#and on top of all that shit

[your-mommy-ems]

today is just one of those days where i wanna scream and cry because everything just seems to be piling up.

[fanaticalthings]

I want an AU where after Jason gets brought back to life, he channels his inner rage and turmoil into the academics instead of murder

Talia has like infinite money and a crap ton of influence, so she can absolutely get Jason the best tutors and can easily get him into the most prestigious schools if Jason wanted to (she doesn't need to do that though because Jason's just smart enough to get into them on his own)

The major he chooses? Med.

Why? Because Bruce dropped out of med school.

Jason practically flies through all the secondary education that he needs to catch up on and is already en route to earning his bachelor's AND his master's.

And it'd be so incredibly funny if the way Bruce and Jason reunite in this AU was purely by coincidence.

Bruce (as Brucie Wayne) offers to show up as a guest lecturer at Hudson University (the school Dick attended but dropped out of so double points for Jason), maybe to talk about future career paths and job positions at WE idk

So as Bruce is just wandering around the campus, he randomly bumps into a student and immediately puts on the Brucie act and is all "Oh my, I'm SO sorry, I'm just a klutz haha" only to stop dead silent when he makes eye contact with a very alive, very grown Jason Todd, who also stops dead in his tracks, mouth agape, staring at Bruce like the world's about to end

And before Bruce can get his thoughts straight, Jason just bolts out of there like his life depends on it, and Bruce is just in shambles for the rest of the day.

It doesn't help that the person giving Bruce the tour is all like "Oh yeah, that's Jason, he's one of the heads on our student council haha, anyways, this way, Mr. Wayne." and Bruce is just stood there bluescreening.

----

Alternatively, it'd be kinda funny if this all happened AFTER the events of UTRH where after the final encounter with Bruce and Joker and the whole explosion, Jason's just like "yk what, maybe I'm just gonna turn over a new leaf and pursue a higher education"

So while Gotham's still reeling from the aftermath of Jason's near takeover as the top crime lord and Bruce is still painstakingly trying to figure out where his son went, the whole time Jason's just been chilling on a school campus and Bruce just so happens to bump into his son (who, last time they met, tried to kill Bruce and blew up the building they were all in) and Jason's just all normal-looking with his textbooks and nerdy glasses and Bruce doesn't know whether to scream or cry.

[metamorphicmongrel]

everyone’s all “what if instead of house md it was 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 md” but then no one wants to talk about the watersports episode. or the musk episode featuring A Montage of house getting all hot and sweaty during a run while “feel good” plays in the background. all the medical play. the drug dosing — house getting drugged and waking up in wilson’s car vs wilson getting drugged and waking up without any pants. cane as a phallic symbol. literal rimming mention in broad daylight. all the whump episodes via house getting the shit beat out of him. when a patient made him believe she was doing wild kink shit with a donkey. all the freudian implications of house’s car during (spoiler). “who came running to mommy?�� “daddy needs a drink.” this is already freak md, all we’re missing is his literal cock and balls on screen.

[vesrimm]

what's wrong with him.

this is exactly how the disturbing dream segments go, right? right?

[winter-parrot]

for @911whatisyourpride week 3: family. took this prompt a little sideways but the idea hit me like a truck like two hours ago and then i typed this entire ficlet directly into the tumblr post dialog like a madwoman, so.

buck doesn't exactly try to adopt a dog, and fails anyway. tommy picks up a dog and an (ex?)-boyfriend. | bucktommy (duh) | post season-8 | 2.4k

now on ao3!

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

Buck keeps thinking about Blaze. Not Bingo, who went back to his family and is probably spoiled and happy and exactly where he belongs. But Blaze, whom for that single day had belonged to Buck. Who had been a friend when he and Eddie were on the outs, and everything was falling apart, and he had nobody to talk to because everyone thought he was overreacting. Someone who was happy to see him, who looked at him adoringly, who took joy from Buck's mere existence and gave joy in return.

Now, his life is a hundred times the mess that it was back then, but the parallels aren't escaping him.

And yeah, yeah, he's always got Maddie. But she's not his, not really; she's got more important people in her life. Her own family. Chimney, and Jee, and newborn baby Robert-who-he-still-cannot-call-Bobby. Chim's got her and Jee and Robert, in return. Eddie's got Chris, and Tia Pepa. Hen's got Karen and Denny and Mara too, now. Athena's got May and Harry, and anyway he's not going to impose on her, not now, not after everything.

Point is, everyone's got someone who's theirs. Everyone except him, that is. For a minute there he thought he might have Tommy, but well. Shows you how much he knows about love, about building a family.

So instead he's sitting all alone--in a shitty little Airbnb he's got for the week, because apartment hunting in LA is anything but fast--thinking about Blaze. And looking up dog rescues, just to dream about holding them all, and bringing one home, and having someone to greet him and be excited to see him when he gets home.

He knows it's pathetic--knew it even then, when he was clinging to Blaze and ignoring Eddie--but the one thing more pathetic than having a dog for your only friend and source of love, is having no one for a friend and source of love. Although, dreaming about having a dog for his only friend and source of love, when he can't even get a dog because he doesn't have a home address and anywhere with a pet deposit is going to be way out of his price range, is probably more pathetic than both.

The thought doesn't stop him from scrolling, and scrolling, and scrolling past the little squares of photos and blurbs. There's a five-year-old beagle named Dot that reminds him a little too painfully of Blaze. A six-month-old mutt of a puppy--they think it's maybe a boxer mix--with bright blue eyes called Frankie. A massive ninety-pound Doberman named Sergeant with a noble air to him--and behaviour problems, apparently. A tiny yorkie, by far the teey-tiniest dog he's ever seen, called Mini.

And then, at the bottom, a raggedy three-legged lab mix called Tres. He's the longest-running resident of the shelter, according to his bio. Lost his leg in an accident, while wandering in the streets. Seven years old, old enough to have trouble being adopted even without the missing leg. He's also got the biggest, most soulful brown eyes Buck's ever seen on a dog. Ever seen period, maybe.

Before he quite realizes what he's doing, Buck has the address memorized and the keys to his Jeep in his hand. No, that's not entirely true. He sort of halfway realizes what he's doing, but refuses to let himself recognize it all the way. Because if he did, then he'd have to acknowledge that it's insane, and then he'd have nothing to do but sit there and think about how pathetic he is, and how sad Tres looked in the photos.

The shelter is almost halfway across the city, because he wasn't exactly paying attention to the location when he started down this impromptu spiral. But that's alright; he's on day one of a four off, so he's got the time to kill. It's early enough, too, so traffic won't even be that bad. (He Does Not think about why he was up so early on his day off. That way lies grief and pain and danger, and he does not want to end up accidentally wrapping his car around a power pole.)

Still, this is LA, and "not that bad" ends up being nearly an hour instead. Plenty of time to think about what the hell he's doing, and all the million reasons it's a stupid, impulsive idea. But he's started this already, going Full Buck as they'd say, and he's determined not to turn back. Maybe he can't take Tres home, doesn't even have a home to take Tres to, but that doesn't mean he can't go see the dog, right? Maybe he can't be enough for anyone in his life, can't make them happy or hold them together, but surely he can be a bright spot in one sad dog's day. He can be good for this one thing.

The shelter's open, but just barely, when he gets there. No cars in the tiny parking lot, thank God, because most sane people don't show up to animal shelters at--he checks his phone--8:17 in the morning. The tiny bells above the door chime a happy little chorus as he walks in. A woman behind the front desk looks up, seeming startled to see him there. Fair enough.

"Hi, u-um, I saw this dog on your website?" Buck says, uncertainty tilting his sentence up into a question.

"Are you looking to adopt?" the woman--Miranda, according to the name tag Buck's now close enough to read--asks, already rummaging for some forms.

"U-um, not-not yet. I don't, um, I don't currently have a pet-friendly place," Buck says. He doesn't have any place, of course, but that's a lot to unload on this poor woman at barely eight in the morning. "B-but, um, but I'd like to someday. When I'm in a- a better place." Winces at the phrasing; apparently he's so chock full of death euphemisms these days, it's leaking out everywhere. "I just, um, I just wanted to see the dog for now? Maybe play wit him for a bit, if-if that's something I can do?"

Miranda looks at him for a long moment. It feels, oddly, like the way Bobby used to look at him. Piercing and uncompromising, but not unkind. Like she was looking at him, really looking, past his shell and right down to the core of him--not to judge, or find him wanting, but just to see. To understand. To maybe even help. The moment stretches like gum, and Buck's not even sure he's breathing. Not until she nods once, sharply, and says, "What was his name? The dog you were looking at?"

"U-um, Tres," Buck says, somehow surprised by this turn of events despite literally showing up here for it. "I was looking at Tres."

Miranda's face turns apologetic. "Oh hon, someone already put in yestereday to adopt him."

Something inside Buck stretches past breaking point, snaps into overstretched pieces. Of course he can't even do this right. Too late and not enough. Forces his lips into a smile that feels far too brittle for how practiced it's become, these past few weeks. "R-right. Okay. That's, that's good for him, right? G-going home to someone who can love him." Love him better than Buck ever could. Who probably has a yard for Tres to play around in, and a cozy fireplace for Tres to curl up in front off, with a fluffy dog bed all set up and waiting.

Miranda nods, but she seems distracted, chewing at her lip. Looks down at her desk. Shuffles through some papers, looking for something. Squints down at one sheet, running her fingers along the lines. "Pick up time, pick up time... ah! Yeah, that's what I thought." She looks up at him, still holding the paper in her hand. "Listen, you seem like a nice guy--the people who come here for the saddest dogs usually are. You can see other dogs, of course, whichever ones you want. But if you've got your heart set on Tres, The owner's out back right now, picking up Tres and his stuff. I can go and ask if he'd be okay with you at least say hi to Tres."

Buck nods, mumbles out a thanks that may or may not come out intelligible past the growing knot in his throat. He can't explain it, why meeting Tres feels so important. Maybe it's because he felt like they were kindred souls, in some terribly pathetic way, forgotten and left behind and waiting, waiting, waiting for someone to finally want him. Maybe it's because he thought that he could save someone, even just one sad dog, from the terrible loneliness eating him up from the inside--and be saved in return. Maybe he just wanted to be good for something, anything, and this was the one tiny thing that felt maybe, possibly, within his reach.

Or maybe he was just a sucker for a sob story and big sad eyes and abandoned dogs. It doesn't have to be that deep.

Miranda pops her head in from the back door where she'd disappeared to. "He said yes, of course. Come on and meet Tres. It'd be good for his socialization anyway, to meet some more people."

Well. At least this whole insane trip wasn't a total loss, then. He can go meet Tres and his new owner, play with a dog for a few minutes, and then drive back to his sad Airbnb so he can keep searching apartment listings. Buck makes his way across the lobby, towards the door that Miranda's holding open. Ducks out through the gap. Steps into a little back yard, lined with straggly grass and patches of sand. Looks around for Tres.

Finds himself looking at familiar blue eyes, instead.

"Evan?" Tommy says, staring right back at him like he's seeing a ghost. His eyes are wide, and so blue, and rimmed faintly red with exhaustion. Buck's pretty sure there's new lines in their corners, stupidly wants to reach out a run a gentle finger over them, to learn their new shapes. Clenches his hands into fists in his pockets to stop himself.

"T-tommy," he says, more breath than word. Has to swallow twice and clear his throat awkwardly before he tries again. "Hey. I, uh, I didn't know you were in the market for a dog."

Tommy shrugs, a little awkward. Something about the motion somehow makes those strong, wide shoulders seem small. "House was feeling too quiet. Thought a dog might help liven things up. Plus, I've always been weak for the puppy eyes." The last sentence comes out with the weight of a confession, too heavy for the back yard of an animal shelter with a soon-to-be-spoiled three-legged dog sniffing around by their feet.

Buck makes his lips curl up at the corner, pretends he doesn't notice it feels more like a grimace than a smile. "You've got good taste," he says, jerking his chin towards Tres. "I had my eyes on him this morning, too."

"Sorry," Tommy says, and it feels like he's talking about more than the dog. "Didn't mean to steal him from you."

It's Buck's turn to shrug, this time. He tries not to think about other things Tommy's stolen, not from him but for him. Tries to hold on to the fading memory of how he felt that sun-drenched morning in Eddie's kitchen, in that helicopter still full of hope over the LA skyline. Tommy's going to be good to Tres. Buck knows, because he was good to him, too. Besides, Tommy's got a solid house, big back yard and a fireplace just like he'd been picturing.

Buck's got no house, and no dog, and no one to go home to. He leans down to pet Tres instead of thinking about that. Lets Tres lick his face and slobber all over him. Pretends that's why dampness weighs down his lashes.

"I was just gonna take him home, get him settled in," Tommy says above him, after a few prolonged minutes of silence.

Buck get up, because he does know how to take a hint, sometimes. Time to get out of Tommy's hair, let him take home the dog he wants without the ex-boyfriend he didn't want. Doesn't meet Tommy's eyes as he turns to leave, because even he's got a limit for how pathetic he's willing to be in one day.

"Do you want to come with me?" Tommy says, the words uncharacteristically rushed.

Buck looks up with surprise. Tommy's got a hand rubbing against the back of his neck in a gesture Buck hasn't seen in ages.

"D-do you want me to?" Buck says. Tries not to feel like he's asking about more than just Tres. Fails. It's like they're having a whole second conversation--except they're not, because they haven't said more than maybe fifty words to each other and neither of them are actually saying it. So maybe it's all in Buck's head; maybe he's gotten so desperate that he's reading signs into innocent

Tommy's wide-eyed again, breathing a little fast and shallow. For a second, he looks almost panicked. Doesn't quite look at Buck as he reaches down to clip a leash onto Tres's collar, and lingers to pet down the line of Tres's spine with a huge hand.

When he stands back up, something in him has straightened. He's steady, looking Buck straight in the eyes as he nods firmly. "Yeah. Yeah, I do. I want you to come home with me." Glances down at his feet, where Tres is sitting patiently with his tongue rolling out. "You and me and Tres."

They're still not talking, not really. Not about the them of it all But it's the closest they've come since the helicopter--no, since before that. Since that morning, maybe.

It feels like an invitation. Like a closed door, reopened. Like a second, third, fifth chance at something.

Buck leans down to give Tres one last pat--for luck, for hope, for gratitude, for courage. He takes the hand Tommy opens to him. Him and Tommy and Tres. It feels like a good place to start.

[dreamerdrop]

Long rant bubbling in my skull about how people paint Julian Bashir as being much more predatory and creepy than he actually is in canon to the point of blaming him for an event where he was being sexually harassed and assaulted on screen.

[homosexual-simp]

In celebration of pride month I will be rewatching topgun as much as physically possible🙏🙏🙏 them bitches are gay af I don’t care, I mean seriously come on there’s no good reason Ice and Mav needed to be looking so intensely at each other…god I hate them. Do they know it’s legal? Someone tell them!!!🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈

[dxckgrxsonx]

i have to believe that god help anyone who tries to manipulate/gaslight you in front of Dick ‘Master Manipulator’ Grayson.

there will be zero survivors.

man knows how to twist words and if someone (anyone) comes at you with the intent to place blame or guilt trip you into something then he’s there. he’s certifiably good at it and knows it. has people questioning everything, stumbling over words, genuinely embarrassing themselves whilst trying to regain some sort of control over the situation.

he takes absolute pleasure in watching it. he is so protective of the people he loves and no one gets to pull that shit with you.

he fucks them up in the head. gives them a brilliant (maybe slightly evil) smile and takes you for ice cream.

[kasieli]

Cover art for A Reign of Shadows which you can find here!

[beetlethebug]

lucanis mentions in one of his romance scenes that to him, rook's voice is a comfort. Spite has a tendency to label people based on their scents. what if that is like? the most comforting sense to spite? smell. imagine him collecting lots of things that smell like rook. spite taking over lucanis' body just to shove their face into one of harding's lavender plants because it reminds them of rook. a rook from rivain who smells of spices and salt and spite, after learning that getting those things in their eyes is not a good time, making a little sachet to bring to their nose instead. perking up in stalls and instinctively looking for rook when they catch hints of chocolate, because it's rook's favorite and smells like them.

lucanis, through spite, getting a newfound appreciation for scented candles. who has to tell spite that no, they cannot take rook's clothes from the laundry. no, even if they would smell good.

[tea-cat-arts]

Shen Yuan getting transported into pidw isn't "the system punishing him for being a lazy internet hater," but instead representative of "step 1 of the creative process: getting so mad at something you decide to go write your own fucking book" in this essay I will

[elodieunderglass]

does Killie manage to be a flat-and-jumps jockey all the way up to retirement/greyuncle era, or does injury (and Derek) force him to find some other occupation in between the two? fascinated to know what the second-choice job would be since jockey is so much what Killie IS

(Killie the jockey OC)

I don’t actually know! You’re very right! I have no idea!

The average retirement age for a flat jockey is 31 and jump is 33. Of this, the tough little lightweight jockeys, mostly of the previous era when people were smaller, seem to keep going for much longer than you’d think, many riding well into their fifties - which is actually quite old for any athlete. There seems to be a relationship between generational jockeys and longer careers/older retirements, too, though that’s probably combinations of family support, as well as possibly passing down the especially wiry/muscular builds that do a bit better in the context. It’s a topic that gets danced around a bit, but it’s known that being more muscular and better fed, with better bone health, means you can take more damage and bounce back faster. Also, jockeys frequently retire in their late twenties without injury or being forced, because they’ve achieved their natural adult size and it simply becomes incompatible with the job. So shorter ones do seem to last longer in the job; and as a bonus, turn into those wonderfully wiry little tiny old people that stump around the place in big boots and giant coats, muttering about their allotments. Killie is set up to be one of those.

I want him to be forcibly retired, though, and I DON’T want him to go the predicted trajectory of training racehorses OR raising another generation. Even though I find it a personal Special Interest and highly absorbing, it is such an incredibly STUPID sport. I think he’ll get dragged out of it by Derek by the scruff of his neck and maybe simply kept as a Kept Man. And there might be an interesting story to explore there in itself. Who the HELL is Killie without his job? (Crisis.)

We know he’s patient and kind with children, good at nature, excellent at mental arithmetic, and somehow ends up strangely wealthy (they’d probably settle in the UK, where keeping horses in the UK is NO cheap hobby.) maybe he simply earns and saves a true fortune of prize money, from tackling a career’s worth of astronomical purses, and retires honestly to be a surprisingly pleasant house-husband.

I think @eldriwolf has fond memories of a retired jockey who was a kind and patient beekeeper and science educator. Maybe he could do that. Maybe as a nod to Tark, Diana Wynne Jones’s retired jockey, and my own interests/hobbies, he could get violently competitive about village fetes/allotment shows, and enter his increasingly serious show tomatoes or something. Killie with his own Jam Saga going on, silently fighting psychic battles with his many enemies at parish council meetings that Derek drags him to because they’re doing their Civic Duty 😌 and Killie’s having a full wizard fight on the astral plane with That Bitch Agatha-who-strategically-shoved-his-Victoria-sponge-cake-off-the-table.

Who knows!! What do you think?

[starry-bi-sky]

Broke: danny runs away from bruce wayne because he reminds him of Vlad (bad, overused, fundamentally misunderstands Bruce’s character as a whole for a shit joke)

Woke: bruce wayne doesnt remind danny of vlad masters, but of his best friend sam manson

black hair? check ✅

jewish? check ✅

richer than god? check ✅

gothic? well, mister wayne isnt himself but he lives in the most gothic city on earth so quasi-check ✅

loudly and proudly an activist for various rights including environmental and womens' rights? check ✅

im tired of the "oh danny runs away from bruce because he's rich and reminds him of vlad" give me a danny who actually likes bruce because he reminds him of his awesome kickass best friend who is also stupidly rich

like i’ve been told about the whole “oh fruit loop joke” before and i still think its a cheap, shallow joke if i’ve ever heard one that flanderizes Bruce’s character to an impressive degree. Vlad and Bruce are only comparable in the same sense that they’re both rich and Bruce adopts kids — but he isn’t doing it because of the “adoption addiction” joke, he’s doing it because he sees himself in the kids he adopts and he wants to give them better than he did. Vlad wants Danny as his son to spite Jack, they are not remotely comparable beyond that.

Like, beyond that too i highly doubt vlad masters gives his employees benefits like bruce wayne does. who canonically hires reformed villains and has various branches of medical, industrial, technology, etc in his company in order to help the people of gotham. does Vlad Masters run charities, soup kitchens, etc?? is Vlad contributing to the community? No, no he isnt.

[aegonslawyer]

Imagine being Tom Glynn Carney, cast in what is supposed to be a major role as one of two leads; you watch all of Game of Thrones and study the books to prepare, immersing yourself into Westeros itself… only to be given shit scripts, shit wigs, shit costumes because Condal wants to produce his rhaenicent fanfiction where women do nothing wrong, ever.

[ringosmistress]

[folcanta]

world's most transgendered man, folken fanel