.

It lets your guard down enough for him to yank your phone out of your hand deleting the picture with a swiftness that made your eyes ream and your heart jump. You all groan and jeer at him for being a poor sport but he's quite satisfied with himself. Little does he know, you have a few copies of it in your desktop.

[scratchandplaster]

I wonder how Avery and Shepherd’s interaction would be?

[tsururoach]

One way to survive in a ruined world.

+original drafts under the cut

[glowcowboy]

life is so hard i’m so glad it still manages to have the capacity to be really fucking funny

[kedreeva]

Silly question but how would you rate different gamebird chicks on a scale of "no brain cells, head empty" to "wait! I think I just saw a thought happen?!"?

You've mentioned before that turkey poults have the survival instinct of a chicken nugget, and I've raised coturnix chicks before which are like...death seeking missiles. Are other gamebird chicks as dumb? Are any recognisably better suited to not immediately kamikaze-ing into the nearest water fountain/single square millimetre of loose tape/one cold spot they can find in the brooder?

Peafowl chicks rate the highest. I know I talk a lot of shit about them, but outside of not eating unless shown the food (which IS a valid survival behavior, for avoiding toxic things in their native environment), they're not prone to doing anything actively stupid. They have great eye sight, they tend to look before they leap (and can fly if they do get into trouble). They have a sense of time ("bedtime" is a concept they have! Every hand raised baby I've ever had has had a strict idea of when they think it's time to go to bed and will scream at me until I agree). They will return themselves to the heat when it's time, I've never had one fail to do this or start screaming because they're on the cold side of the brooder and don't know how to move 1 foot to the left to get warm. I've never had one drown in the water dish even though they get a bowl or are raised outside with a pond/big water bowl. They can coexist with just about any other bird, which is great because their only flaw is they need to be shown food for the first few weeks, and adding something like a chicken will cause the chicken to show them where to eat. And because peafowl are large, all the other babies will follow them around for everything else. For creatures who grew up in an environment where very little (predator wise) can kill them, they're surprisingly adapted to not dying in really stupid ways in captivity. They ARE fragile in other ways (pick up parasites easily), but that's not a matter of stupidity.

Coturnix are so far the worst, and I am including Turkeys in this metric. Turkeys are at least hardy in a brooder setup, even if they are very stupid outside with mom. Coturnix on the other hand have to have a tiny lip to their water dish so they don't get into it and drown or chill (and they still do their level best to get into it, even with the tiny lip where they can barely reach the water, I sometimes check on them and find one Mystery Sopping Wet.... how..... and why...... and also HOW). I have watched one grab a drink of water, throw its head back to swallow, choke, and die immediately. There is NOTHING you can do for them if they fail at drinking water, by the way. If you pick them up too soon after they drink, or any other time, there's a non-zero chance that they immediately panic-vomit any water in their system, choke on it, and suffocate/die instantly so you have to be careful about handling them while they're doing their very best to make that as difficult as possible (and this lovely trait persists into adulthood). They cannot have access to anything they can get caught in/under, I have to put barriers in their cage and not give them a cold spot in the brooder until they're a few days old because they will CHARGE to it and sit there until they die screaming about how cold they are while 1 foot away from the heat. They still throw themselves at this barrier because they can see through a 1mm gap to either side that cold death awaits them with open arms and they desire it so badly. It's why they always look like this:

If you have them standing on your hand they WILL just walk off - nay, run full tilt off - without regard for if there is anything below them to fall ONTO, and they are fully capable of beaning themselves so hard upon impact that they die. I had to find a stuffie that was very light and a stuffie that was very heavy, because a medium weight is just light enough for them to shove themselves into the shavings beneath it and suffocate because they can't get out again, and they will also actively seek to do this. They have to have a solid-sided brooder because if they can stick their head through a gap a) they can probably get out of it if it's just a little bigger than their head and b) they will get stuck in it and break their necks if it's just a little too small.

The vast majority, 99% of them, are extremely easy to raise, and doing a minimal amount of guardianship in their brooder will protect them from themselves, but they do have a deep and abiding desire to be dead, I think, and there will be some you cannot save from themselves. No other game birds/fowl I've raised are like this- not peafowl, not turkeys, not pheasants, not chickens, not bobwhite quail, not even guinea keets... the closest would be button quail and even they are not death-seeking missiles until they're a bit older.

[potato-lord-but-not]

THE MIDNIGHT BURGER POST EVERYONE YAY YIPPEE

[harmonysanreads]

There's a ‘painting’ of a person's portrait behind his phone case — a splash of pink, red, blue, yellow, white and teal dancing together, forming an image that is sure to catch anyone's attention. His co-workers (or well, those who've managed to catch glimpses) assume that he must have a hobby of painting phone cases on the side, as the one he uses seems to not be found anywhere outside of his hands.

The subject of that painting is always in a peaceful slumber. The serenity on their face almost jarring in juxtaposition to the vibrant colors that cradle their form. It's enticing — enough to have a few people ask if he could paint a copy for them, too. He never quite promises resolutely on that offer.

But what no one quite expected to see was how... protective the man appeared to be of that image. Always putting the phone down on its screen instead of the back, never letting anyone look for too long and never allowing it in the hands of another. That much caution towards the image of a random person seemed strange — unless... it wasn't a random person?

That's when the rumors of a ‘lover’ begin. Well, what else could it be? A chance interrogation with this assumption from a particularly curious employee had the man breaking out in an unexpectedly bashful smile, thumb swiping over the painting by instinct — that was all they needed to know. Despite the lack of a verbal confirmation, it didn't stop them from sneaking in requests to bring the person who had him so smitten to work one of the days. Their reticent coworker merely smiled in response.

No one quite questioned or noticed the resemblance between that beautiful painting and the civilian gone missing for the past two years.

[gallusneve]

[thoughts-rambles]

Tonight, you were once again cuddled up to Mammon watching something together on his laptop. The now dimly lit room only served as perfect atmosphere for the action movie Mammon had picked out. As the movie played you let your mind drift to the scene around you. The warm hue of the bedroom lights, the contrasting cool glow from the laptop, the soft texture of pillows and blankets, the warmth the both of you had created, the feeling of his body next to yours; everything mixed together perfectly.

Earlier that night, Mammon had dragged you into his room stating that the cold devildom weather was too harsh for a weak human such as yourself. He continued, explaining that The Great Mammon would be so gracious as to allow you to huddle with him for warmth, and maybe even permit you to cuddle up to him if need be. You were his human to take care of after all, he couldn't let you freeze to death.

Now, however, it seemed his cocky demeanor melted away in the warmth of his bed. He leaned on you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder to pull you closer to him in return. You responded simply, grabbing his free hand and interlocking fingers with him. Even without looking at him you could imagine the look on his face, practically memorizing his expressions by now. As predicted, his face was completely flushed, with even the tips of his ears burning the gorgeous crimson you had come to associate him with.

Surprisingly, however, this time he did not pull away from your affections. Instead, he squeezed his hand in yours before bringing your knuckles to his mouth. He kissed them gently, placing them back down on the bed afterwards. You, now flustered, turned to face him in surprise, only to be met with his lips meeting yours. His lips were chapped, and his nose cold, and yet you wouldn't change a thing. You would simply turn your body towards him before cupping his cheek and bringing him in for another kiss. The movie was long forgotten, and neither of you could care less; you would much rather spend your night embracing each other. Even if you missed the ending, you could always just use it as an excuse to lay in bed together again.

[talkfastcal]

Seriously need to let everyone know that I’m a wanderess, I’m a one night stand, don’t belong to no city, don’t belong to no man. I’m the violence in the pouring rain…I’m a hurricane

[crowswardens]

[scottstiles]

Girl, I am outta here. There's a DVR at home full of unwatched TV waiting to remind me how ridiculously single I really am.

[thevoidstaredback]

Hey! So, it's been a while, but I finally remembered to come back to this! But, it's not gonna go the way you'd think.

If Danny had it his way, he'd be at his Aunt Alicia's house for the summer instead of New Jersey. This place is gloomy, grimy, and soaked through with so much crime that it's a Problem(TM). Like, seriously? New Jersey hasn't allowed the death penalty since he was seven, but can't they make, like, one exception? Get rid of The Joker and half of Gotham's problems are solved.

Unfortunately, he's only here as a guest, so he can't really do anything. Which, for the record, is a shit rule. Call a goose and goose, and that's exactly what Gotham City, New Jersey is.

It isn't all that bad, he supposes. Sure, the pollution blocks out the entire sky at all times, the buildings that aren't condemned are only feeding the rich while stealing from the poor, an entire twenty-four block are has been given up on by mostly everyone, the local vigilantes won't kill the recurring problems like the cockroaches they are- There was a good point to all this.

Oh! He has family here. That's it. That's the only silver lining, and it's bronze.

But, hey, it can't be that bad. From what he understands, his half-brother and company don't actually live in Gotham. Bristol, according to Talia is technically outside of Gotham City Limits, but is still considered as part of the city. Makes sense, aside from the fact that there's no bridge between Bristol and Gotham. Weird design, but he's not rich so he's not really inclined to care or understand.

Half brother, right.

Danny doesn't like Damian much, but that's because he's a clone...of Damian. Danny's a clone of Damian, not the other way around. Ra's makes that very clear

The only reason Talia wants him with Damian is because she's upset with Bruce Wayne. What is it with divorced parents and putting their kids on the middle of their fights? Or maybe that's just Talia?

Anyway.

Gotham, New Jersey is a dismal place. Danny's not germophobic by any means, he can't really afford to be, but even he's having a hard time being in the city.

It was so much easier hiding out with the Fentons.

Well, 'hiding' is a subjective term. Ra's and Talia knew where he was, so did Deathstroke, probably, but that was it.

Essentially, everyone he should be hiding from knows where he's been hiding, which means he's just been on some kind of twisted, extended vacation.

As far as Danny knew, Bruce Wayne had no idea he was coming. Damian knew because Talia had wanted him to pick Danny up from the airport. Weird because while Damian is technically older, Danny is still legally two years older.

Well, 'legally' is a stretch. He doesn't technically exist, outside of the LoA and Amity Park.

The point is that Damian is waiting for him at the end of the terminal, looking as much like an excited puppy as he can, with an older gentleman. Talia had given him nothing to work with, but Danny didn't really care who this guy was as long as he didn't try to make him do anything he didn't want to.

...living in the Midwest was doing wonders for his mental stability, but Ancients was it making him soft!

"'Danny', I presume?" the old man asked, his accent heavy.

Good, so Talia did give Damian his actual name. "Yep. You are?" He may not want to be here, but he still knows his manners. Even if he's only going to use the bare minimum of them. Malicious Compliance and all that.

"Alfred Pennyworth, the family butler." He didn't extend his hand to shake. Danny didn't mind. In fact, he actually preferred that.

Okay, so maybe he's a little bit haphephobic. Leave him alone!

"Danny," Damian greeted, a smile of excitement in his voice but not his face, "It's good to have you here. How did Mother convince you to come?"

"Bribery." Mostly.

Damian seemed to deflate a bit. "Father and the others don't know you're here."

"Do they even know about me at all?"

"No."

"Perfect! Then I can stay at a hotel-"

"For the entire summer?" Alfred raised his eyebrow, "I must insist that you stay at Wayne Manor while in Gotham. Master Bruce will most pleased to meet you."

"Why?" Danny scoffed, "I'm not his kid, nor do I want to be."

Damian slouched a little bit more. "Come, we must get back before the others send out a search party for us."

"Dramatic much?" Danny scoffed.

"Not at all," Alfred took both of Danny's bags before leading the way out to the car, "It' happened before in less time."

"I don't doubt it for a second. I'm calling Bruce a dramatic bitch."

Alfred smirked ever so slightly. "Quite right, Master Danny."

"Don't call me that."

"Alright then, what should I call you?"

"'Danny'. No honorifics, no add ons, no trying to fullname me, nothing else."

"And when you go out with the rest of the family?"

He scoffed again. "You really think they'd let me go out with them? I'm an assassin. In fact, the first thing I'll do the second I'm let out of the house is kill the clown bastard."

Damian rested his hand on Danny's arm. "They let me out with them and I tried to kill Drake. As long as you uphold a promise not to kill anyone, you'll be allowed to patrol with us."

They reached the car, Damian sat behind the driver while Danny sat behind the passenger. Alfred put the bags in the trunk. "So? What will you be called on patrol?"

Danny rolled his eyes, popping his headphones in and not looking away from the window. "Respawn."

Masterpost Part 2

[majinbangus]

When you and little Simon come knocking on his door during Halloween wearing skeleton-themed costumes that lack a skull mask, big Simon gives some of his extra balaclavas to complete the look.

And when little Simon invites big Simon to go trick-or-treating, he wears his Ghost get up and little Simon thinks it's the coolest thing ever.

Meanwhile, you're wondering why big Simon has so many masks.

("I gotta ask," You inquire with the best nonjudgmental voice you got, but Simon can see the amusement playing on your lips, "why do you have so many skull masks?"

"Can't a bloke have his proclivities?" Simon answers as dryly as he can. "Maybe I just really love bones.")

[kortac-sweetheart]

“you erode my edges and turn me into love.”

nikto can’t remember the last time he’s recognized himself in the mirror. a part of him— several parts of him actually, died after that day.

just like a jigsaw puzzle that’s missing a few pieces, his memory is spotty. who was he? who is he? there’s something wrong with him.

he’s not human.

inhuman.

a tool for war. meant to be used to his absolute limit and discarded by the wayside when he finally breaks. to live and die behind the scope of a rifle— that’s all there is for him, for them.

but by some miracle— nothing short of the grace of god himself, you end up in his life.

it’s a blur. his life turned into a complete whirlwind when you entered it. he doesn’t remember when his days behind the scope ended, when the sound of gunfire and crackly comms were replaced by soft humming and joyous laughter, when shitty lukewarm coffee from the mess was replaced with a nice steaming cup of sbiten, made fresh by you.

when his ring finger, once empty now adorned with a simple golden band engraved with your anniversary and initials.

he doesn’t know what he did to deserve it. a mangled and beaten mutt like him, not even living— barely just scraping by in life; taken in by you. lovely, sweet adoring you.

you’re too good to him, they think.

your love does not revive the missing parts of his psyche. nothing ever will. but they’re replaced, slowly but surely, lovingly hand repaired by you.

like the charming patchwork on a well loved jacket, or the golden streaks of kintsugi in a once shattered bowl.

repaired, different, but whole once more. changed, but for the better, marbled with visible signs of healing and life.

they don’t know how to repay you. don’t know if they ever can, in return for the sheer scale of love and care and adoration you’ve shown them. nothing would ever suffice as recompense in their eyes. but you never ask for such repayment from him.

life is not transactional when it comes to you.

but he still wants to show his gratitude nonetheless. he learns all about all of you, until he’s able to recite it eyes closed, by heart. the way you like your coffee in the morning, your favorite meals in the winter and summer, your clothing measurements, that look in your eye when you want affection but are too shy to ask. he learns all that and much more on his quest to love you like you do him.

but his favorite way of loving you is built into his daily routine. without fail, every night before bed he’ll kneel before you where you sit on the edge of your shared bed. head nestled against your lap and arms around your waist or thighs and he’ll just. speak. endlessly, he’ll let you hear the timbre of his voice and the rumble in his chest when he recites all that he loves about you.

how you looked dazzling in the afternoon sun earlier today, or how much he appreciates your cooking. he lets himself verbalize all that he loves about you. with him, you will never be able to doubt the magnitude of his love for you.

you hold him close, running your hand through his hair as he speaks, and sometimes he gets choked up. drowning in emotion and love for you, you don’t shush him, instead quietly thumbing away his tears and loving him all the same.

the sharp, inscrutable edges of his past, all now sanded down by you. your love. he’s all yours. body, mind, soul and heart, like a little pebble of sea glass tumbled by the shores of your love. all points and razor’s edge melted away under your quiet care.

his past self would scoff. say that he’s grown soft, undeserving of this little life he has. you’re too good for a beast like him. but to hell with him. to hell with the past. you’re all that matters now, he’ll live in the present— embraced with you and your love until the end of time.

[soliusss]

miscellaneous