#time for lunch

[naomiknight-17]

Man, why do I feel so shaky and weak and faint? I had breakfast! And that was only... oh. 5 hours ago. Oops

[immortalsins]

just finished hannibal 1999. it feels like thomas harris wanted him & clarice together but had no idea how to initiate that without skimming over it in the last few chapters and hoping that would be enough to convince the reader & get them to fill in the blanks. 'a place for mischa' was the most stupid addition to his character (INCLUDING the breastfeeding thing (jesus christ)) - his complete self-control & lack of insanity are what makes him so scary. delusional teacup smashing and 'maybe if clarice dies mischa will take her place ... stephen hawking etc etc?' pretty much undid everything that had been built up in rd and tsotl, if that makes any sense at all. i had to look my landlord in the eye 5 minutes after reading about the dinner dishes in paul krendler's skull. had to discuss the broken washing machine having just bookmarked the page with the wine on the tits. 3 stars. cant elaborate

[radio-charlie]

Anyway

[overgrown-ruins]

rambling re. fatigue below the cut

One of the things that really frustrates me when having conversations with my parents around fatigue and activity is how they assume it's mostly a mental thing just because I don't have the post-exertional malaise and my blood chemistry keeps coming back normal. They keep citing my dad, who does have depression, and how he feels better/more energetic after getting out and doing some mild cardio (like walking). Which is great! I'm glad that helps him.

But they don't realise how much of an effort - both physical and mental - it is for me to get going in the morning. Every day is a push. Sometimes a very little one. Others a very big one (that happened on Wednesday). And sometimes there are crashes in the day (like today) where I have to push again to keep going.

Like, sorry I don't get out on weekends. I am contractually obliged to push myself to get to work during the week. I have 0 reason to push on the weekends. Not to mention I literally NEED to sleep 12+ hours on Satuday to catch up on lack of sleep during the week, and then Sunday is Household Chore & Cooking day.

Does my mental health affect how much I need to push? Yes. But it's not the only factor. Like on Wednesday, mood-wise I was good, but I had a migraine hangover and it would've been more deterimental to push myself to get to work than to just stay home and rest.

To sum up, "Fatigue is a complicated, multifactorial, and vexing symptom" (thanks wikipedia). Unless your presentation is the same as mine, your 2 cents is really only worth 2 cents.

[marlynnofmany]

When my official performance is done, the children are still fascinated, and the adults are clearly pretending not to be. Instead of making a dramatic exit or being deliberately boring so they lose interest, I indulge them a bit longer by asking for a drink of water.

I hear the children whispering about it as an adult produces a full glass with a flourish. I guess privately that this was simply teleported from the kitchen, but I accept it with gratitude as if it were the highest quality magicrystal.

With an older set of children, I might have explained the science behind the water, comparing it to their own biology. But these are littles, and I haven't been hired to give lessons, so I simply drink it.

That involves unhinging my jaw and pouring it directly down my throat, which is entertainment enough.

The children make all manner of excited noises. I hand the glass back with polite gratitude, then begin packing up my null stones. By tossing them from one hand to another, then into my bag, of course.

A startled croak from the pond proves to be the frogwing taking to the sky. The kids exclaim about that too. Their eyes aren't as good as mine. They don't see what the frogwing is escaping from. They haven't started screaming yet.

Then the hex eater scuttles into the open and tackles an illusory fairy, and oh, now there is screaming.

Adults are herding the children inside — it won't bite you if you keep your distance; it's just after the magic — while other adults are panicking and calling professionals and casting more magic to lure it away from the house.

The dull black insect the size of a human shoe finishes eating the illusion, and turns toward the beacon of magical energy that is the birthday cake. The glowing, glittering, rainbow of flavors that is surely the envy of all the neighborhood children. An irresistible meal for the land's most notorious pest. If it isn't stopped before gobbling up all the magic on that table, it will turn its sights toward the house, and all the structural enchantments therein.

Adults try magical lightning and other nonsense, though they must know better. It rolls right off. Hex eater carapace is one ingredient in the local variety of null stones.

These creatures are absolute bastards in the wand factory, and there is only one good way to stop them.

While the flock of humans panics around me, I step forward and pitch a null stone with enough force to crush the hex eater into the ground and leave an antimagic crater.

The humans are quiet for just a heartbeat, enough time for me to listen for other scuttling feet and hear none, then the cacophony returns. This time it's amazement, relief, and gratitude.

While they gather around to thank me and shake every hand I've got, I privately add a section on pest control to my resume.

When normal people throw a birthday party for their child, they call in a magician. When magicians throw a birthday party for their child, they call you.

[toyastales]

Steak Tacos 🌮

[thebubblesareevil]

Dan attacks the Justice league

The attack is completely unprompted, they’re doing some kind of public appearance and he randomly attacks them one day.

The do their best to fight back but it’s clear to them it’s a loosing battle and Batman is about to do something drastic when all of a sudden there was a loud shout

“I left you alone for 15min!!!!” Dan freezes not moving an inch

The Justice league is confused but grateful for the reprieve, though they all freak out when they see a teenager jog up to the monster that nearly killed them

They just stand there in shock as he scolds the pouting creature especially superman (he later informed them that the creature made a remark about them surviving much longer this time) when suddenly the 2 disappear into a glowing green portal

They all are at the watch tower a week later pouring of what little information they had when the intruder alert goes off.

Before any of the can react the same tired looking teen walks in with the creature trailing behind him.

“I’ll be back in a few hours, I gotta study for my exams. If you need anything just call me and I’ll get here as soon as possible.”

The teen ignored any and all reactions from the team. He nearly set down a brown paper bag and turned back to the creature.

“Make sure you eat your lunch and be nice to your new friends.” He smiled before disappearing into a portal.

The league doesn’t have much time to react before the creature is upon them once more.

Danny is so glad Dan found some new playmates to keep him entertained while he studied

[deathsmallcaps]

I’m trying speed dating tonight but my period just hit :////////

[pidgydraws]

💙 comfort 💙

i haven't had time to finish anything lately~ but i can't stop making new sketches lol

[syoddeye]

you get a new neighbor.

he moves into the flat across the courtyard. same floor, same narrow balcony. a smoker with restless, twitchy hands. you catch glimpses of him through the blinds.

you’ve never been one to keep them open—facing another unit all these years, privacy has been a comfort. but now, often without thinking, your fingers find the cord, tilting the cheap plastic slats just enough to peek through.

unlike you, he doesn’t bother with curtains. either unbothered or proud of his sparsely decorated, meticulously kept space. when he’s home, he spends hours in full view of his windows. sinking into his couch with a controller in hand, headset on. sometimes, not as often, a book. pacing, phone pressed to his ear, wearing a track into the floor.

more often than not, though, he’s maintaining his body. that, he clearly takes pride in. push-ups. crunches. weights. he’s fit. almost always shirtless. almost always in joggers or shorts. a thick pelt of hair across his chest, matching the wild, overgrown mess on his head. whatever cut he once had, it’s grown out strangely—a longer ridge along the top of his skull, like the raised hackles of a dog. it connects to an untrimmed tangle of a beard, hiding what must be a sharp jawline if it matches the body.

you know what it looks like—watching someone like this. if you admitted it to anyone, they’d call you a creep. a pervert.

but you can’t stop.

you don’t even know when your new little habit began. the moment the sun sinks, your lights go off. you sit in the dark, barely moving behind the slats. waiting. watching.

your spine goes rigid, every nerve at attention, when he steps onto the balcony for one of his many smokes of the night. saliva pools on your tongue in anticipation.

a cigarette dangles from his lips, moonlight catching every plane and muscle of his torso. he stretches. his big, broad back flexes as he grips the rail. biceps bulging when he pulls one arm over his chest, then the other, thatches of pit hair poking out.

however, it’s his eyes that draw you in.

bright blue. too bright. a glowing, animalic eyeshine. fresnel lenses, catching and refracting the light. as unnatural as they are alluring. unsettling in a way that itches at the back of your skull—but still, it makes you want to wrench the door open and leap across to him.

the same feeling you get standing at the edge of a cliff or rooftop.

then, he lifts his head. tilts it back until his nose juts into the air and sniffs.

you freeze. glance up at the closed, locked glass door. he can’t.

smoke billows from his lips as his gaze sweeps the courtyard. down at the ground, then scanning the floor beneath you. searching.

a shiver slides down your spine. you will yourself smaller, pressing into the shadows. he can’t possibly know you’re watching, let alone smell you through the walls and windows.

but then, just as you think he’ll go back inside, he turns his head slightly, just a fraction, toward you.

the cigarette burns, momentarily forgotten, between his fingers. his gaze fixes on you, direct and unblinking.

but there’s no way. no way he sees you in the dark.

then he smiles. the barest quirk of his lips. a knowing pull at the corner of his mouth.

he turns, steps inside, and yanks his blinds shut.

your breath catches. the slats slap against each other as you jerk back, heart hammering, blood roaring in your ears. you reach for the cord, fumbling, pulling too hard—yanking the entire thread free with a sharp, splintering snap.

not two minutes later, as you’re still panicking, up on your toes, uselessly trying to thread it back into place—an insistent knock rattles your door.

[faunandfloraas]

I can't tell the difference between skiz and skzoo by Sydney Short Form Manager🐶

[a11eya]

“Who did this to you?”

Bakugou’s voice is low, dangerous. His eyes are sharp as they stare at you.

“What?” You blink rapidly at him.

After a year of being friends with Bakugou, you’re used to him frequently being at some level of pissed off or annoyed.

But you’ve never seen him look so angry. Like he could tear the world apart.

“This.”

You’re not prepared when Bakugou reaches up to angle your chin towards him, your breath catching as his calloused fingertips grip against your skin. He brushes his thumb, feather-light, against your cheekbone. It’s then you remember the bruise there.

“Oh! I had a practice bout with one of the new kids at our gym. He got in a lucky punch but hit me a little too hard. He’s still learning,” you say.

You smile at Bakugou and raise your hand to pat his, the one cupped against your cheek.

“Don’t worry, Bakugou. It looks worse than it actually is.”

Bakugou grunts. You expect him to step back, let go.

But he’s still, gaze locked on your face, thumb brushing back and forth against your skin like it doesn’t send shivers through your entire body, like it doesn’t make your face feel like the surface of the sun.

Nervous about his intense attention, you bite your bottom lip. Bakugou’s eyes drop to track the movement and stick there.

You can’t breathe. Is he…?

The sound of distant footsteps drawing nearer pops the bubble you’re in.

Bakugou pulls away. He doesn’t go too far, though, and because you’re so close, you can see that the tips of his ears are red, despite his neutral expression.

“Don’t box with that kid again,” he says, voice raspy, a little husky.

You swallow and nod before his words can process. Bakugou nods back, satisfied, before turning to walk away.

He’s halfway down the hallway before you come to your senses. Wait. You make a face.

“You’re not the boss of me!” you call at his retreating back.

He stops. Turns.

“What’d you say?” he asks, eyes narrowed at you, handsome face skewed into a scowl.

You know you should be intimidated, but. You think about the look in his eyes when he touched you. The heat of his palm.

So you just smile at him.

“You heard me.”

[bigfatbreak]

In the changeling au, what does “keeping” mean? I know there’s the whole thing about faeries tricking people into “giving” them their names, but what actually happens in this au? Like what would the actual consequences be in a practical sense?

(And I assume nothing happens if Adrien just learns the names through other means bc they have to “give” it to him?)

it means that people who's names he has are susceptible to his illusions and persuasions, even if neither party knows it

they can't perceive what he doesn't want them to, and they're more likely to agree with what he asks, even if its wildly out of character for them. he doesn't know he has this power, he just thinks his friends are really nice to him

and yeah, if he learns someone's name secondhand, it doesn't count. it has to be a direct interaction, and it has to be comprehensible

[leafyeyes417]

Danny is glad he actually made a plan for once. Jazz had been on his back about telling their parents he was Phantom, and he had managed to convince her he had a plan. The only thing that would extend how long it took was the frequency of ghost attacks.

He generally didn’t have much free time, so luckily Clockwork was willing to put him in a time bubble so he could get stuff done, like get enough sleep. But mostly he was training. Sometimes with Wulf to make portals, but other ghosts had come by too.

The power that was giving him the most trouble, and that he needed most for his plan was duplication. It took forever and he still couldn’t have more than 3 versions of himself at one time. How Vlad managed so many he had no idea.

Anyway back to his plan. He got all his stuff that he couldn’t afford to lose hidden away, got copies of all his parents blueprints and files, replaced items that he didn’t feel comfortable letting them keep if worse case scenario came, and a few more miscellaneous things.

He decided not to tell Sam and Tucker what he was doing. Though he did give them a mysterious file that they weren’t able to open yet. It would lead them to him later. But he needed their reactions to be legitimate, even if he hated having to potentially distress them for a bit.

He then sent his duplicate in his place back home while he went to the Ghost Zone to keep learning and keep an eye on things. Hopefully things went well, but he planned to spend a full living realm month here just in case his parents faked taking it well.

————————————————————————

It did not go well. About two weeks after his duplicate told his parents they knocked him out and buried him in a ghost proof coffin. Was he glad he wouldn’t have to experience his worse fears as a lab experiment? Yes. Was he still going to have nightmares of being trapped underground unable to escape? Also yes.

He was glad it was his duplicate though. It was easy for him to undo from a distance and since they had been connected he still had all the memories. He typed in the code for the file he gave his friends before he left. Time to go to Gotham, the one place he was able to wheedle out of Clockwork would be best for him.

[toyastales]

Ribeye Tacos

[curiositeath]

consumed by thoughts of eliot spencer, small farm owner, minding his own business—both his actual modest bi-weekly market stall and keeping to himself—when a wild storm rolls in outta nowhere, careening his whole plan to peacefully live out his days alone buckass sideways when he discovers the 20 pounds of crazy in a 5 pound bag blonde sheltering in his barn—specifically the rafters, literally hanging from them like a god damn bat, the hell—at 2 in the freaking morning.

naturally, chaos and shenanigans ensue. all of which somehow leads to eliot saddled with parker, the thief-cum-farmhand he did not want or hire, who will not leave because his barn's loft and rooftop are so much more fun than a warehouse, and I love love love warehouses, don't you?! who insists on riding on the roof of his tractor, poking every bruise he gets—some that come from her poking—and keeps attempting to "be his alarm clock" (somehow sneaking into his bedroom to sit cross-legged on his bed crunching dry cereal).

when the next storm barrels through and brings another stray—a tech geek whiz kid with a smart car that ain't so smart after going 3 rounds with freak weather—at least it's to his doorstep this time, so eliot's slightly more prepared for handling a stranger in his space. progress.

what he's not prepared for, of course, is falling in love with them both.

update: nvm I had more thoughts y’all can read part 2 here and find the masterpost here