#I'M CALLING FOR BLOOD!!!!!!!

[inkskinned]

i keep thinking about how rfk said that autistic people "will never write a poem." i keep thinking about that, about if humanity is calculated on the back of old verse. how far we measure personhood is in baseball and stanza breaks.

i keep thinking - i have over 7k poems on here alone. language can be a special interest, after all. did you know the word autism comes almost direct from the greek word autos, meaning "self"? self-ism.

maybe he is right - i haven't really played baseball. i was a ballet dancer instead. and besides - my sister once accidentally hit me in the face with an aluminum bat. i'm not sure if the injury gives me half points. am i only a person in the dugout? hand in a mitt? swinging?

does softball count? does cricket? am i a person if i throw the ball to my dog. am i a person as long as the ball is in the air, or do i stop being a person as it rolls into the bushes. i took my girlfriend to fenway recently; was i a person in the sun, with my hands up, with the game laid out at my feet in a diamond. i felt like a person, but that was back in the summer, and i often feel my most person-like then.

am i more of a person because of the sheer number of things i've written? does quality matter, or is it quantity? i used to write entire books every summer in high school - i wasn't doing well. i felt the least like-a-person back then. but then - does any person feel human in high school?

in the library, ink on my skin, i feel personhood shutter at the edges of myself. actually, writing feels blissfully like not being myself. it feels birdlike; escaping into creation so my body dissolves and i survive only by muscle memory. i am not there, i am writing.

but who can deny the falconlike focus of warsan shire, the tenderness of mary oliver, the sheer skill of amanda gorman. those are poets. they are certainly human. you could line them up with the way their words have influenced us and measure their literary shadows like wings.

perhaps it was very assumptive of me to want to be a poet rather than "a [ label ] poet." i wanted the work to fill itself in, rather than be stained by what i am. i do not write in despite of my neurodivergence, i am just neurodivergent and writing.

does the poem have to be in english or can i send it through my palms into the coat of my dog. does the poem have to make sense. does the poem have to love you back.

if i break a glass, will the poem appear naturally? or is the act of breaking the glass human-enough. the shards of my life glittering out beneath me - do i have to write the poem, or is it self-evident in the pile of glass splinters? i cannot grasp this world the way other people can. regardless, i endeavor to touch - even the mess - very gently.

i broke my toenail against my coffee table recently. i released a bug outdoors. i made coffee. i walked my dog.

i didn't write a poem about any of these things.

something else, then. existing without humanity.

[violent138]

Jason: "Hey I need some help."

Dick: "Okay, wait a second, I'm getting another call. Hello?"

Tim: "Hey Dick, don't get mad, but I need your help with something."

Dick: "One second." *returns to earlier call* "What did you do?"

Jason: "Me? It's not always me, you know--"

Dick: "Sure Jay, hold up, I'm getting another call. Hello?"

Damian: "Batgirl and I require assistance, can we use your apartment for something?"

Dick: "What did Jason do?"

Damian: "...why are you asking about Jason?"

Dick: "Because... ugh, never mind. What did you do?"

Stephanie, in the background: "What? He never asks Tim all these questions."

Tim, muffled: "He asks me all the time."

Dick: "Wait a second, why the hell are all of you together?"

Jason: "We'll tell you but you gotta open the front door first."

[dianagj-art]

Hi! I love her! she's so funny

First / prev / next masterpost / early access (patreon) / askblog

[flowwochair]

this is your second reminder to KEEP!!!

VOTING!!!

FOR!!!

L E F E B R V E ! ! !

Adam Jerzy Czartoryski

(admin note: even if you don't vote for him, reading about his life is a wild ride)

Propaganda:

"Decided that the way to free Poland was by having a threesome with Alexander and his wife.”

Lefebvre:

Propaganda:

“Total DILF material, and the fiery passion in his eyes was matched only by his fiery personality! This contest may be based on looks (and Lefebvre is a strong candidate on this metric alone); but it's hard not to fall in love with his spicy takes and saucy language. He told Napoleon, "Let us throw the lawyers into the river” after agreeing to help overthrow the Directory (quoted in David G. Chandler, ed., Napoleon's Marshals), and from his English Wikipedia article: When a friend expressed envy of his estate, Lefebvre said, "Come down in the courtyard, and I'll have ten shots at you with a musket at 30 paces. If I miss, the whole estate is yours." After the friend declined this offer, Lefebvre added, "I had a thousand bullets shot at me from much closer range before I got all this." In response to a clueless young man demanding his identity at a social event, he answered, ''Je viens de la lune, où je n'ai jamais vu un Jean-Foutre de ton espèce: Je m'appelle le Général Lefebvre!” [“I come from the moon, where I’ve never seen such a #*$& as you. My name is General Lefevre!”] Quoted in The Secret History of the Cabinet of Bonaparte by Lewis Goldsmith, 1810, which is also hilarious because the author clearly hates Lefebvre, but makes him sound like a cool badass. He earns additional sexy points by sticking by his ex-washerwoman wife, who had a mouth of her own. (tbh Catherine Lefebvre, “Madame Sans-Gêne,” deserves her own Napoleonic Sexyman [gender neutral] nomination).”

[nekrosmos]

I know 0 things about Rugby but I had to put Price in situations after reading this fic by @on-a-lucky-tide , the man was made for tiny shorts, come on

[omaano]

something something the clones were already decanted with blood on their hands

also, boba, you're the absolute worst influence

time to shelve this project for another two months because i have no idea how to go about render it any further orz

sketch, credit to the original hades 2 warsong update wallpaper and ramblings about this piece here, and the rest of the Hades AU project here

[emmster]

that one tiktok trend

[nox-in-a-box]

I was gonna do some serious sketches but got silly with them as usual...

[sairobee]

Remember this.

[starry-bi-sky]

Blood Blossom Au: Baby's First Commissioner Meeting :)

TL:DR This Post: Danny (orphan) gets poisoned with blood blossom extract by Vlad. He runs away from him and ends up under the care of one Pre-Robin Battinson Batman! Starry is loudly pushing her batdad agenda.

(Also known as "Late At Night, When The Nightingale Sings" on my ao3!)

This was a fun rough idea I've been sitting on for weeks, thinking about how Commissioner Gordon and Nightingale's first meeting might go.

---------------

Commissioner Gordon likes to think that he's adjusting to the new normal of Gotham very well, -- the new normal being grown men running around dressed like bats, in military-grade strength body armor, committing acts of vigilantism, -- and slowly, little by little, he was no longer being surprised when this new normal pops up out of the shadows like the world's most terrifying daisy. His shaving lifespan thanks him for it.

....

The kid is a surprise though.

Granted, he seemed to be a surprise to the Bat too.

There's been a string of murders lately, -- which, in Gotham, is kind of like saying there's been another storm during monsoon season. And there's just been another; in some dilapidated building down in south Gotham, with the broken, boarded-up windows and mildew-crawling walls to match. The victim is a man in his thirties, multiple gunshot wounds to the chest, left in the center of the room for the blood to pool out around him.

The place is already secured when he arrives, the building swarmed with officers and the forensic detectives. The Bat emerges shortly after he does -- or, he might've been here the whole time, hiding someplace dark and shadowy. For his own sanity, Gordon doesn't think about it too hard.

The kid is a surprise, and he appears like a bolt of lightning.

He shows up in the middle of a conversation Gordon is having with the Bat.

A whistle, sharp and loud, slicing through the air, meant for open air rather than a confined space. Gordon's ears pierce and protest the sound, and the solemn, murmured chatter floating through the room abruptly cuts off like the swing of a gavel. As he turns towards the sound -- as they all do -- he swears, up and down, that he sees Batman's shoulders jump, just slightly.

At the source, perched on the window, is a boy. A boy in a gray-blue scarf and an oversized black hoodie, one that hangs off his frame and has ace bandages wrapped around the wrists in some attempt to cinch the sleeves. The hood is up, big like the rest of it, and threatens to swallow the upper half of the boy's face whole in the fabric. What upper half Gordon can see, is smeared with some kind of opaque, black face paint. He's holding onto the side of the frame with one hand, on his hip is a grappling hook. A familiar grappling hook.

Gordon has multiple questions, and his officers tense up.

Martinez puffs up, brows furrowing as his face shapes into a frown. Shoulders rolling back. "You can't be here, kid--"

The reaction is immediate, like a spark to gunpowder, the boy yanks his fingers from his mouth and his mouth twists into a scowl. Head snapping over to Officer Martinez, his hood manages to stay on but Gordon swears that as he bares his teeth, the glint makes them look sharper than they should be. His voice is rasp and quiet and harsh; snappish in its hissing; "Put a fuckin sock in it, Martinez. I'm not stayin."

Martinez reels back, and the boy immediately veers his attention off him. Like a switch, his demeanor drops. Despite half his face being covered, his mouth twists into a cringing, apologetic smile. Slanted and off-beat, embarrassed. It'd be disarming if this wasn't Gotham, and if he didn't just hiss at Martinez like he was about to bite his head off.

"Sorry." He whispers, voice deceptively polite and softer now. Gordon has to strain his ears to hear him. "I was looking for him."

He points his finger towards-- Gordon? No, Gordon follows the direction, and finds himself looking at -- the Bat.

The Bat, who always looks stiff as a pole, now looks even stiffer. Somehow. Well, the explains the grappling hook attached to the boy's waist.

"What are you doing here?" The Bat says, gruff and unable to completely smother the stumble of surprise in his tone.

The boy still holds a sheepish smile, and slips off the window ledge. His feet hit the creaky boards with a near-silent thud, the Batman finds his feet and rapidly begins crossing the room.

Gordon notes the slight tremble in the boy's legs as he straightens. He adjusts his scarf, which droops close to his knees now that he's standing, and slings a backpack -- how long has had that? -- off his shoulders. When the Bat reaches his side, he does as he always does, and looms over the boy like a spectre. A threatening mass of shadows cloaked in all-consuming black. Standing next to him, the boy looks teeny in comparison.

The Bat is a man who terrifies even the most hardened criminals, Gordon has seen grown men shiver in fear at the mention of his name. And yet when the boy looks up at him, he doesn't even flinch.

Instead, his sheepish smile melts away like ice under the sun, holding only traces of his previous embarrassment. It remains as a shadow on his face, a small upturn at the corners of his mouth. The boy pushes his hood back just enough to reveal glinting, ice-flint eyes surrounded in tar-black face paint. He holds the backpack up with one arm. "You forgot this."

[nuclearregulatorycommission]

im sure this has been done already

[burningcheese-merchant]

я делаю вещи не задумавшись толком так то

почему то у меня есть мысль , что Спайс очень очень теплый, и из-за этого маленькому Пеппер Джеку было намного легче и спокойнее засыпать в его руках, чем в руках Чизз

дополнительно ещё дочурка и папаня дурачатся

благодарю в��с безмерно за комплименты мне правда очень приятно вы моя муза во всех смыслах вы мотивируете меня рисовать и творить что либо в принципе обнимаю крепко крепко

Okie dokie one response is not good enough, you get a moodboard depicting my feelings for your ask and artwork

My face hurts, I'm smiling so much. Haven't done a single fucking thing to deserve people making all of this cool shit for me, and yet here you all are anyway. You guys are all the best. YOU are the best, socksweeet 🫵💯❤️

Next few BurningCheese family stories and/or art pieces I make shall be made specifically in your honor. You earned it. And please KEEP DRAWING THINGS, you are very talented and your style is delightful and simply a joy to look at, and you deserve recognition

[bumblingbabooshka]

Chakotay and Tuvok episode where they're sort of big dick contesting it about staying in an alien sauna longer (which Tuvok insists isn't a contest. He's just Vulcan. The commander, as a Human, should leave if he's uncomfortable.) and there's like important things happening in the episode and no one can contact them because they're in the sauna and when the crew tries to open the sauna door it's stuck and they can't hear them inside the sauna so they think everything's fine. The episode ends by cutting to Chakotay who's opening up about how he hates that there's still this animosity between them...how the petty part of him can't stop wanting to 'win' against Tuvok even about stupid things like this...heh, I guess that's just a Human foible. Or maybe it's something about Tuvok since Chakotay isn't usually so competitive...you know what? This is stupid. I'm going to put my best foot forward. You'll be thrilled to hear this one, lieutenant commander - You're right. What am I even trying to prove by doing this? I'll just lea- And then the door crashes open and it's B'Elanna and some engineering crewmen like COMMANDERS!!!! ARE YOU ALRIGHT!? And Chakotay's like "What?" and when the situations' explained to him he smiles (sweating profusely) says "We didn't even notice the heat-" (a call back) "-right, Tuvok?" And then he turns to see Tuvok absolutely passed the fuck out. No clue how long he's been like that since the camera was focused only on Chakotay for his monologue. Chakotay is alarmed and immediately hoists Tuvok up (pulling one of Tuvok's arms over his shoulder deal) and is relieved when the Vulcan stirs, asking what happened. Chakotay grins. "I won~!" he chirps. Then he drags him straight to sickbay.

[nekrosmos]

I love playing as Price and getting finishes. Old man chooses violence <3

[cedric-k-rossignol]

Black Butler + la lanterne cinématique

[tackykachowch]

This is what they should've added to Jinx's design in season 2. Btw

UPD: I also want to add this screenshot of my tags on my first ever post about Jinx because I still agree with what I said