lets--say

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Am I the only person who remembers a fic on ao3 that’s Jason Todd saying “I am not going back to that fucking clown” and it’s just the most heartbreaking angst ever, I want to re read it again but I can’t find it HELP

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I physically need Jason Todd to have several popular accounts as a reviewer of, honestly, anything.

New article in Gotham Gazette? A famous five-star reviewer already wrote a comment on what unethical methods the writer had used, along with debunking the rest of the article. And guess what? It has more likes than the original post.

New restaurant opened? Another famous critique just finished polishing a very detailed post regarding everything inside it — the decor, the cooking techniques, the service (he almost never picks up on waiters, though). It is so on the spot that, honestly, the owners can't even argue with the review.

New movie? Uh-uh, be sure you write your characters properly. New vigilante? Get detailed information on your methods of work and fighting style — and, hey, it might be even useful. New book? Be careful, someone is about to kick your ass on the Internet, unless written worthy.

The funniest part? No one assumes that it is the same person.

And the batfamily? Well, they have no time for this. Expect for... Tim.

Tim, sending a link to Vale's article: Hood. Drag her ass.

Jason: lol

Jason: give me, like, an hour–

Tim: Had I told you you are my favourite?

Jason: i might have an idea, yeah

Tim: Hood. The new restaurant is so ass. They are also homophobic and stared at me and Kon the whole evening like we killed someone. Do something.

Jason: sec

(The restaurant gets closed in, like, two days after that)

Tim: Jason. Bruce pisses me off this week.

Jason: LOL

Jason: wake up, birdie, the new article shitting on Batman's technics just dropped

Tim: YAY

[lets--say]

Cryptid Batfam Prompt- But in Memes

[lets--say]

When patrolling together, Red Robin and Robin get cornered by the Joker.

They aren’t too worried at first considering he’s seemingly only got a dozen men and others are on patrol, but then they see what the men are holding.

Joker had made a new Joker venom and they are seemingly the test subjects.

Damian is instantly ready to fight, but Tim is running the odds through his mind and it’s not good. They have a good chance of getting out, they are trained after all, but not without one or both of them getting the venom and who knows how long it will take to make a cure of a new concoction.

Tim can’t let that happen.

Jason, Barbara, himself…

Damian will not be added to the list of people of people tormented by this mad man.

With coms being out of reach as the two went into a private channel so they wouldn’t get in trouble for bickering, and their every move being watched, Tim had few choices.

Tim swallows and pushes Damian behind him, standing tall with his chin up even as his hands start to shake.

Damian starts to protest but Tim is speaking first, “Let him go and you can-… can have JJ back.”

The way Joker starts to grin even wider, slow and painful, is the most unnerving sight Tim has seen in a long time.

Joker laughs loud and starts clapping.

“Oh joy, oh joy! This is more fun than I thought! Always so good at surprises, JJ!”

His laughing doesn’t stop as Tim shakily turns to his little brother, who’s almost eighteen but still little even as he grows taller than him, and holds onto his shoulders.

“Robin, I need you to listen to me. You have to let me go with them or you’ll get hurt, okay? You have to promise me you won’t follow us because I can’t let you get hurt like me and-“

One of the goons takes the chance to knock Robin out and lets him slump into Tim’s arms.

Just as he begins to panic about them hurting Damian or bringing them with him, Joker comes up behind him and wraps an arm move his shoulders, “Don’t worry about him, JJ! Little Robin number… whatever, will be just fine! Batsy will find him and take him back to his nest, while we…” - Joker leans in so he can whisper in his ear - “have a little family catch up!”

Tim nods, not finding it in himself to smile or play along yet, but keeping up his end of his offer.

It takes one day of shocks after his forced make over for him to settle back into the role he learnt the first time. Last time it took two and half a weeks for him to give in and learn his part properly, and then a few more days before he was rescued, but this time it feels almost natural as he puts on a big grin and starts a familiar giggle.

He thinks of Damian, who may have been turned into Joker Junior Junior or some other absurd name, and tells himself it’s worth it to protect him from any more trauma.

Tim is kept for a month, playing house with a mad man who makes rants about JJ’s mother leaving him for a woman and being tortured every time he doesn’t laugh quick enough or seems just a little distant.

When he’s found he doesn’t realise. He’s just sitting there at a dinner table with straps on the chair keeping him down. He’s laughing loudly, knows if he stops he’ll be hit or shocked or forced to drink some kind of toxic chemical until he pukes up blood. He can’t stop, because Papa will be mad and he’s scary when he’s mad and mama isn’t there anymore.

When he process the change of scenery he finds himself in a hospital bed in the cave.

JJ and Tim are so blurred into the same person that when he sees Damian he has no idea who he is at first. He almost expects someone younger, the little boy who first showed up, because that’s the little boy he gave himself up for.

But when Damian stared back at him and starts to tear up Tim finds himself remembering who he wants to be.

He pulls his little brother into his arms, jostling Alfred the Cat, and sobs into his hairline while ignoring the green in his periphery and praying he doesn’t start to laugh.

He fails, but Damian doesn’t give up on him.

[lets--say]

Its past their bedtime

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Sirius, coming out: I don’t like women.

James, gasping: You’re a misogynist?!

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Can’t believe I forgot to post this here, you guys deserve some Wolfstar smooches too!!

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Yeah

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🦞

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the gifs i find on this website... you guys are art curators

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🇲🇫Un problème avec un démon ? Qui vas-tu appeler? Une Sorcière ! ✨❤️

🇬🇧A problem with a demon? Who you gonna call? A Witch! ✨❤️

@mairithetree

[lets--say]

A SAVAGE PLACE

because I just re-read Prince Caspian and remembered how completely different it is to the movie, and because it says Aslan is good but not safe and I think so is Narnia and, as they become part of the fabric of it, so are the Pevensies

“You may find Narnia a more savage place than you remember.”

Trumpkin has never heard a silence so loud as this that follows his warning. The children glance at each other, crowding the air with a language he isn’t hearing. His skin prickles with it. He turns away from them, drawing his knife to begin skinning the wild bear.

Only a moment later, the smaller, darker boy is drawing his own knife and dropping to his knees. Trumpkin looks at him sidelong, uncertain.

“I’m a fair butcher,” King Edmund tells him mildly, and he plunges his arms in up to the elbows.

~

This is the story Trumpkin knows.

That once, Narnia was held in the grip of a terrible Winter brought upon it by a tyrant Witch, that four children were called by Aslan the Great Lion out of their own land to cast her down, and when they had done so the Lion crowned them himself at the shining castle of Cair Paravel, where the ruins now lie on the sea. That they governed so wisely and well that the folk of Narnia knew nothing of evil or hardship. That all was joy, when the trees danced and the animals spoke.

That the first of them held with equal steadiness the sceptre and the sword, that to him was given the crown above crowns, that every sovereign before or since stood but palely in the shadow of his glory. That the second of them surpassed all other beauties, that she was soft of hand and soft of heart. That the third of them had learned such wisdom on the path of darkness that his counsel was worth more than rubies, and the tongue in his mouth was as silver as his crown. That the fourth of them was the darling of the land, that laughter and lightness were her constant companions, that to see her smile was to be blessed.

In front of him now, the fourth is drying her eyes with dirty sleeves, and the third curses as he picks blood from under his fingernails, and the second scowls, tugging at her long hair, all straggly with salty air and sweat, and the first of them is building a thin fire with trembling hands, silent.

~

“Don’t say much, eh, that brother of yours?”

He is walking alongside Queen Lucy the Valiant, who is all of nine years old, wearing a grin and a dagger. They are following the tall one, whose steps are sure and make no sound.

“Well, of course not. He has to be careful what he says.”

“Don’t we all?”

He is chuckling, but she isn’t. Her face is young and pale and flecked with sunlight that shifts like a glamour.  There are moments when her teeth look too big for her mouth, when her eyes sit strangely, as though she has stolen them from another. Sometimes she is difficult to look at.

“Not like Peter does. When he speaks…”

Smiling, she spreads her arms wide, embracing the still trees and sleeping waters, the sky above them and the earth below.

“Narnia listens.”

They trudge on, and Trumpkin watches King Peter watching the clouds. He has never been so far as Narnia’s northern border, where the sky lies heavy and indomitable on the bleak, open land. He does not know what it would mean to be crowned for the blue mountains and distant thunder of the cold, still North; the terrible immensity of it. The carvings on the walls of Aslan’s How are flat and dead, fading under the dust of uncountable years. They do not show these things, and they do not show the High King’s lion-gold hair or his clear, calm predator’s eyes, or how at dusk in enemy lands it was once whispered that behind closed lips, his teeth were fangs and his breath smelled of iron.

The little girl skips ahead to catch her brother’s hand. The trees shiver around them, remembering the rhythm of her steps on the earth, the way she’d danced, mad and barefoot, her shrieking laughter in the night. The echo of it has hung in their leaves for a thousand years. Trumpkin sees them stirring, shakes his head, cannot help wondering if her voice, too, is threaded with this deep magic. It’s here in the very presence of these four living ghosts, in their fingertips and their footprints and the corners of their eyes. And though Trumpkin has never been a believer until now, he has heard enough to know that magic is not always sweet.

Behind him, the older girl is humming a tune that Trumpkin doesn’t quite recognise, though it catches in his ears like something familiar. There are no histories written of Queen Susan and the sly sirens, of how she would step from the sea like a drowned woman with her clinging hair, her deep-hued lips, to sing the music she had learned. The histories that remain crown her to the rich south, where the crops grow and the flowers open their delicate hearts for the indifferent eyes of the sun. As Trumpkin turns to look, pulled by that hypnotic song, she snaps a bloom from a bush of wild roses to slide into her hair.

She has not seen him glancing back, but the other one, the younger boy, has. Under his dark eyes, Trumpkin feels as pinned as if he were at the point of a dagger. Though they are far from the wild woods of the west, this is still King Edmund’s realm: the forest with all its shadows and its green secrets, laid bare when winter’s frozen hands come to strip them away. But now it is high summer and the leaves are thick, cloaking the woods in their mystery, and Trumpkin cannot see what is behind the boy-king’s sharp smile.

~

Time is long and wearing, and this is the story the Old Narnians have forgotten.

That Susan’s soft fingers had stung under the tautness of her bowstring, the first time she’d pulled it back to kill. That Peter had wept beside the corpse of the wolf. That Aslan’s maw had been red and sticky, dripping thick ropes of blood, and that the Witch had been beautiful, in her cold way.

~

“I have been told – I have learned about the Golden Age,” Caspian tells them later, shaky and fervent. “The legend. Of what Narnia was when you ruled it. It must seem like a sparse, savage place, compared with the one you knew.”

They watch him silently. Peter, whose eyes are bright and blank as a clear sky, and Susan with her full, unsmiling lips are already their own statues. After a moment, Edmund’s harsh laughter fills the darkness, and Lucy pinches him with fingers as sharp as any faery’s.

That night, Caspian puts the Horn where he cannot see it before he tries to sleep.  

[lets--say]

I was high off my ass last night and had this dream where I was in this dense ass forest and sitting there was a tall woman. She was so tall I couldn’t see her face but she was wearing gold and I was like “uh...hi?” And she said “I made you, do you know that?” And I nodded and she was like “I hear your thoughts. Why do you hate my creation? Why do you try to destroy yourself? I made you perfect as you are. Please don’t break my heart”. Then she started crying and it flooded and I woke up with fucking heart palpitations like what does it Mean™️????

[lets--say]

00 line as element benders // jaemin + air nomads

renjun / jeno / haechan / jaemin

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00 line as element benders // haechan + water tribe

renjun / jeno / haechan / jaemin

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00 line as element benders // renjun + fire nation

renjun / jeno / haechan / jaemin

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the element of change.

pairing: waterbender!jaemin x avatar!reader

genre: fluff

word count: 5.5k

author’s note: hi so this is jaemin’s chapter to my avatar series with the 00 line! also this is my first time writing action scenes so please excuse their mediocrity, i’m trying my best 

Never in a million years did you think the feeling of dread would wash over you when the chief tells you that you are the next Avatar. 

Then again, never in a million years did you think you would be the Avatar. You’re a female waterbender from the Northern Water Tribe, where women are only allowed to use their abilities for healing (and you can barely even do that). How are you supposed to master all of the elements when you can’t even master one?

“There must be some sort of mistake, Chief Baek,” you say nervously, wringing your gloved hands. Even though you’re wearing thick layers, you feel your blood run cold and prickly goosebumps dot your skin. “It can’t be me.” 

The chief hums in agreement, shaking his head. “I feel the same way, but alas, it is. Therefore, you will be granted special permission to use your waterbending for fighting.”

You feel your annoyance flare slightly at his blatant lack of faith in you, but it’s not like he’s wrong (which only makes you feel even worse). 

“But who will teach me? None of the waterbending masters here would ever teach a girl,” you protest.

“We will make arrangements,” Chief Baek says vaguely, “For now, you will observe Master Yang’s class.”

Master Yang is the fiercest and cruelest teacher in the tribe. Only the strongest waterbenders survive under his tutelage, like Na Jaemin―the star bender of the Northern Water Tribe and your longtime crush. The two of you used to be attached at the hip when you were kids, but that quickly changed as you got older and Jaemin’s abilities grew stronger (while yours remained stagnant). You still have a schoolgirl crush on him but nothing more, because you are very aware of the fact that he couldn’t care less about you. Jaemin is most likely on his way to surpassing Master Yang and becoming the strongest waterbender in the world, which makes him the perfect candidate to be Avatar. 

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