#wait no I need to write this

[only-one-brain-cell]

Maeve singing along to Paper Rings by Taylor Swift and Spencer proposing the next day. 😭

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

the fact that shakespeare was a playwright is sometimes so funny to me. just the concept of the "greatest writer of the English language" being a random 450-year-old entertainer, a 16th cent pop cultural sensation (thanks in large part to puns & dirty jokes & verbiage & a long-running appeal to commoners). and his work was made to be watched not read, but in the classroom teachers just hand us his scripts and say "that's literature"

just...imagine it's 2450 A.D. and English Lit students are regularly going into 100k debt writing postdoc theses on The Simpsons screenplays. the original animation hasn't even been preserved, it's literally just scripts and the occasional SDH subtitles.txt. they've been republished more times than the Bible

[magnusbae]

To illustrate this post by @mayahawkse I would like to visualize to you the difference:

A post in 2023:

A post in 2014:

A zoom out of the same post:

This is what a community looks like.

See how in 2023 almost all of the reblogs come from the OP, from their few hours/days in the tag search. Meanwhile in 2014 the % of reblogs from OP is insignificant, because most of the reblogs come from the reblogs within the fandom, within the micro-communities formed there. You didn't need to rely on tags, or search, or being featured. Because the community took care of you, made sure to pass the work between themselves and onto their blog and exposed their followers to it. It kept works alive for years.

It's not JUST the reblog/like ratio that causing this issue, it's the type of interaction people have. They're content with scrolling and liking the search engine, instead of actually having a reblogging relationship with other blogs in their community.

Anyways, if you want to see more content you like, the only true way to make it happen is to reblog it. Likes do not forward content in no way but making OP feel nice. Reblogs on the other hand make content eternal. They make it relevant, they make it exist outside of a fickle tumblr search that hardly works on the best of days.

If you want more of something, reblog it.

[acerathia]

u know what i woke up thinking about? arranged marriage but while he's deeply in love with you, you rationalize everything as doing your duty

[inusmasha]

Sometimes it’s hard to read fanfic when you’re studying herbalism.. when they have the character preparing a tincture to use that same DAY!!?

Baby those dried herbs need to sit in that jar with high proof alcohol for at LEAST a month!

That’s why before the use of calendars ppl use to prepare their tinctures either on the new moon or full moon. A a full moon cycle is usually 28 days or so. And they would give the moon names so it’s easier to remember when/what month said tincture was bottled.

This is also why herbal medicine is prepare in small batches. You have to take your time preparing your bottles. Making sure everything is clean so you don’t end up with mold. Diluting your grain alcohol. Heckkk knowing when to pick your herbs for max potency! Drying your herbs! That takes a lot of time too!

I didn’t mean to rant lol

[emo-batboy]

A Wild Battinson (Social Media AU)

Part 43 (Masterlist)

(Part 44)

Me, to myself: I just think the series was better when I posted several times a week because the pacing felt more natural, and it translates better when people binge it.

Also Me, holding two jobs and a bat: If you try to post once a day again, I will disconnect your head from your shoulders—

@bruciemilf guess who’s back

Anyways, folks! :D So I'm thinking of a new upload schedule where I spend a bit preparing the next ten or so parts then post it all in two weeks? I think that would be fun (and much better for my creative process.)

I’ll be posting the next part very soon :) But it's going to be drastically different from what I've done before. Let’s see if anyone can guess why.

Yada yada don’t die LOVE Y’ALL

[charcubed]

There's one specific aspect of Deadpool & Wolverine that's important in relation to the queerness of Wade/Logan:

The fact that Vanessa isn't single.

I'm not kidding lol

Doesn't seem like people are talking about this so I'm going to be the one to say it I guess!

So… beyond trying to save his world / family, Wade's (flimsy) motivation is indeed partially motivated by Vanessa – or more specifically by things she said to him during their break up. He wants to figure out how he matters or how he can be a hero without being an Avenger, etc.

Shitty as it is that Vanessa is relegated to being a two-dimensional motivation mouthpiece… She and Wade didn't just break up; they tell us immediately that she's seeing another guy. By my memory, Wade never disrespects that, not even jokingly. And the plot isn't framed as a quest to ~win back the girl~ either.

The end scene underlines this too, where [SPOILER] he says he did it for her even if she doesn't want him or whatever the line is. Their little hand touch isn't really a romantic rekindling.

So, what am I getting at?

This all gives weight to Wade's mischievous flirting and (later) built connection with Logan.

If Wade and Vanessa were framed as "taking a break," or if she was still single and he was trying to win her back, the queerness with Logan wouldn't work quite as well. There'd be more room to claim it's an unserious joke.

But Vanessa's moved on.

Wade, taking LOGAN home, did too.

[starry-bi-sky]

(Part of this post with older brother danyal al ghul)

...Okay, look. Sam knows she's staring. She knows very well that she is staring. And that if she doesn't stop staring it's gonna draw her unwanted attention, and that will only have to make her explain why she's staring. Which she doesn't want to do.

She's trying not to stare, which she thinks she should get brownie points for. She tries to look away, to find a spot on the wall to stare lifelessly at, maybe she can burn holes into some of these annoying socialites' heads. But eventually her eyes drift, and suddenly she's back to staring again.

Can you blame her though? Damian Wayne looks like a very close mini-me of her fucking best friend. Seriously, it's like looking into a mirror to the past. If that mirror to the past had green eyes rather than blue and a distinctive lack of a facial scar.

The first time she sees him when her parents drag her over to Bruce Wayne to butter up to him she has to do a doubletake. Then a triple take. Then a quadruple take, just for good measure that she was seeing what she was actually seeing. She was sure she looked like one of those stress toys that when squeezed had their eyes pop out comically like a Saturday morning cartoon, that's what she certainly felt like anyways.

Look, Danny's come a decent way from being that scowl-y, jerkish little ten year old she first met when he arrived like the wind to Amity Park five years ago (even if he was still occasionally scowl-y and jerkish), but one thing that's stayed the same is how reserved he is about his home life prior to being taken in by the Fentons.

He doesn't talk about it much, and Sam's come to know that he's very good at changing the subject when it gets brought up. Even after being friends for nearly four years, the only thing she and Tuck know for certain is that he has a little brother that he refers to as 'starlight', whom he cares a lot about but left on really bad terms with. And that he's never met his father, but wants to and knows who he is.

He's never told her or Tucker who he was though, and glancing at Bruce Wayne, Sam is realizing why. She can begrudgingly acknowledge all the good he's done for Gotham, but... well, if Danny told her that Bruce Wayne was his dad, she wouldn't have believed him at all.

But she's starting to see the resemblance, as subtle as it is.

And she sees the resemblance to Damian Wayne, her eyes dropping back down to him as he wears a very Danny-like scowl on his face, arms crossed behind his back as his eyes swept around the ballroom. He was five years younger than Danny, and god it was so, so weird.

His eyes turned on to her, and they locked gazes for a moment.

Involuntarily, Sam makes a startled noise and looks away. Fingers tap against her purse, black and purple and unfortunately a clutch that only held her phone and her wallet in it. She would have kept a knife on her, but her parents put their foot down and there was a security detail at the door. Only in Gotham.

Silently, she was hoping that the little Danny-me didn't say anything. Or at least, he hadn't noticed her staring. Which was a tall order if she ever heard one -- and unfortunately, her silent prayers went unanswered as her mother's eyes dropped down onto her.

"Did you say something, Samantha?" She asks in a sickeningly sweet voice, a sound that makes Sam's skin crawl. Her dad and Bruce Wayne's attention also turns onto her, and she glowers at her mom from the corner of her eye.

"I didn't say anything." Sam says, barely keeping her tone polite as she turned her head away. Her mother clucks her tongue, disapproving, but from her peripherals doesn't pester her more

Bruce Wayne, the bastard, takes that time to turn to Sam and grace her with his dime-a-dozen billboard smiles. "I've been talking with your parents this whole time, Miss Manson, you must be terribly bored. How is your schooling going?"

Sam eyes him up and down. On one hand, she immediately wants to be snarky. It's none of his business what her school life is like, she doesn't care for his fucking small talk.

On the other hand, this was Danny's whole father. Someone who she knows that Danny has wanted to meet for, what she's assuming, his whole life. He's never brought it up much, but she remembers that very quiet, solemn conversation she and Tucker had with him where he admits to having never met his dad. But god does he want to.

And... wait. Sam's eyes narrow, and she meets Bruce Wayne's eyes. Does this man even know Danny exists? She drops her gaze down to Damian, who was staring at her suspiciously, and then back up to Bruce, and she alternates between them.

Why was Damian living with Bruce, but not Danny? Why hasn't Bruce done anything to reach out to him - what was going on with Danny's biological family that Danny had to be separated from them, but not Damian? Danny's always been kinda mysterious, but now things weren't adding up.

Was Danny given up? Does Bruce just not want Danny, but wanted Damian? Why the fuck does Bruce Wayne know about Damian but not her best friend -- or does he know and just not care? He's fought for custody for his adoptive kids before, does he just not want to fight for his other biological son? Does he think Danny's not worth it?

She's never cared much about the Wayne family before, other than to hear about the advancements on WE's eco-friendly tech, but Sam thinks she's gonna have to look into why Damian Wayne was living with the Waynes.

Slowly, with a protective anger beginning to burn in her gut and crawl up her throat, a scowl slowly curls at the corner of her lip as she redirects her glare from her mother onto Bruce. "It's going fine," She says curtly, jutting her chin out defiantly. "Me and my friend Danny started a petition to fix the leaky faucets in the girls and boys' bathrooms in order to conserve more water for the rest of the city."

She eyes his face, waiting to see if anything like recognition flashes through it. And- and nothing. Sam breathes in slowly through her nose, trying to quell the red that's blurring the edge of her vision -- does he just, not know where Danny is?

Her parents however, make vaguely displeased expressions. "Our Samantha is... quite passionate about her pet projects." Her dad says, laughing low and nervously, "she's very vocal about silly things like that."

"Her friend Daniel is perhaps even worse than she is sometimes." Her mother adds on, fanning her face with her perfectly manicured hands with a sigh. "I swear, he's the one that keeps dragging her into these things."

Sam's anger turns on its head, and she whirls on her heel like a fire-breathing dragon. "It's Danyal." It rolls out like instinct. Danny's told them both that he hates the Americanized pronunciation of his name, but in a rare moment of restraint, puts up with it for reasons unknown to her. "And Danny doesn't make me do anything, it was my idea."

The name, Danyal, seems to ring some kind of bell in Brucie Wayne's head, because she sees him and Damian quietly perk up like two cats pricking up their ears. Her eyes flick onto him immediately, something dangerous rearing its head. So Bruce Wayne knows about Danny. And he's not reaching out to him. Is he? She's not sure.

She does know that she's gonna rip his throat out if she finds out that he's known about Danny this entire time and has been ignoring him while favoring his little brother. She'll hunt down Aragon herself and steal his dragon-shifting amulet and wreck house on Bruce Wayne if that's the case. Batman and his league of vigilantes be damned. Her parents don't notice her slowly turning head towards Bruce.

But Bruce does, and she makes direct eye contact with him. His smile doesn't falter, he just tilts his head like a curious puppy and looks at Sam's parents. She hopes Bruce can read minds, she hopes he can hear her threatening him.

"Danyal?" He asks, and Sam doesn't know if she hates the fact that he said it correctly or not. She just continues burning holes into him and hoping he might spontaneously combust.

Her mother waves her hand dismissively, tilting her nose up poshly into the air. "Our dear Samantha's little... foster friend from school," she says, not even bothering to hide her disdain, "a creepy little boy with the most garish scar on his face. He's a rude little thing, not good for polite company."

Scratch that, Sam mentally alternates between ripping into her parents and Bruce. She whirls on them. "Do not talk about Danny that way." She all but snarls, and they all but ignore her.

(She's tearing up the upholstery when she gets home. She's going to paint over the fine china. She's going to do something to make them pay for this.)

"Oh yes, he was taken in by that freaky Fenton family a few years ago." Her dad continues in lieu of her mom, and they both shake their heads disapprovingly. "It's just what our city needs, another menace."

"Danny is not a menace." Sam continues, raising her voice while her hands shake with rage. Her parents finally look at her, but she can already tell that they're going to scold her for raising her voice. She bulldozes over them and jabs her black-painted finger at them. "He's got a bigger heart than the both of you combined."

"Samantha, please." her mom says, exasperated. They both give her disapproving looks, Sam thinks about grabbing champagne off the tray of a nearby waiter and throwing it in their faces. "You defend that boy far too much. What do you actually know about him and his family?"

Sam sets her jaw, puffing herself up like a dragon protecting its hoard. She steps into her mom's space. "I know that he loves the stars; you can ask him anything about astronomy and he could give you an entire lecture on the formation, class types, and various gasses that stars are made up of. He can tell you how the Earth was formed, he can tell you about the visible light spectrum and about light curves, and a whole ton of other stuff that I don't really understand. But Danny loves talking about it."

Her face twists and scowls, "I know he cares a ton about the environment and about fixing light pollution, and preserving the forests and natural habitats of animals." She nearly jabs her finger into her mom's chest, "I know he loves dogs, and that there's one he feeds every day on the way to school that he calls Cujo, its a St. Bernard puppy and Danny carries him around whenever he sees him after school, and is in the middle of training him."

It's not a total lie, but it's not the whole truth either. Cujo doesn't need food, but Danny gives him it anyways. "I know he likes spicy food and loves movies but specifically only sci-fi and horror, and he hates most martial arts movies. His favorite superhero is the Martian Manhunter, but Batman comes in at a close second." For reasons to her that were pretty unknown, but it didn't matter.

"I know he loves wordplay and making puns, which I would have never expected from him when we first met, but it's so unbelievably Danny-like that I can't imagine him not making puns." And she smiles a little to herself, she remembers the first time Danny intentionally made a pun once and it got startled laughs out of both her and Tucker.

Her smile suddenly falters, and she swallows. Her lips purse up, wobbling, and she very quickly glances over to Damian Wayne, of whom is watching her with a vaguely bewildered expression alongside Bruce.

She turns her eyes back onto her parents. "And I know that he worries a lot, even if he has a shit way of showing it. I know he had a little brother that he hasn't seen since he was adopted by the Fentons, and he doesn't talk about him often but when he does he he calls him 'starlight'." From the corner of her eye, she sees Damian jerk.

"So- so, so what if he's not 'good for polite company'." Sam's voice, embarrassingly, cracks down the middle. But she's so angry over Danny's behalf that she doesn't really care. "Or that he can be mean, and critical, and stubborn. He's learning, and he's becoming kinder by the day. That's more than I can say about you."

(She remembers when Danny finally admitted to her and Tucker being his 'closest friends'. It was sometime before the portal incident, and it felt like a milestone because beforehand he only really referred to them as his companions or allies.)

(At the time, he'd looked unsure of himself. Skittish like a stray in the back of an alleyway, almost shy in his own way. It had come out stilted, slow, like an infant taking its first steps, and it would have been endearing if it hadn't been heartbreaking.)

Her parents rear back like she'd struck them, and her mother holds a hand against her chest in aghast. Sam doesn't care, she blinks the sting out of her eyes. "Samantha." Her mother starts.

Sam cuts her off, "I don't care what you have to say, you-- you pricks." she snaps, around her, there are gasps. Belatedly, she realizes she's grown an audience, but again she doesn't care. "Danny might be an asshole, but he cares. And I'd rather be around someone whose mean but cares, than someone whose nice but doesn't."

With that, she whirls on her foot and turns on Bruce Wayne, who has been silent the entire time with a surprised expression on his face. He starts to shake out of it when Sam turns to him, but she doesn't give him the chance to speak. "Enjoy your party." She snarls, and then stalks away.

[attleboy]

i got so happy when i saw the new official pomni art that i started clappign and giggling she's so fucking silly i love her so much

anyway i had to speedrun a redraw :) behold. this fucking thing

[it case you haven't see it yet, original under the cut! it was posted on glitch's twitter]

[l0vergirls]

cw: age gap, size difference (ish), bordering on sugar daddy too tbh, nsfw kinda,

there's just something about an older man that absolutely fucking towers over you, but is so sweet and so gentle. to everyone else they may seem far too intimidating to even approach, but if they only tried a bit harder, they'll unveil a whole other world of love and affection.

he adores how small your hands feel in his, and how you have to crane your neck up a bit more to look up at him. he revels in how soft your lips are, and imagines how his must feel against yours. whether he's shaved that day or not, you'll always savour the taste of him, his hands wandering your body before settling on your hips, pulling you impossibly closer against him.

feel free to use his card too, what's his is yours after all. so don't be surprised to find a shiny new necklace on your nightstand, or an expensive dress laying in your bed. don't pay too much mind to the new set of lingerie (in his favourite colour) that he'd laid out for you.

do you feel how much he loves you? just let him take care of you, let him shower you in his love. he can treat you much better than other boys your age can, he can teach you so much more than they can.

oh darling, don't be shy, let him hear the pretty noises you make as he expertly ruts into you; his experience showing in the way he hits just the right spots that have you seeing stars.

he's yours, just as much you're his, right?

[msp9]

I LOVE THEM SM😭😭😭

[fisheem4mmal]

My favorite part in the new update

[orobty]

Let them be sofftttt

[prince-liest]

Some thoughts on Lucifer's mental health, relationships, and role as king of hell!

Lucifer’s perception of himself as the king of hell is really interesting to me because he’s very blase about it in canon while totally using it when it suits him.

I think it’s really telling that the first time he actually brings it up himself is when it’s something he can leverage to help Charlie out. He reads to me like someone who objectively knows that he’s the hottest shit in town, but also just doesn’t really think that it matters most of the time because it's not relevant to his personal problems. Being Lucifer Morningstar did not allow him to achieve his goals in petitioning heaven. Being the most powerful person in hell didn’t even un-fuck his family life!

...Except for when suddenly it might in fact help un-fuck his relationship with his daughter.

It's the main thing he can desperately and dramatically showcase as a worthwhile reason for Charlie to maintain a relationship with him, because he as a person is depressed, half-functional, and barely has enough spoons to pay attention to a conversation he's having with her while he's actively having it, nevermind remembering their last one.

He wants to! And it doesn't start with his song at the hotel! It starts with him answering the phone, heavily fumbling actually connecting with Charlie despite clearly desperately wanting to, and then realizing she's asking him for something and promptly choking on his tea before excitedly telling her, "Yeah! Of course! Anything within my power is yours for the asking, you just name it." He knows that there is a great deal 'within his power,' and he's happy and relieved that he can offer her that!

Lilith has been gone for years but he's still wearing his wedding ring. His walls are still covered in family portraits. He's just been sitting in his room making thousands of rubber ducks he thinks suck instead of ruling hell, because his daughter liked that one duck he made one time.

Charlie needed him to support her in her mission, but damn did Lucifer also need Charlie to get him out and moving and actually doing things again.

Anyway, someone get this man on an SSRI.

[spkyart]

[hatsukeii]

fragrance: by the fireplace, replica / timeskip!ushijima wakatoshi x reader

notes: pink pepper (top), chestnut accord (heart), vanilla (base)

description: embers of burning firewood, billowing smoke and flushing warmth

disclaimer(s): N/A

wc: 1.06k

warning(s): big fat super domestic makeout!!!!! slightly touchy so ig suggestive?? not sure but i think ushiwaka might be a little ooc at times oops... IDC this took THREE FUCKING REDOS im TIRED

Wakatoshi has always wanted a fireplace. The prospect of burning firewood crackling in a dimly lit room seeming like some infinitely gentle blanket is what he confesses to you in bed with his back pressed up against your chest, your hands squeezing and massaging at the knots in his shoulders.

"It would be nice, I like the smell of firewood." His head tilts back to meet your gaze, and you giggle, fingers pressing meitculously into the flesh of his back. The mattress dips when you squeeze a spot, just in the curve that connects his neck and his shoulders, as he finally loosens up with a content sigh, the tension in his body released in an instant.

"Fixed it?"

"Fixed it."

Wakatoshi smiles, leaning back into you until his entire body is sprawled on top of yours. He takes your hand, wrapped around his torso, and holds it tight against the little area of his chest that his heart occupies. His hair is a mess of olive green on your chest, disheveled as you run your other hand through it, pressing your fingers into his scalp and rubbing strands against each other between the pads of your fingertips. His heart beats steadily beneath your palm, and he sighs in satisfaction.

"What would you ever do without me?"

He breathes out a chuckle at your question, bringing your hand from his chest to his lips. His thumb plays with your knuckles, and your hand in his hair crawls down to his jaw, fingers tracing nothings into his cheek instead. You feel Wakatoshi's weight shift, rolling around to press his chest flush with your torso, his head resting in the dip of your ribcage. For somebody who wants a fireplace for the smell of firewood, he sure encapsulates it already, toasty spices and woody chestnuts filling your senses when he pulls himself up for a kiss.

Wakatoshi's father once told him what his name meant, to be young and to be sharp. Wakatoshi trains and plays with a wildfire in his eyes, smashes hits through opposing teams with blazing flames coursing through his body. Scalding passion, burning diligence, so hot that surrounding air burns away into suffocating smoke.

Yet his lips meet yours like the crackling of wood in a fireplace, nibbling at you softly like occasional sparks that fly out when things run a little too hot. The burning sting of his hands hitting leather volleyballs is nothing but a dull glow of warmth that emanates from his palms, spreading to your face from his fingers that push strands of hair from your forehead. His droning exhale sends tremors through your body, and when he parts his lips against yours, you can feel his fingers rolling and rubbing at the hem of his shirt that drapes over your frame.

Greedy, wanting more, like the radiating heat of fire that spreads across a cold room.

Your waist takes the shape of his palm when his hand slithers its way beneath your shirt, drawing circles into your skin. His knee presses into the mattress between your legs, holding himself up just enough to give your chest room to heave up and down in rhythmic rises and falls. His hand squeezes the flesh of your waist, the cold promise ring on his finger sending a jolt up your body. It pulls a sharp inhale from you, and rips a stutter from Wakatoshi's throat. The kind of stutter that begs for your lips to stay on his, and for your heart to push even harder against his own, until he's sure that they will never separate. A feverishly lovesick stutter, so much so that the heat of Wakatoshi's fire is spilling everywhere, with nothing to contain it.

When your hand joins his beneath your shirt, two rings come together with a metallic clink as your fingers meet Wakatoshi's, holding them tight between your knuckles. They follow his hand to the grooves of your ribcage, his thumb pushing gently into the underside of your chest. When he swallows the sigh of his name that escapes your lungs, Wakatoshi thinks that this must have been what he was made for. His fingers were made to swipe lines and etch shapes into your skin, his legs made to trap you in his embrace, his mouth made to press against yours for as long as you please.

He almost whines when your head pushes upwards, before detaching from him to breathe. Your other hand pulls his head towards you, his pulse pumping into your palm as you press your lips into his jaw, peppering kisses down to his neck. He hums at the sensation, lowering his body onto yours as he nuzzles his face into the pillow beside your head. Your fingers run through his hair, relishing in the softness of the strands that slip between your knuckles. His chest is flush against yours, head turning to press his nose against the side of your neck, where his mumbles send tingles down your spine as your hand shifts to hold his head close to you.

"Can't live without you. I love you."

In the darkness of your room, all that remain are Wakatoshi's soft exhales into your pulse as he drifts to sleep, one arm inside your shirt and the other laid above your head. You absentmindedly push a kiss into his head, and he shifts in his slumber, his lips curling into a serene smile. Beneath his eyelids, fleeting images of you pass by. The first time you cry out his first name instead of his last, the first time his lips learn of yours, the first time his blazing sharpness is mellowed out for something gentler. He watches you like some vintage film, shoved into the depths of his heart, not to be seen by any other eyes but his own.

"I love you too, Toshi. So much."

Wakatoshi is a wildfire, smoke and ash rising from his feet, sending people running from his blaze. You are the only person daring enough to be engulfed by his radiance, only to find that his inferno is mellow as a candle on a shelf, sweet as toasted vanilla pods, gentle as a paintbrush drawing outlines on a blank canvas. And although you're still open to getting the fireplace that Wakatoshi has always wanted, you think he's warm enough to beat out a fire any day.

author's note:

guys i really hope i did domestic ushiwaka justice because this took way too long to write up and i don't know why :( i legit had to rewrite like three whole times and i was about to smash my head into my laptop trying to keep going because im in a BLOCK it's super annoying BUT i needed ushiwaka brainrot and this was my take LOLOL

guys i love ushiwaka sm :(

anyways tags!!

@staraxiaa @chuuya-brainrot @hiraethwa @akaakeis @iiwaijime @fiannee @afyrian @catsoupki

ok love u guys see u next fic bye bye