#action // reaction

[bughead-in-the-comics]

From Action Reaction, Jughead's Jokes #46 (1975).

[malakkc-poetry]

5th place Certificate of Excellence, Karma

[lavinaigrette]

I know we all roast the Disney direct-to-video sequels but at least those were new stories which required some semblance of creativity on the part of the filmmakers, however half-assed they ended up being. Now they’re remaking movies that came out literally five minutes ago.

[daveinediting]

A coupla nights ago I set YouTube to play some random music for me. Since YouTube knows me so well, inevitably it began serving up songs by The Beatles. And more songs by The Beatles. And then more songs by The Beatles. Of course I didn't intervene because yeah. I'm a Beatles fan.

Inevitably, YouTube arrived at the David Frost show presentation of Hey Jude. And the funny thing is—because this never happened before—is that I was suddenly reminded of Linzy's high school graduation.

Huh?

Not kidding. Linzy's high school graduation during which the school's band, The Wildcat Band, performed an instrumental version of Hey Jude that was specifically requested by the school's administration because they'd seen the band perform it at the Spring Concert.

Don't get me wrong, Hey Jude represents a pinnacle of songwriting. The Wildcat Band, however, found a different way to embody its spirit by performing a tenor sax solo over the full orchestra.

David Kim, by the way, is the young man on the sax. You can see my daughter, Linzy, in red cap and gown on acoustic guitar behind David to the left.

David, of course, pulls off a very sweet performance of Hey Jude's verses. I'm not sure how well the graduating seniors knew the lyrics. For sure their parents did. And if those parents weren't actively singing those lyrics, those lyrics were definitely singing in their heads.

It wasn't until the transition, though. You know the one. Where McCartney sings "and make it better, better, better, better, better, better... aahhhhhh" as his voice scales up, rising to the song's iconic crescendo. Well, David Kim on his tenor sax managed that same powerful crescendo landing, however, a half step below where we all knew he was going. And in that moment, a moment already filled with the full force of David's performance, he slides the note, with even more power, into place. 

In the room, taking this in myself, it was as if a button had been pressed, a key turned. Something... that unlocked the audience.

Something that launched it because.

Because as that one note slid thrillingly into the next...

The crowd lost it.

Lost it?

Yeah. The graduating class seated in the middle. Their parents, siblings, family, friends sitting in the bleachers. Members of the administration sitting on stage. Even the band itself.

Unglued.

Exploded. 

Jumped to their feet.

It was this wild energy, this shared emotion in that moment inhabiting the entire arena with one note informed by all the notes before it, serving as the electrifying connection literally inhabiting each of us with the same emotional experience.

I won't lie. It's a helluva thing.

Okay.

Maybe a year and a half before that electrifying moment at graduation, I twisted my daughter's arm sufficiently so that she took the stage during a talent show and fronted a rock band. During which she experienced the dance that occurs between musicians and audience.

The dance?

Yeah. Moves and countermoves. Actions and reactions. Calls and responses. 

Whip out one part of the equation, the other will come calling. Lean your guitar solo into the audience and spirit fingers will always appear right in front of the guitar strings and the guitarist's hand. Sustain a moment of vocal or instrumental passion... and the energy in the room blows up. And.

Ask the crowd to do something...

They do it.

It's a truth about performing arts you can count on. Certainly it's a truth about concert gigs that The Little Lies (for whom Linzy performs keys, acoustic guitar, and Christine McVie vocals) take advantage every opportunity they can.

Every time.

It's simply this thing music and musicians can do.

And in the last few days, a human super power of which I'm being reminded.

🤯

[bigfatbreak]

dad villain au: did emilie just. not consider at all that adrien was literally dying at the time. wow

she's in the habit of deciding when Adrien's suffering is acceptable, and if it is, she'll just fix it later.

[bloodysparklez]

the straw hat crew are so relatable bc if i was blinded by the sheer optimism of a guy who told me he was gonna support my dream no matter what, i'd pledge my loyalty on the spot too

[paperultra]

service with a smile!

Pairing: OPLA!Vinsmoke Sanji x Reader Word Count: 1,726 words Warnings: Swearing, violence, verbally/physically abusive customer, reader has a brief panic attack

eccedentesiast (noun): someone who fakes a smile

It’s six-thirty in the evening at the Baratie. The customers are ravenous, the kitchen is in the weeds, and you’re wearing a snake-like trail into the floor of the restaurant delivering drinks and dishes when the sound of snapping fingers pricks your ears.

“Waiter!”

Twisting your neck around, you spot the man at table four waving you over.

You quickly make your way to him with a bright smile. “Yes? What can I do for you?”

The man gestures to the plate in front of him, disgust clear on his face. “I said I wanted my steak medium-well.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, sir,” you reply. Leaning over slightly to check, your eyebrows knit together as you stare at the slice of meat pushed to the edge of the plate. “… It seems to be medium-well, though?”

“No,” he snaps. Light glints sharply off the many rings on his fingers as he pointedly prods at the center of the slice with his knife. “It still has some pink in it, see? I can’t eat this.”

“Well, sir,” you mentally roll your eyes up to the ceiling, though your gaze remains attentive and apologetic, “Here in our restaurant, medium-well steak will still have a little bit of pink. We could bring it back to the kitchen and have it cooked until it’s well done, if you’d like. It’d take no more than five minutes.”

“I don’t like well done steak. It’s too dry.”

Oh, god.

“I see. Well, we could still bring it back to the kitchen and see what the cooks can do.”

The man clicks his tongue. “Fucking hell.” Sneering, he drops his steak knife and pushes the plate towards you. “Fine. Go. I’m not paying if you guys fuck it up again.”

“We’ll do our best.” Fuck you.

Nodding deferentially, you scoop up the plate and head off to the kitchen, smiling all the while.

“Carne!” you announce after you kick open the door, setting the steak on the pass and leaning over to catch the attention of the rotisseur. “Customer at table four says your steak is shit.”

“What?!”

“He wants it medium-well with no pink at all.” Carne swears and stomps over to fetch the steak. A slight movement in the corner catches your eye, and you look over at Sanji, who’s already looking at you as he pulls his suit jacket on. “Hey, chef.” A genuine grin stretches your face. “The old man kick you off the line again?”

“He slated my mixed paella,” Sanji replies, no small amount of irritation in his voice. It melts away quickly as he smirks and sends a wink your way. “But I’ll be seeing more of you out there, so maybe I should count my blessings.”

“There’s certainly one at table four right now.” Balancing three plates for table seven on one arm, you grab the fourth with your free hand.

Sanji hurries to hold the door open for you, frowning through the thank-you that flies from your mouth. “What else did they say?” he asks seriously. “Do they need to be kicked out?”

Despite the rush, your heart finds the time to skip a beat.

“Nah, not yet,” you assure. “Now hurry up!”

“[Y/n] –”

“Bye!”

As you pass him, your head held high, you hear Sanji sigh and chuckle in resignation.

You deliver the plates and check back with guests who have already gotten their food before returning to the kitchen. Table four’s well done medium-well steak with no pink is on the pass already when you go in, freshly garnished and by all appearances even more gorgeous than before.

Raising your eyebrows, you whistle. “Thanks, Carne! Love you!” you shout over the din of cooks before grabbing the plate.

“Kiss my ass!”

You laugh. One of the other waiters wishes you luck and pats your back as you exit.

You waste only a brief moment just outside the kitchen to take a deep breath and scan the restaurant. Sanji is at the far end, refilling waters and likely charming the eyelashes off a table of giggling young women. You’d kill to be on either side right now.

Closing your eyes, you recite the Baratie’s fourth employee guideline and then smile, stepping out into the dining area and walking over to table four.

The customer is God.

“Here you go, sir,” you say, placing the plate before him. “I’m sor –”

“This looks like shit.” The man hardly glances at the steak Carne had so painstakingly reprepared, choosing instead to glare at you. “I waited five whole minutes for this?”

The customer. Is. God.

Your teeth hurt. “Our rotisseur put in his best work to fix the mistake.”

“Well, he should be fired on the spot.”

“If you would just try it –”

The man suddenly slams his fist on the table and stands up, his face red, grabbing the attention of the surrounding guests as he throws the plate onto the ground.

“DON’T TELL ME WHAT TO DO, WAITER!”

His hairy, meaty hand seizes the collar of your uniform.

Your perfect smile slips off your face.

“Get your hand off of me.”

The man doesn’t listen. He raises his other fist and swings it at your mouth instead.

You pull him down and knee him in the face before he even realizes that you’ve dodged.

Crunch. Warm blood splatters over your carefully ironed slacks.

“Augh!”

The man’s hands fly up to his nose. You shove him face-down to the ground and press your knee into his back, yanking his head up by his hair.

“I asked you to taste your fucking steak,” you breathe, tightening your grip. “I didn’t ask you to FUCKING TOUCH ME. OKAY?”

His groan bubbles quietly through bloodied teeth.

Your ears ring. You’re cold and your head is numb and your heart is racing, and you’re breathing, but it feels like you’re not getting enough air. You don’t move a muscle.

Above you, muffled and buried underwater, someone calls out your name.

A hand rubs your back gently. Your name is murmured again, and you finally blink, slowly twisting around to look up at Sanji.

“I think he got the message, sweetheart. Come on. The old man’ll take care of the rest.”

He places his hand over yours, coaxing you to let go of the man’s hair. It hurts, but you do it, and Sanji helps you stand afterwards.

“Come on,” he whispers. “We’ll wash dishes together until you feel better.”

“You’re supposed to be waiting tables,” you mumble. Your mouth is dry.

“You know I hate doing that anyway.”

He tucks you underneath his arm. You push your face into the front of his suit and smell the traces of his last smoke break as he guides you to the kitchen.

Washing dishes is a ritual you’ve had since you were a kid. While Sanji’s punishments had been anything that prevented him from cooking or flirting, yours were limited to washing dishes. You loathed the chore, and Zeff took note and made sure to stick you at the sinks whenever you got into trouble. You’d curse and splash and generally be a pain in the ass to the rest of the kitchen, but you scrubbed the dishes pretty damn well, and within an hour or two your anger would fizzle out and you’d be back to your usual self.

Over time, the chore became something that grounded you whenever you weren’t feeling too hot. It kept your hands busy, and sometimes Sanji would join you to chat and complain until Zeff decided that the two of you were just a little too happy in his kitchen and kicked one or both of you out.

“Washing or drying?” Sanji asks. He had tossed his jacket somewhere while you were thinking and is now holding out an apron for you to take.

“Washing.” You slip the apron on and roll up your sleeves.

Nobody bothers you or Sanji as you start working. You use a generous amount of soap, let the water heat up until it almost scalds your skin, and scrub each plate and bowl and utensil and glass until they’re better than new. Then you hand it off to Sanji, who carefully dries each item and puts them aside.

Eventually, you find your voice again.

“Sorry you had to come over and get me. I thought I could handle it.”

“No, I should’ve been there before it got too bad. I’m sorry.” Sanji meets your eyes, and his gaze softens into something sad. “What happened?”

Your shrug is so small you almost don’t feel it. “I was fine when he was yelling at me. But when he grabbed me by the collar, I just – I dunno. It surprised me real bad.”

“Did he hurt you?”

“No. Just wrinkled my shirt.” You bend your knee, feeling the stiffness of dried blood on your slacks, and pout. “And stained my pants.”

“He didn’t even land a hit, at the very least,” Sanji says. A corner of his mouth tilts up. “I’ve got to say, I’m quite impressed.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Really? I impressed Black Leg Sanji by kneeing a customer in the face?”

“It’s the first time I’ve seen you fight a customer. You usually calm them right down.”

“Well, this one was a real shitbag. I’m surprised I haven’t had to do it sooner, to be honest.”

He shakes his head. “It shouldn’t be something you should ever have to do,” he tells you. “Not while I’m here. If I ever see that bastard again, I swear I’ll kill him.”

“My hero,” you say with a smile, kicking up one foot.

Sanji winks at you and, with towel and dish in hand, leans over slightly to kiss the side of your head. It’s an innocent and playful thing he’s started doing as of late, and it certainly has no underlying meaning whatsoever, so you make a show of scrunching up your face like you always do. You swear that your face only feels hot because of the steam.

“Until my dying breath,” he says softly.

Oh. It’s not so funny anymore.

You flick bubbles at him and resume washing the dishes. Sanji grins and resumes drying, and if you scoot closer until you feel his arm brush yours with every movement, well – that’s nobody’s business but yours.

[mecachrome]

my favorite thing about oscar is that we constantly talk about his measured and methodical demeanor and he's explained at length that you have to consciously turn on the radio after making contact to complain about it so he'd rather just keep it to himself and think of actionable solutions instead and yet the man has never once passed up an opportunity to verbally flagellate carlos sainz on international broadcast

[sulieykte]

𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 // 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 ✧˚ · . 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒊𝒊

‣ Pairing: Adult!Neteyam (20) x Fem!Omatikaya Reader (19) ‣ Warnings: mentions of bruising and biting, mean Neteyam yet again & a little bit of slut shaming ‣ Word Count: 2.4k ‣ A/N: Did I mention there might be smut in part two? We're not quite there yet it's coming don't worry. This fic has truly taken on it's own life and what was meant to be a two, maybe three parter is looking like it's going to be much longer. I'd like to thank you all on your love for the first part and I hope you all love this part just as much. This was proof read at nearly midnight so if you see any errors, no you didn't. English is in bold italics all other dialogue is in Na'vi. ‣ Na'vi word bank: parultsyìp - term of affection for children

SERIES TAG | SERIES PLAYLIST | JOIN THE TAGLIST | SERIES MASTERLIST

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“Slow down Parultsyìp.”

At Jake’s words, you inhaled a deep shaky breath, attempting to steady yourself and give the explanation he demanded of you. He had said those words to you many times, but now they lacked the softness they had had when you were a child, and his fluency was not developed enough for the hastiness of your speech. His tone was now laced with disappointment that sank into your chest like a knife.

It had taken nearly an hour to get to this point and much negotiation on Jake’s part. While he hadn’t been able to convince you to remove yourself from where your back was firmly planted against the wall of the tent affording you as much distance from Neteyam as you could manage short of leaving the family’s home. You had considered your escape momentarily, but you knew you had no chance of doing so with the three Sully men in between you and the exit.

He had practically had to pry your hand from where it covered your other, clearly concealing an injury that you insisted you didn’t have. Until then you’d been clinging to hope that you could take the fall for the whole ordeal, take your licks and leave. Unfortunately, your shaking frame and wild eyes that couldn’t go more than a few seconds without tracking Neteyam had given you away. Jake had gently pulled your arm towards him, his eyes widening as he saw the imprint of his son’s hand impressed onto your skin in purple and navy.

The Olo’eyktan didn’t have time to comment before he had to intervene as his youngest son barrelled towards his eldest. With a shove out of the Marui, Lo’ak had been sent to the Tsahiks tent to get his nose looked at and to send his mother and sister to tend to the two he declared as “Dumbasses.”

So, you found yourself still pressed as far as you could away from Neteyam, Kiri tending to your bruise as Neytiri tended to her son’s injury, Jake crouched in front of you with his eyebrows raised as he waited for your retelling of the events. “Slow down, try again.”

You took a deep breath, not seeing much of an out for yourself. Whatever marks Neteyam had left on your body, and whatever else he was going to do to you if he had reached you, you had intended to break curfew and inflicted a much worse injury on him. Neteyam had been awfully quiet since his fathers entrance, seemingly finding some spot on the ground more interesting than his father’s questioning of you. You were sure it was only a matter of time before he took his opportunity to drop you in it, so you found no point in lying.

“I was going to stay out past curfew.” You saw Neteyam’s eyes flicker to you from the edge of your vision and tried to stay focused on the man in front of you, nodding for you to continue. “Neteyam tried to get me to come back, but I didn’t want to, and he grabbed me.” You winced, as Kiri pressed a little too hard as she applied the healing balm to your wrist, uttering a quick apology before continuing with a gentle hand.

When you returned to look at Jake, you noticed Neteyam had finally lifted his head and his eyes were on you, his jaw tightened as you met his gaze before he looked away. “I don’t know what happened, I panicked.” You continued. “I just wanted him to let go so I bit him… and I ran.”

You failed to add that for a moment, you felt like you were running for your life, or that you weren’t entirely sure what would have happened if you hadn’t found Lo’ak.

Jake sighed, his hand coming to press against his brows for a moment before he shared a look with his mate.

“Kiri, go check on Lo’ak.” The girl nodded, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze as she left to follow her father’s order.

Jake rose to his feet, turning to his son. ��All that true?”

“Yes sir.”

There’s a silence that sets your teeth on edge. He should just get it done, whatever punishment he could throw your way could hardly be worse than the atmosphere of the Marui right now.

“You two need to grow the hell up. This is starting to get really old.” Jake didn’t look at either of the offending parties, pacing the tent with one hand on his hip, the other pinched at his brow. “Are you guys not tired of this by now? Because I know I’m exhausted.” You sniffed, blinking back the tears that threatened to fall, determined not to cry in front of Neteyam even if it broke your heart to hear the expression of Jake’s disappointment in you.

Jake, along with Neytiri has been a constant in your life from the moment you were born. He was a second father figure to you and when your own father returned to Eywa while fighting alongside him, he was the only one you had left. It hurt to see him look at you with such shame in his eyes.

“You. You are to be Olo’eyktan after me. Do you think this is the behaviour of a clan leader?” He turned to Neteyam, his eyebrow raised as his son struggled to meet his eye. “Indulging in petty little rivalries, causing harm to clan members out of rage?” He gestured to your arm, Neteyam’s gaze following. “To family?”

Neteyam’s eyes met yours, he wanted you to know he meant what he was about to say. “She’s not my fa-“

“Boy don’t even finish that thought.” Jake warned. Neytiri hissed, pushing at her son's forehead. He shook his head, his gaze leaving yours after successfully having lit a fire in you.

“And y/n. Panicked or not, you took it too far. That’s going to leave a scar.”

“All mighty warriors have scars. I did him a favour, maybe now he can stop trying so hard to convince everyone.” The disapproving look you received from Neytiri was worth it to see the tensing of Neteyam’s shoulders as he tried not to react.

“Geez, I don’t know what we’re going to do with you two.”

As it turned out, it didn’t take long for him to figure out what to do with you.

You and Neteyam had received matching punishments, starting with no Ikran for two weeks. It had been the longest you’d been away for Anì since you bonded. You had tried to argue the cruelty of this only to be threatened with a Lo’ak ban being issued if you didn’t stop.

At the suggestion of your mother when she’d joined the other parents’ deliberation, you’d also been stripped of all your duties as warriors during this time and placed on clean up duty for the entire clan each night. It was only a week in and your will to live had begun to slip away, the only solace you found being in the presence of your best friend.

Of course, it had only been fair to punish you equally, but you could not yet be trusted to be left alone together without supervision. Kiri was too busy working alongside the Tsahìk as the raids they had been barred from continued, and Lo’ak had picked up some of Neteyam’s responsibilities, an unspoken reward from Jake for his intervention. Tuk had outright refused, bursting into tears and exclaiming how it was unfair for her to be punished just because they couldn’t get along. That left Spider, whose desperation to be useful to the clan and Neytiri’s personal request – a good move on Jake’s part you had to admit – could not refuse.

You didn’t miss the irony when the three of you received your orders for the day. You were to map out the unoccupied areas of the cave systems, documenting which areas were suitable for expansion. The current layout of High Camp was liveable, but the clan was in need of room to breathe.

Staying several paces ahead of your companions, you tread lightly over the stone path, skipping over the familiar areas you knew from your previous explorations were not suitable. Spider’s presence between you and Neteyam created a distance you were more than comfortable with. Your parents may have had hope that the time you spent with each other would push you closer to one another, or at least closer to tolerating one another but it had been a failure thus far.

If anything, it had proved Spider had a promising future in mediation, having managed to keep the two of you civil.

You had been walking for an hour before you reached your intended destination. A cavern you had come across with Lo’ak in the early days of High Camp. Its walls lined with vines and bioluminescence, a spring at the centre. For a moment you considered that maybe you shouldn’t have brought them here, that you should’ve kept this place a secret between yourself and your friends, but you shook off the doubt.

“Oh, come on man, I’ve seen how Tsani looks at you. There’s no way you haven’t tapped that.” You had tuned out Spider and Neteyam’s conversation for most of the journey, a good choice you found once you started listening in again. Rolling your eyes you walked further into the cavern, running your fingers through the vines.

“I’m not Lo’ak, I don’t have the luxury of passing myself around the clan.” You snorted at that, Neteyam pausing at your interruption, the first sound you’ve made the whole journey. His eyes narrowed as he followed you into the cavern. “Something to say?”

You shouldn’t, you really shouldn’t. It’s not like Spider’s supervision would do anything if you really pissed him off again, but you couldn’t resist when faced with his blatant lies. Girls talked, a lot. And of course, when it was the future Olo’eyktan, there had been some bragging involved.

“I mean of course you don’t but you’ve had the luxury of Tsyal, Kyuna, Yina…” You drew out each name, pleased as Neteyam’s face dropped. You were ready to declare yourself another win when a smirk crossed his face, your stomach sinking at the sight.

“The same luxury you’ve given to Ralu, I’m sure.”

A sharp intake of breath was heard from the cavern’s entrance, and you looked to see Spider open his mouth, his face melting into worry as he attempted to intervene, his hand wrapped around the vines at the mouth of the cavern as if he were holding on for support. You held your hand up, quieting him before he could speak.

“You are wrong.” You bluffed, and badly at that. It was not something you expected him to know. You had only told Lo’ak and Spider and you were sure they would not share the secret of the intimacy you had shared with the hunter after the second successful raid you had been paired with him for. Neteyam laughed, his face emanating the most joyful look you think you’d ever seen on his face in your presence.

“Oh, I’m not sure, I think I heard him right. What was it he said?” He pinched his chin, fake pondering for a moment. “Insatiable… Like a Palulukan in heat.”Heat pooled at your cheeks, the humiliation bringing back that sharp stinging sensation at the corner of your eyes as you tried to keep your promise to never cry in front of Neteyam again.

“Seriously bro? Too far.” Spider moved towards you, struggling to detangle himself from the vines he’d been clinging to in his rush to move towards you and give comfort. You turned to tell him it was fine, to stay out of it because you were more than ready to wipe the smirk off of Neteyam’s face.

That’s when you saw the crumbling rock land by Spider’s foot. “Shit!” Looking up at the mouth of the cave, your fears were confirmed as more, bigger rocks followed the path of the first, detached from their original place by the pull of the vines. There was no time to warn Spider, not in words at least, and your body could move faster. You lunged forward, pushing Spider’s body away from the path of the collapsing cave entrance, not missing the crunch and his cry of pain as he hit the ground.

There was no time for you to react before you felt hands wrap around your waist, your body yanked back with a force that took the wind out of you. Your back hit a hard surface as your legs were knocked out from under you. All you could do was lie there for a moment, chest rising rapidly as you tried to regain control of your breathing.

Blinking rapidly, you tried to sit up, finding resistance against your middle that pulled you back down. Neteyam’s hands squeezed tighter around your middle as he groaned in pain, he’d had a much harder landing than you had when he twisted you out of the way of the falling rubble, his body hitting the uneven rocky ground as you landed on top of him.

Your body froze as the current position you were in registered in your brain, the hands pressed into your waist were not half as bruising as the grip around your wrist, but the rush of your heart and your body screaming at you to get away once more had you scrambling out of his grasp towards the cave exit.

Except there was no longer an exit. “No. No. No.” You shook your head, refusing the reality before you. The wall of rock where the exit had once been, where Spider had just been standing, could not be real. You moved closer, pushing against the blockade with as much force as you could knowing before you had even touched it that it would not work.

Turning back, you faced your fellow prisoner, now sat rubbing at his neck with a grimace. “Please tell me you brought your comm with you.” He didn’t need to answer, even without the look on his face you could see the absence of the device from his neck. Crumpling down to the ground against the newly formed cavern wall, you called out to your friend. “Bro, you good?”

“Yeah.” Spider coughed, his voice quiet from outside of the rock prison. “Thanks for the save.”

“Thank me by getting us out of here.” Your eyes met with Neteyam’s, his holding a similar panic to your own. “Quickly.”

tag list: @inntercreationflower, @lili-of-the-dream, @arminsgfloll,@strawberryclouds22,@aliceantalus,@afro-hispwriter,@gretesstuff

[happytakes]

2022.05.18 | You may be playing the blame game without knowing it. Learn more about it so you can stop playing it and do something to help you move forward instead.

[beesarekindaswag]

Accidental Internet Fame

Gothamites filming a bat sighting : "Is that Nightwing? Doing flips for no reason?"

Danny, clutching a milkshake in one hand & scrolling tumblr with the other, passing by, deadpan: "Very acrobatic"

---------

Gotham Reporter after an attack by Mr Freeze : "Rogue, Mr Freeze has finally been defeated by the Batman but not without leaving a trail of destruction in his wake"

Sleep deprived teenager, unfazed : "Who fucked with the thermostat?" (He isn't complaining though, ice boy likes the cold)

--------

Joker, holding a group of hostages whilst doing his dramatic villain thing on livestream : "Tick tock, Batsy!"

The most clown hating teenager coming out of unconsciousness to see this shit : "If I kill you, do you think I'll get arrested or a medal?"

Gotham would 100% give him a medal if he did kill the joker.

--------

Just,,, Danny accidentally becoming this internet meme not as Phantom but as this random twink who keeps appearing in random videos & say either the stupidest or most unhinged shit.

Bonus points if he begins to look into cameras like he's on the office. Pretend his ghost powers let him know when he's being filmed or something and so one day when a rogue says something dumb during a monologue he just looks to where he knows a camera is with a "WTF" face.

[eruptedinlight]

💥 ACTION SARU! 💥

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Broken Roofs and Fixed Perspectives

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[themisterhip]

They do fit Saitama, just keep trying ówó

[hemovanadin]

doodle from a week ago, idk quite how to explain what it was about.

[ssaalexblake]

I'm past wanting to smack my own head against a wall when I see an idiot take that 13 is one dimensional in s11. Now I wish somebody would smack the heads of people saying it against a wall.

I love how we suddenly lose our ability to see a character putting on a front and to analyse their actions when they're played by a woman. Truly. It's so much Fun. It's not like she's trying to live up to what 12 tasked the next doctor to be I.e. laughing and kind and happy. It's not like she's clearly not spending half her time getting bad guys alone to be a threatening terror of a being where the humans don't see bc apparently doesn't count if nobody sees her doing it. It's not that she's clearly only holding onto her temper by a thread multiple times. It's not like that, when she no longer has the emotional bandwidth to lie through her teeth about her virtuous nature, she became a grumpy, reclusive git who annoyed her companions to the point they wanted to bash Her head against a wall.

Gosh it's almost as if they expected the audience to waste a shred of thought on, god forbid, a Woman.

The audacity.