#use skills to help--

[dancingindreamlight]

Thinking about writing themes after a post i skimmed that suggested (?) the themes reflect the writers lives

What are my themes?

Epic-- battle of light and dark, good and evil (i see things in global terms -- or in fiction, universal/multiversal terms. I believe good matters and evil muat be fought irl. Perhaps why WWII looks so large in my mind. Perhaps others don't have this template so they don't see echoes of it in our time...)

It often includes individuals and their psychology. How the epic story affects them and vice versa (one reason i like Lawrence of Arabia). I believe the individual matters. Every diverse difference in each human is important and should be protected. (I also like learning about psychology)

Freedom-- my stories often include the opposite of freedom, such as slavery or dystopia. This shows the struggle in sharp relief-- the individual fighting the massive system of repression (these stories interest me irl also-- people fighting a tyrannical system like protesters who often end up in prison. We who take freedom should take note lest we lose ours. People who are so brave as to fight such a system inspire me. I also empathize w ppl trapped in an almost totally unfree system designed by their enemies. And the plight of ppl trapped by human trafficking is also close to my heart.)

Justice. People often face massive injustice and fight it. Often it is people who see injustice done to others and rather than look away, they fight for them despite the fact it's really hard. (I hope i can be this sort of person. I tend to get very angry when i see injustice.) .

[wishfulsketching]

Well, I tried to doodle the team. And Thor and [insert any goa'uld here, they're all just wormies]

Drawing actors is scary

[rotteneldritchhorror]

Eddie obviously knows how to sew (hes not only dirt-poor living off of a single consistent paycheck and whatever he earns selling drugs, but hes also a punk- theres no way he DOESNT know how to sew), but steve most definitely does. not. one of his shirts get a hole and he throws it out.

When eddie first witnesses this, hes fucking MORTIFIED and ends up digging a t-shirt out of the trash and sewing the hole closed and fixing the loose stitching on the hem and gives steve a lecture about not wasting fabric and money.

And from then on, steve just shows up at the munson household every now and then with various clothes in his arms, asking eddie to fix them for him.

[mysticruinedme]

I like the idea of Sonic being just as heroic as he is selfish - cuz the core motivation for half of what he does when in regards to Eggman and the world or whatever is going on at the time is cuz he himself enjoys those adventures, and not because he feels some sort of selfless obligation over his natural abilities to do anything that he does.

[l4tchk3y]

I thought it would be fun to draw Espio using a couple different weapons and it was. :3

[nonebinary-leftbeef]

His ass would NOT list five things you can see, four things you can touch, three things you can hear, two things you can smell, and one thing you can taste

[kandicon]

Now I am not saying that Drumbot Brian on the drums or banjo are over appreciated because I don't think it is possible to appreciate anything about Drumbot Brian too much, BUT I do think that Drumbot Brian on the accordion is terribly underappreciated.

Look at this. How can you see this and Not want to talk about him on the accordion for the rest of time?? Also the instrument itself is pretty and matches the rose on his hat.

[mistymisfit]

Red hood's witness protection services

summary: Reader works for a private forensic investigation firm but when it gets bought by Penguin she turns to Red Hood for help

wc: 5.1k

a/n: decided to scrap the smutty part last minute so if it feels weird that's why

warnings: forensic psychologist! reader, fem!reader, mentions of death, guns, violence, etc. making out and implied sex (aka a badly cut to black scene), mentions of a plan b. Unedited as per usual lol

You found yourself in a dangerous situation; your boss' new boss was none other than Penguin, another one of Gotham's infamous crime lords. And you wanted nothing more but to leave, this is not what you signed up for. It was not your fault that he decided to buy the organization you were working for. There was an implicit "no one gets to quit and walk away with their life" rule since you handled sensitive information and someone in your office already got killed. Essentially, you and the very reduced number of co-workers handled every investigation and background check he needed done. The air was tense in the office, it wasn't a private forensic investigation firm that mostly worked with law firms or the occasional rich family. Now he used you to find information on anyone he suspected or even tell him if his own people were betraying him. It was sick. You used to handle interviews, given you had a natural talent to read people, and years of studies in profiling.

It was a relief when you finally got a hold of someone who could help you in your situation, Red Hood. Or rather, he got a hold of you first, he needed information which you were more than happy to talk. Cops weren't going to be of much help since he had some on his payroll, and you'd likely end up dead before getting to make a statement. So in Gotham, your next best option-- or let's be honest, the best-- was a vigilante who was dead set on screwing the man who's making your life a living hell.  The worst part was giving him information in a way that couldn't be specifically traced back to you, like where to find his accountant. You did notice he hired a new one two days after you told Hood about him, and couldn't bear the thought of being the reason he was dead.

You had fallen into some sense of partnership, maybe even friendship, with the masked vigilante and former crime lord himself. Maybe it was the, probably empty, promises that he'd stop that more people get hurt, or that once he's done with Cobblepot, you'd be able to move away and disappear completely. The fact you could tell that he was around your age, even if you had never seen his face, how he always treated you with respect and seemed to genuinely care about your safety made you develop some type of affection towards him. At that moment, he was the only reassuring thing in your life.

But you were foolish to think you could balance working for Penguin and being Red Hood's informant without anyone finding out, until you walked in your shared office. You go quiet at the scene; you drop the disposable coffee tray so both your hands can cover your mouth even if no noise could come out of it. Tears are fast to cloud your vision as you watch the bodies of all of your coworkers lying there. All of them killed with a clean single head shot, some fell at their desk, blood dripping from the paperwork to the carpeted floor. Your boss was on the floor of her separated office, the glass wall that divided her space was broken by the bullets. You were saved by pure chance, just because it was your turn to do the coffee run. A choked sob escapes in the dead quiet, and only when you hear steps do you realize that whoever did this might still be there. You think about running out the door, but what would you after? you needed something to use as leverage. You decide to grab the external hard drive from your boss' desk and make a run for it. It has everything, from emails to transcripts of interviews, crime scene analysis, and even contact and financial information of at least a dozen of Gotham's richest and more of Penguin's people. You bite your lip, holding back the need to puke when you see the body on the floor, her death seemed to be more brutal than the rest. Peeling your eyes off the gruesome scene, you kneel to the safe, trying to remember the combination amid all the fear and trying to hurry. 57, 89, 23, you let out a sigh of relief when you got it right on the first try. Your boss had only mentioned it once, that she needed you to empty it in case anything went wrong. She only confided the password in you a week after Cobblepot showed up.

The first thing you see is money, probably to hide the more valuable things behind. You are shocked to find a revolver inside too but take it with you, just in case. Not that you knew how to use it. Finally, the hard drive was well hidden under a necklace in a jewelry box. You throw everything inside your purse and close the safe before leaving and don't look back as you run as fast as your legs allow you into the street. You make it to five streets before you catch a cab and go home. Not your safest option, but your judgment was very disturbed given the circumstances. Once inside the car, you frantically search for your phone to call him. He picks up after the first ring, he always does, no matter how busy he might be.

"Hey, uhm, something happened" You try to keep it vague since the driver was listening "Can you meet me at my place?"

"Are you okay? What happened?"

"Yes, uhm..." You sniff before continuing: "I got fired"

"I see, are you alone?"

"No, can you hurry?" He knows something must've shaken you pretty badly to call him crying like this. You've never cried in front of him before, he's almost too shocked to react.

The driver only gives you a sympathetic look in the rear view mirror, and you're grateful he's not chatty. Jason is in your apartment before you even get there, and you can tell he's worried too by the way his words lost their usual cool. Normally, he's sharp, calculating, and even witty when he's in a good mood, but today he's spitting question after question. And he's even holding your shoulders tightly, he's never done that before. You barely brushed arms or hands once or twice, you figured he liked his space or didn't like being touched.

"They are dead," Is all you could manage to say between sobs "it's my fault"

"You didn't pull the trigger, you didn't give the order to kill them" He tries to reason with you, to make you pull it together. Partially because he needs it to work his case, partially because --and he wouldn't admit it out loud-- he's fond of you.

"Might as well have, they're dead because what I did" You ramble "Just like that accountant I told you. He suspected all of us so he-"

"We have no way of knowing that, Cobblepot gets rid of his employees after a while" He tries grounding you "like that guy, I got to him and he was already dead"

"Really?"

"Yes, why don't you tell me what you saw?" You start shaking your head no, and his grip tightens, forcing you to look up at him. "You've analyzed crime scenes before, I need you to do it now"

"I don't do that, I just do profiles and interviews and shit" You argue, even though you've worked long enough to know how to do it."I've only read crime scene reports"

"Get a grip" He demands. His tone is too serious, that combined with how it feels like he's lifting your feet off the ground with no effort are enough reasons to knock the fight out of you.

"Three people, at least two of them professionals" You sniff, remembering the horrifying scene. You recognized the wound as soon as you saw it, and from their positions, you knew they were quick and ambushed them. That's why some of them were still sitting on their desks, and only one fell on the floor, who likely got up and failed to run away. "they- they used silencers,"

"What about the third person?"

"They used a different gun," tears start to fall down your eyes again, remembering how your boss' face was unrecognizable. "They shot my boss, I think she was the last one, and she was shot from much closer"

"Anything else?"

"God, her face, it was-" When your eyes drift off and find the spots of blood on your cuff, he can tell there's another episode of being unable to speak and choking on your own tears. He knows the feeling all too well. "What if they are after me next?"

"It's okay, I'll keep you safe" He pulls you against his chest. Despite the surprise, you accept the hug, pressing your cheek against his leather jacket as you decide to trust his promise. "I told you I protect my people"

You're lucky he can't see how flustered that made you, or the wave of confusion that comes after that. How can you be feeling like this in this moment? You just nod in response.

"There's one more thing, I emptied the safe and took a hard drive with me"

"Which has?" He encourages you to go on.

"Everything, every case, email, picture, anything we ever worked with"

"Good girl," He whispers, and again, your heart is doing somersaults and cartwheels inside your chest. Is he even aware of what he's doing? You're too vulnerable for this right now. "I have to get you out of here before they realize they missed someone and lost that drive"

"What? No" You lift your head off his chest, pushing him away to get some distance. He mourned the loss of your warmth for a split second before he argued back.

"Yes, you said they were pros, do you really think they're not looking for you already?" He sounds exasperated, as if he couldn't afford to waste the time it'd take to convince you. The way your lip trembles and tears start streaming down your face once more makes him feel like the biggest asshole. Jason's been called every possible insult, but can't tell why this hurts way more. "Sorry, I'm a jerk"

"No, you're right" You wipe your tears, this was not the moment to act impulsively. Besides, if there was someone who knew how to handle situations like this, it'd be him.

"You'll stay with me until this dies down," His hand reaches your wrist and drags you a step closer to him. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was dying to hold your hand. You found yourself nodding along as he spoke: "I'll take care of everything"

"Okay"

"I need your phone, and your wallet" He requests, and you were opening your mouth to ask why when he tells you the reason "and help me make a mess, it needs to look like you were taken from home"

"But my friends, and my family, they have to know-" Your eyes move slowly to the purse where the things he asked for were.

"You can't tell anyone, it's too dangerous" He's deadly serious, it's starting to scare you. Yeah, you understood that this was the type of thing that'd put someone under witness protection, but couldn't you at least tell your mom you weren't dead? "Understood?"

You agree, putting all your trust in him. He cracks the screen of your phone and you wince, you were lucky you had made backups recently. You reluctantly help him make your apartment look like someone was looking for something. Your coffee table is knocked over, every single drawer in your kitchen is opened, and some plates and glasses are broken too. Your clothes were scattered all over your room, and even some of your decorative pillows were torn to pieces. Though you'd never admit trashing your apartment would feel so satisfying. It all helped when a few days later a friend filed a missing person report and your apartment was now a crime scene under investigation throwing off both the GCPD and Penguin's people. You don't know if trusting him this much was even more reckless than staying in your apartment on your own, but you'd make peace with it over time.

You'd admit you were a horrible guest for the first week. Once you found out the drive was encrypted and neither of you could access it, it dawned on you how you may need to stay for longer than you initially thought. The guilt of being saved only because you lost a game of rock paper scissors and you had to go buy coffee, and how people who know you must be worried and can do nothing to let them know you're alive and okay without risking their safety too, all weigh on you. So for that first week, you barely left your room, he understood and didn't invade your space. However, you would wake up sometimes to a glass of water on your nightstand, or he'd knock on your door to leave you something to eat, which you'd only take a few bites of. One night, he even held your hair while you threw up over the toilet. Brought you a glass of water and let you sob on his chest while rubbing your back for as long as you needed. Once the initial depression wore down, then came the second stage of dealing with a problem, doing absolutely everything you can to avoid it.

But you'd get a lot of time to make up for it now that you were off the grid and not allowed to leave his place. Not that you minded, it was a big apartment; actually, he told you it was two apartments which he bought and remodeled into one. Lucky for you, since that meant you had your own room and bathroom. You didn't take Red Hood for an interior decorator, but the place was surprisingly cozy, despite the concerning amount of weapons he had hanging on the walls. He had a brown leather couch—easiest material to wipe blood off, he'd say— and a huge unorganized bookshelf. One afternoon, you took it upon yourself to put the books in alphabetical order by the name of their author. If his eyes weren't hidden under a mask, you'd think he was tearing up by the way he had to clear his throat to thank you. Speaking of his eyes, he took the helmet off when you arrived, you instantly looked away to protect his identity—which he found adorable. When he told you it was okay, and you turned to see he wore another mask under the helmet you scoffed and called him paranoid. Only to hide that what you really thought was "Oh great, of course he's hot"

His kitchen was big, you could happily dance around as you cooked or baked, which you picked up as a hobby. You also found out he had an impressive vinyl collection, so you always listened to that. He even bought some records you liked considering he cut off your access to the internet entirely and that was your only way to listen to music. You understood why, but it didn't mean you weren't bored out of your mind. But however bored you were, it didn't erase the fact that for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt like yourself again.

He had been trying to be as nice to you as you were to him. Coming back home to home cooked meals was something he hadn't experienced in years, so more often than not, he'd grab a big bite nearly to the point of choking to not cry in front of you. You always talked to him, and always listened to what he had to say. His words never fell on deaf ears with you. He'd even dare to say you were making him happy, so he allowed himself to linger when you got too close. Maybe he dared to touch your waist as he moved behind you. Let you put your feet up on his legs as you both read in silence on the couch, remembering the first time you did it without thinking and quickly apologized as you cuddled back to your side. Then, feeling the warmth on his cheeks when he grabbed your ankles and put them back on his lap without looking at you in the eye, too embarrassed to admit he liked it. Isn't this what he always wanted? Someone to come home to?

Your routines were adjusted to each other, and you worked together as perfectly as all the little pieces of a watch. He bought you books of whatever you were interested in, came back home carrying whatever extensive list of groceries you gave him, and mostly did anything you asked him.

"Red?" You ask, moving closer to him on the couch.

"Yes?" He tries to hide behind the book he's reading, your sudden closeness making him blush. Tries even harder to avoid looking at you knowing it'd make it even worse.

"Talk to me," now he does give you a little side eye unsure of how to act "c'mon, I'm bored, ask me something"

He sighs putting his book down, and hopes you don't realize it's to calm his nerves down. Where did his personal space go? And why doesn't he mind that it's absolutely thrown out the window? You look up at him waiting for him to say something, anything, it feels a bit... loving? It certainly did not help that you were so pretty, and you made it more difficult by being so kind to him. He needs to break eye contact for that, he can't go around thinking like this.

"What's the weirdest case you've had?" It's all he can come up with on the spot.

"Well most of my cases were boring, but—" He feels like a jerk, his eyes get distracted so easily. Looking at your lips moving as you speak, how your arm rests on the back of the couch, they even lay on the tank top you're wearing for half a second before he reprimands himself. He's lucky he kept his domino mask so you wouldn't notice where his eyes wandered to. "turns out the lady just had early signs of dementia and they couldn't sue her, what about you?"

"I'm the chosen one of a secret cult in the Himalayan mountains" He blurts out, then regrets not telling you something more "normal". Whatever his parameter for normal is.

"You—" You laugh nervously "you're kidding me, right?"

"I've got magic swords to prove it"

"And you let me talk about some boring civil lawsuit?" You gasp, putting your hand on his chest to shove him lightly. He gets the urge to put his hand on top of yours so you'd stay there. "I'm so boring"

"It's not— you're not boring, I like hearing you talk about your job"

"You're just being nice" He wants to kiss off the pout on your face so badly.

"When have I ever been nice?" Jason thinks maybe a sassy answer can fix it.

"All the time," He feels your tone shift, now more soft than playful. Maybe you can't tell where his eyes lay, but he can definitely tell where yours do, and that makes him stop his attempts to mask how much he wants to kiss you. "you're always good to me"

You are so close, and you smell good, and your skin looks soft; he bets you'd feel just as soft under his fingertips if he had the guts to reach out. But do you even want him to? Maybe you were just this caring and tender with him because you had no other choice, just because he's protecting you. And as he gets stuck on thinking the million reasons why you wouldn't want him to kiss you—and ignoring the clearly obvious signs that you do like him—his phone starts ringing on the coffee table. Jason takes a few seconds to consider if he should just let it ring before he speaks.

"I should get that" You just nod and give him space to get up.

He answers the call with an unusual "hey", instead of an angry "what do you want?" like he normally does when getting a call from a sibling. Tim wanted a favor, some info on who knows who, who was involved in a case he had not the slightest will to pay attention to. How could he? When he felt so stupid, he should've gone for it. Or maybe he shouldn't have, cause what if you were not flirting with him and he ended up looking like an asshole and making things awkward? He runs his fingers through his hair, pushing it back while going back and forth in his room. Only half listening to the voice on the phone.

He ends the conversation with a "yeah, whatever, just text me the guy's details and I'll see what I can do". He gets dressed in his Red Hood gear after hanging up, deciding to leave early tonight to go for a ride to clear his head. His heart shrinks when you only reply with a distracted "see ya" while doing the dishes when he tells you he's leaving. Not that he would know that you feel bad for cornering the guy on his couch, in his own home. Or that you screamed into your pillow as soon as he left.

The ride does little to ease his worries as he spends most of the time thinking about you, when did you stop being just an informant? He knew better than getting this close to you, but it never helped that since the moment you met, you treated him like a normal human being, not like he's a bomb waiting to go off like his family does. And he thinks that maybe they're right about him, that he is bad and rotten, and all those things they think about him. That he ruins everything he touches, and it's his fault you're in this situation.

It didn't help either that you were easy on the eye, from your office wear to walking around in sweatpants, to the few times he saw you in casual wear when meeting him. There has always been something about you that lured him in, maybe that is why his mind was so quick to think that the safest option was to keep you with him, because he wanted to spend more time with you. Perhaps that's why he feels extra guilty about anything that happens to you, in his eyes, you're his responsibility. But he can't have you, not when he could so easily ruin everything. So if he has to take a cold shower every time your foot presses higher up his thigh, then so be it.

That's why he worries when he comes home one day earlier than usual, calling out your name while taking off his helmet, but the music is too loud, and he gets no answer. He starts to panic when he finally spots you in the kitchen with your head inside the oven, he drops everything—his guns—in his hands and rushes to you. His mind moving faster than his body thinking about every bad thing he could think of, was it something he did? was it something he didn't? You only feel two large hands grabbing your hips and pulling you out, you let out a confused "huh?" as he sighs in relief. He sits down on the floor next to you trying to calm down as you just stared at him with furrowed brows.

"Fuck, sweetheart," He nervously pushes his hair back, and you don't miss the way his hand is lightly shaking, "you scared the shit out of me"

"Wait, you— you thought I pulled a Sylvia Plath?" He just nods, leaning back against the fridge.

"Hey, I was just cleaning the oven," You explain while taking off the rubber gloves to hold his face. "Breathe with me"

You take a deep breath, counting to four when you inhale, keeping it in for another 4 seconds, and taking the same time when you exhale. It takes him a couple of minutes before he settles down and stops feeling the lump on his throat or that his heart is trying to force its way out of his ribcage.

"I'm sorry for scaring you, won't happen again" You smile.

"Why are you smiling? This isn't funny" He wants to sound offended, but you know there's some playfulness in his tone.

"I think it's cute you had a panic attack 'cause you thought I died" To that Jason just rolls his eyes. You may be the one teasing him, but your hands haven't stopped touching him, and it's not like you were keeping your distance from him.

"What were you even thinking? Cleaning at this hour?" You just shrug in response. It's not like you had to be up early tomorrow, or any other for that matter.

There are a few silent seconds as you both stare at each other, your eyes subtly drifting down to his lips. And he just leans forward without really thinking it through. There's been a million times where he wanted to do this, but now that he thought he lost you, even if it was for a few seconds, he's coming to terms with the fact that he can't hold it in any longer. You only hum and give in. Finally! He's making a move. You want to smile, maybe giggle a bit too, but he's kissing you with such a strong desire that you can't do it.

"Sorry, I shouldn't—"

"Why would you stop?" You sigh, almost exasperated, before tightly grabbing his leather jacket to pull him close again.

He chuckles as you straddle him, maybe he should've kissed you sooner. You're sure you've never wanted someone as badly before. You could reason it was due to a lot of factors: first, he was hot. Second, he made you feel safe; third, he was the nicest guy you've met in years, and fourth, he had no problem with you living basically rent-free with him—even seemed to like it. And now he's kissing you like his life depends on it. It's desperate, messy and hurried, like he can't get enough of you. His hands pull up your shirt, and you raise your arms to help him.

"I just have to warn you," He's out of breath, and his voice barely above a whisper: "I'm incredibly touch starved"

"Yeah, me too"

You can't be bothered to make any remarks or teasing comments, and apparently neither can he as he takes his jacket off. He folds it and uses it as a make-shift pillow to rest your head on when he rolls you over to be on top of you. The movement was swift, and he put his hand on the small of your back to make sure you didn't get hurt in the process. You could only hope he'd understand your kisses as the thanks you mean them to be. Your fingers cling around Kevlar clothing and pull it up until you get rid of it. Soon enough, your pants are out of the way too, and he takes a second to admire the view.

"You have such a crush on me" You tease with a playful smirk when you catch him staring.

"Yeah, the biggest" He scoffs, lowering back down to kiss his way down from your collarbone to your hips. He stops for a brief second, weighting his options and what he's doing. Then, once he's made up his mind, he whispers his name against your thigh.

"Jason?" You question

"Yeah, that's my name," He replies, looking up at you again.

"Okay, Jay" Your lips tug up in a smile, and he can't help but do the same.

"Should we-" He hesitates "Should we do this somewhere else?"

"Floor is clean, if that's what you're worried about"

"I know, but your back... and your head, I don't want to hurt you"

"Hurt me?" You gasp, teasing him, "What are you gonna do to me?"

You laugh at the redness that paints his entire face, and he sits up pulling himself away from you. But you don't want him to feel bad over a joke, so you get up too and kiss his cheek, telling him you're just messing with him and that you could go to your room if he wanted. He gives you a shy nod, as if his head wasn't between your thighs a second ago.  You lead him to your bedroom, and in between kisses and sighs, you can feel how desperate his touch was, like he couldn't get enough of you. You are surprised at how soft he is, the way he keeps on kissing you, the way his hands hold you. And it becomes obvious how needy both of you were when you remember that pregnancy is a real thing and birth control methods exist.

"Fuck-" He groans "I'm sorry, I'll buy you a plan B."

"It's fine, don´t apologize" You tease him as if you wouldn´t have begged him to finish inside if he didn't.

"Do you need anything else?"

"Maybe a book about Stockholm syndrome" Your joke is met with a sigh and his teeth grazing your skin playfully threatening to bite your shoulder.

You playfully shove him off, laughing as you tell him to stop and that's when he notices the little notebook on your nightstand. He reaches an arm over you to get it, your eyes following his movement but too distracted with how his bicep looks so bite-able to notice what he's doing. Until he asks: "What's this?"

"My journal, don't touch it" You try to pry it out of his hand, but he extends his arm to leave it just out of your reach. "It's personal"

"Oh, it's personal?" While he fakes a pout with a mocking voice, you manage to wiggle out from under him and take your journal back.

"Wait, I actually have to write about this" You open a random blank page and pretend to write as you say: "dear diary, today I finally slept with him. It was fun and he had a huge d-"

"Okay, enough, it's personal" He laughs, cutting you off.

You giggle. Yeah, he definitely should've kissed you sooner

[colorful-bees]

Not to be autistic on main or anything but I think a lot of the people who mock tone indicators and talk about how unhelpful and stupid they are forget that. They are helpful for some people (me) who use them constantly because I cannot for the life of me convey my tone over text and they help me understand the tone of other people as well. Even if you're autistic and you personally don't use them or don't find them helpful there's tons of people in your community who do use them and find them helpful and idk. It just feels very mean spirited and kind of nasty to mock something that people genuinely find helpful just because you don't use them. Like its great that you don't need them but they're an accessibility tool and they help me out a lot. It's weird that you need to go out of your way to talk about how you don't use them so that means they're stupid and don't make any sense. It gets to a point where you're mocking the autistic people who do find them helpful and that's. Not great

[wiisagi-maiingan]

I've said this before but a conversation with my brother reminded me that 1) most conservatives will agree with things like universal healthcare/UBI/etc if those specific terms aren't used and 2) conservatives and especially Republicans are usually not actually arguing against specific things, they're just throwing random buzzwords around (corruption, government overreach, mass immigration, and even more general things like "government guidelines") and hoping no one asks for specifics that they can't offer.

I've met so few conservatives who can actually give ANY examples of the supposedly terrible things they're fighting so hard against. It's all either hypotheticals or complete nonsense.

[johnnyshrine]

★ 115 // “Murder is okay! :D”

[superbat-lmao]

The Justice League goes on a deep space mission with the Lanterns just as aliens try to take over the Watchtower.

Doctor Damian Home Alone’s the Watchtower.

Damian was finishing up some medical evaluations or synthesizing a new anesthetic/antidote on the Watchtower when the League left for their mission. He noticed the moment their communications got cut off from Earth and pulled the silent alarm that would alert the other civilian medical staff to rally at their assigned defensible locations. Next, he rattled off Batman’s codes for a lockdown and began the tried and true Batfam method of setting traps.

All of the equipment is in lockdown. He has sections of the tower where he’s shut off the gravity. When he’s able to with the internal sensors he begins scanning the aliens and finds out they’re sensitive to noise/light/temperature and wreaks havoc on the environmental controls. He sets trip wires and stun grenades and glue traps. Some doors are wide open and will automatically close and lock behind intruders. He leaves specific consoles active to determine what they’re looking for or what the plan is and then sends a power surge through it to electrocute them. He picks off the invaders one by one and runs a bioscan to synthesize an equivalent knockout gas to flood the tower.

Damian is the tower’s last line of defense.

[crow-caller]

I really do think looking at bad writing is one of the best ways to learn about writing in general, especially for beginners.

the thing is, writing in general is highly subjective- a good sentence will be good in different ways to different people, or not impress someone at all.

a bad sentence? most people can spot bad sentences easy, especially if it is presented to them as 'here's an example of a bad sentence, let's unpack why.'

bad writing can also be very funny, which I think is again often more engaging than 'here's a work of literary genius go analyze it'. Like here's some bad writing from lightlark3:

The moment it was out of Horus’s grip, his body became bones. The flesh turned to ash. He became a corpse.

it's dumb as hell, but I think could foster a solid discussion when you ask 'why? what is the author intending to say? what about it makes it feel 'clunky'? How would you write the same idea?'

[aliettali]

skilltober day 19: hand-eye coordination

(HOW ON EARTH DO YOU DESIGN THIS BASTARD)

[pikhachu]

girls when their issues get dismissed as anxiety for the millionth time

[beautifulterriblequeen]

Protector

Runaan can protect people too, just like Rayla can, but his methods are much darker.

The irony that Rayla thanks Runaan for protecting Callum while we know he's planning to shoot Callum to death is only bested by the knowledge that this act of precision violence would, in fact, be protecting Callum from his worst nightmare - and protecting everyone else around him from Aaravos' dark magic puppetry.

It would've worked. But Ezran would never have forgiven it.