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One Nice Bug Per Day
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Kiana Khansmith
occasionally subtle
trying on a metaphor

izzy's playlists!
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@bbstarrb

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you should be able to wash your hair and it stays washed. what do you mean i have to do it again
warhammer 40k armor
"FOOD FOR THE FOOD BOWL!"
being a tenna fan who don't give a fuck about spamton feels like being lgbt. i could be persecuted for it
TAKE THIS FREAK, FOR YOU ON YOUR PC! (WHAT) FOR THE SOLID PRICE OF [0 usd] (WHAT??) HE IS [Free of All Charges] ITS SO GOOD I MIGHT [Die]
HERE!! ON VGEN <- CLICK THERE FOR TENNA (FOR FREE)

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cleaning along desire paths
Fantastic advice!! And something I’ve realized I’ve been doing for myself these last 6-7 years, even though I never had a name for it.
Seriously, this is such a great way to go about organizing your home.
I really can’t express how much easier your life can be when you accept that there’s no objectively right way to do this kind of stuff, especially when you let go of the idea that it’s a moral failure when you can’t do something the “correct way” nor is it evidence of you being lazy.
Working with (leaning into) your natural limits and instincts can do wonders for you in your day-to-day life.
DPxDC Prompt
Danny doesn't have the best spatial awareness, you'd think he would given his bout as a vigilante, but his rogues all had the convenient ability of setting off his ghost sense and letting him know when to turn on his awareness.
So when he was taken in by Bruce Wayne in Gotham, far away from any ghosts or portals, he just didn't have any reason to be on guard. It worked well for him since his vigilante days were over and he could put all his focus on school again.
But you see, when he was first taken in, it was just him and his foster brother Tim staying at the manor.
Fast forward to now, Danny gets home from school to find not only Bruce waiting at the table for dinner, but a kid who looks surprisingly like Bruce??? The kid is small, rude and trying to be threatening in a way Danny doesn't really see as such, like the kid is like 8 how much could they really do???
Turns out a lot.
After Danny and Tim sat down and the introductions were made, Bruce filled them in on the situation that was Damian. Tim seemed to take it as a new puzzle, looking to Damian and Bruce periodically as if he could get answers simply by staring. Danny took it in stride, it isn't that unusually for a rich guy to have secret flings that result in children down the line.
Dinner was in full swing when it happened, there had been some bantering the entire time and many threats of bodily harm coming from Damian which weren't met with as many reprimands as Danny assumed it should. A distinct thunk sound was heard after a particularly harsh threat and Danny looked over to see a knife now embedded in Tim's chair where his head once was.
Before he could react, Bruce was standing with a sharp reprimand and Danny collided harshly with his chair as a new knife embedded itself in his shoulder. He cried out in shock, it has been over a year since his last ghost fight and honestly he forgot how much that hurts!
Aka, Bruce and Dick are forced to take Damian's threats more seriously when the civilian Danny is in the crossfire instead of just the trained vigilante Tim.
@dissociativehyperfixating loved this and could not resist writing a bit
It had been a while since Danny actually was in pain. The stop on vigilante activities since being fostered had helped with that, considering the portal got shut off and the ghosts in Gotham were minor shades in comparison.
Tim is going to get so APPRECIATED by Danny after this, especially when he notices that Damian is focusing his ire mostly on him. That is HIS older brother. Nobody is just allowed to hurt him like that!
Ok ok ok. But what if. What if after maybe a week after the stabbing Danny just shows up in Tim's room in the middle of the night (Tim has been temporarily benched from nighttime work due to how clingy Danny has been with him since this happened). Danny wakes him up, already holding two go-bags packed and is just like:
"Get up, we need to get out of here. This place isn't safe. We can find a better place than this." And Tim, Tim is confused. And concerned. First off how the heck did Danny get into his room without waking him up, let alone pack what looks like a bag of his things without him knowing (Tim had all sorts of things set up to protect his things. Especially since Damian came into the house). But also, why did Danny think they needed to leave? Was this about Damian stabbing Danny? That would be understandable, but they'd been making progress on that (Damian had been told in no uncertain terms that attacking a civilian was not ok).
But when Tim expresses this the look Danny gives him is one of pure heartbreak. The younger boy moves over to kneel on the bed and grab his foster brother's hands between his own and proceeds to tell Tim that his life is imporant too. And Danny doesn't think this place was safe or healthy for Tim in any way, shape, or form. Because while Danny had gotten stabbed in the arm Tim nearly died. He would have died if he hadn't dodged. That knife would have killed him. And no one here seemed to care. Not even Tim himself. They all kept doting on Danny, but no one really reacted to the attack on Tim (or any of the future, if less possibly deadly, attacks on Tim since then).
Danny desperately wants his foster brother to understand that he's worth so much more than this. That his life is important. And that a place that doesn't treat him like he was expendable.
Tim is....taken off guard. It's kind of nice to know that Danny cares so much, but he doesn't know how to explain that he wasn't really in that much danger. Since he was trained to deal with that sort of thing. He was fine. Really (don't think about how much of a relief it was that someone was upset that he could have died. Don't think about how no one but Danny spoke out when Damian threatened his life. Don't think about it). But he can't explain any of that without outing himself as a member of the Bats. And outing the rest as well.
What is Tim supposed to do in this situation?
(Don't know if it would fit, but I also had an image of Tim coming out and telling Danny about his vigilante persona and Danny just. Doesn't care. Like being trained to deal with threats doesn't mean your life is worth less than a civilian's. And it still doesn't justify an attempted murder as his dinner table by another member of the household (Danny would know. Jazz made sure to press this into his mind more than once).
If Tim were to tell Danny that it was okay- that Tim is a trained vigilante who was never in any real danger- Danny would be Even More Upset. No, Tim! It is Not Okay that you got attacked in your home by someone who was meant to be family! You're meant to be safe at home! Home is supposed to be the one place you can finally relax and let your guard down; you shouldn't have to be on the lookout for your own family members trying to kill you.
The fact that Bruce and Dick have both gone out of their way to scold Damian every time he tries anything against Danny but haven't said a word when he attacks Tim? Danny hates it. Tim has just as much right to feel safe in his own home as Danny does.
The icing on the cake is when Danny says that the Manor is turning out to be just like his previous home.
Tim and the others never managed to get much out of Danny about his home life. He had told them that his house became dangerous for him, that it wasn't even safe for his big sister anymore but at least she was away for college. When they had suggested legal action against his parents, though, Danny had had a full blown panic attack, begging them not to let them find him.
So the fact that this was hitting a nerve for Danny? Not a good sign.
So really, what is Tim supposed to do but go? Danny's got a steely look in his eyes that Tim's never seen before and his voice is shaking, but his hands aren't, gripping two duffle bags like they hold everything important in the world.
Which, well. They kind of do.
"I have better go bags packed, if you don't mind a detour," Tim whispers, because he is nothing if not prepared and over prepared for every possibility. He's earned his paranoia. He wishes Danny hadn't earned his too.
So Danny follows him across the grounds to Drake Manor and Tim can't even bother to care that they're leaving clear footprints in the frost. Let Bruce and Dick see and know. He doesn't choke up in the back of his childhood closet when he gently disentangles the bags he has packed for him and Danny from the ones for Bruce, Dick, Alfred, Babs, Steph, and Cass, but it's a close thing. There would have been one here for Damian, if things had gone differently.
They wouldn't need the bags if things had gone differently.
They slip out into the night, Tim on a backup cycle with Danny behind him, their things secured as best as Bat-taught knots can get them. He left a note, filled with codes and counter codes, telling Bruce that they left of their own free will. It won't stop him from looking... At least it wouldn't have, before Damian. Now? Tim's not so sure.
He's not sure where they're going, either. He's been other places, but he's never lived anywhere but Gotham.
He's not sure what to do with the way something in his chest unknots and loosens as their tires eat away the asphalt under them and Gotham fades away until it can't reach them, even in the rearview.
"I already knew, you know."
Tim glances over at Danny. They're leaned up against a highway guardrail outside a greasy diner somewhere nameless in West Virginia, watching the sun rise. "Knew what?"
Danny picks at the tortilla wrapped around his honestly lackluster looking breakfast burrito. "About your, uh... nighttime... bird watching?" Tim stares blankly at him as Danny cringes. "Sorry, it's the best wording I could come up with," he says, rubbing the back of his neck as he glances around conspicuously.
"I can't believe you think the thing I had an issue with was your wording. What do you mean you knew?"
"Well y'all weren't exactly subtle." The look Danny levels at him is so judgemental it puts Alfred to shame. "I live with y'all. You went up to 'bed' perfectly fine and came down injured like. Multiple times. I know I'm oblivious, but I'm not that oblivious." He pauses, shredding more of the burrito, takes a deep breath and adds, a little shakily, "Ancients, now I know how Jazz felt when I was still trying to hide my vigilante injuries from her. She must have been tearing her hair out waiting for me to tell her."
It takes almost exactly 24 hours of driving, spread over four days, to end up on the Kent's doorstep.
They detour a few times. Once, still in West Virginia, Tim stares down an ATM camera as he hits his maximum withdrawal limit for three separate identities and his own bank account and then tricks the machine into giving him more. If Bruce is looking, it won't even be hard to find them. Something reckless in Tim doesn't care at the same time he wants to turn around and drive back to New Jersey to prove to that stupid little brat that he's not running.
But. He is running. And maybe he deserves to run, but it burns all the same. He's supposed to be Robin! Robin doesn't run, he stands and fights!
The last time one of Tim's supposed brothers tried to kill him, he almost succeeded because Tim stood and fought. The only reason he's even alive is because Jason didn't even care about him, in particular, only Robin.
There's a lot to think about as he drives is what Tim's saying.
Ma Kent waits for the boys to leave before going to get her phone. She knows Kon will hear her, but that’s ok. She isn’t breaking her promise. She’s not calling the Justice League, or the government, or anything of the sort.
No. First she calls Clark and tells him to get his ass to the farm NOW. Don’t call anyone. Don’t speak to anyone beyond what you need to in order to finish up what you’re doing, just get back here. No, it’s not an immediate emergency, but she wants him home pronto.
That done, she hangs up and calls her old friend Alfred.
To say that Alfred is surprised to be getting a call from Martha Kent in the middle of the mess that is currently going on in his house would be an understatement. And her starting words just makes it all the worse.
“Alfred Pennyworth,” she begins, voice short, clipped, and bubbling with fury. “I am so disappointed in you right now!” Alfred blinks in shock, but before he could ask what he had done she plows on.
“Two boys, two children in your care, had to flee your home out of fear of being stabbed. And not only that! But I am hearing that not only was one of them actually stabbed, but the other had repeated attempts made against his life and nothing was done to stop it?!”
“I take it that Master Tim and Master Danny are safe then?” He asked, even as he tried to process through her ire and what he was being told.
“They certainly are!” She snapped back. “Far safer than they were in that madhouse you call a home! And don’t even think about sending any of your crew down here to harass or guilt trip them! They will be staying here, unmolested, until they decide they want to deal with any of your lot again. If they ever do!” Alfred bit back the desire to sigh. He’d known that Master Bruce’s decision on how to deal with Young Master Damien was going to bite them in the end. And look. It had.
“Of course,” he agreed sadly. “Are they both ok at least?”
“That depends on how you describe ok,” she told him, fury boiling down to a simmer at his easy agreement. “Danny is still healing from a stab wound and Tim is going to take a lot of work to undo his belief that he is inherently worth less than others around him.”
“He what?” Alfred asked, alarmed. He knew that Tim had low self esteem issues, but that badly?
“Oh yes!” Martha spat back. “The poor boy thought it was perfectly fine for someone to be trying to kill him on a regular basis in his own home. Whether that’s because he’s trained, and therefore should be able to guard himself at all times or because he believes he’s not a true member of the family is iffy. I’m wagering on a mixture of both. But either way, Danny has already begun attempting to fix it. And I intend to do my best to undo the damage as well. And I won’t have any of your lot breaking him again. Is that understood?”
“Perfectly,” he agreed, already starting to plan on how to try and fix things in his own house to help make it safe for the kids if they decided to come back. “Thank you for looking after them, Martha.”
“Of course,” Martha replied stiffly. “It’s the least I can do. They’re good boys.”
“They are,” Alfred agreed again with the smallest of sighs. “Thank you for letting me know they are alright. You have given me a lot to think about.”
“Of course,” she replied, softening slightly. “Good luck with all that, Alfred.”
“Thank you,” he told her. “I fear I’m going to need all the luck I can get.”
“I’d say. “She huffed a slight laugh before hardening again. “Oh, and Alfred? If I find out that any of your brood show up here as a result of this conversation you can forget about any future calls. Is that understood?”
“Yes, of course,” he agreed immediately.
“Good.” He could practically hear her sharp nod. “I’m going to let you go now. Clark just got home and I’m sure you have a lot of work to do.”
“Alright,” he replied. “Have a good day, Martha. And thank you again.”
And with that, the call ended. Leaving Alfred staring at the encrypted phone in his hand and pondering on many of his recent choices. After a moment he shook himself and straightened up, squaring his shoulders. It was time to get to work. There was a lot to be done after all. Starting with a family meeting.
Not only did my fried rice panel take off in a way I wasn't expecting but my POST about the fried rice panel also took off in a way I wasn't expecting please let me rest
me, last week: my favorite holiday is coming up :3c mom: ? easter? st patrick's day? me: no no, it's not a holiday as in 'you get time off work' me: me: unless you and your coworkers all do something really funny

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i am afraid of people who reblog things with no tags. not even any identifiers like the show it’s from or anything. just silence. what are you thinking?? hello??
you know what understandable have a good day
scientists in the 1990s, putting a Get More Purple gene attached to a harmless plant virus into an already purple petunia: please get more purple
the petunia, sensing an apparent honest to god Get More Purple Disease, using the previously undiscovered RNAi antiviral ability to shut down all other purple genes along with it just in case: you put VIRUS in petunia? you infect her with the More Purple?? oh! oh! her children shall bloom white! jail for mother, jail for mother for One Thousand Years!!!!
Btw the thing this discovered is like. A foundational lab technique now and has revolutionized genetics
When someone asks “Why we waste money in useless research?” This is why.
Some sounds you probably haven’t heard in awhile!
I miss technology being clickity clackity! It was very stimming and enriching
Also much more reliable than touchscreen/membrane buttons, which is, incidentally, why the space industry still mostly insists on analog controls.
(Except a Certain Company whose CEO seems to think safety considerations serve only to hinder innovation…)
OMG the little boingg of the ViewMaster made me smile.
when a new media comes out and i have to navigate tumblrs shit ui to add the tag to my blacklist
Now rebloggable for 48 hours ONLY get it while you can

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Toad Words
Frogs fall out of my mouth when I talk. Toads, too.
It used to be a problem.
There was an incident when I was young and cross and fed up parental expectations. My sister, who is the Good One, has gold fall from her lips, and since I could not be her, I had to go a different way.
So I got frogs. It happens.
“You’ll grow into it,” the fairy godmother said. “Some curses have cloth-of-gold linings.” She considered this, and her finger drifted to her lower lip, the way it did when she was forgetting things. “Mind you, some curses just grind you down and leave you broken. Some blessings do that too, though. Hmm. What was I saying?”
I spent a lot of time not talking. I got a slate and wrote things down. It was hard at first, but I hated to drop the frogs in the middle of the road. They got hit by cars, or dried out, miles away from their damp little homes.
Toads were easier. Toads are tough. After awhile, I learned to feel when a word was a toad and not a frog. I could roll the word around on my tongue and get the flavor before I spoke it. Toad words were drier. Desiccated is a toad word. So is crisp and crisis and obligation. So are elegant and matchstick.
Frog words were a bit more varied. Murky. Purple. Swinging. Jazz.
I practiced in the field behind the house, speaking words over and over, sending small creatures hopping into the evening. I learned to speak some words as either toads or frogs. It’s all in the delivery.
Love is a frog word, if spoken earnestly, and a toad word if spoken sarcastically. Frogs are not good at sarcasm.
Toads are masters of it.
I learned one day that the amphibians are going extinct all over the world, that some of them are vanishing. You go to ponds that should be full of frogs and find them silent. There are a hundred things responsible—fungus and pesticides and acid rain.
When I heard this, I cried “What!?” so loudly that an adult African bullfrog fell from my lips and I had to catch it. It weighed as much as a small cat. I took it to the pet store and spun them a lie in writing about my cousin going off to college and leaving the frog behind.
I brooded about frogs for weeks after that, and then eventually, I decided to do something about it.
I cannot fix the things that kill them. It would take an army of fairy godmothers, and mine retired long ago. Now she goes on long cruises and spreads her wings out across the deck chairs.
But I can make more.
I had to get a field guide at first. It was a long process. Say a word and catch it, check the field marks. Most words turn to bronze frogs if I am not paying attention.
Poison arrow frogs make my lips go numb. I can only do a few of those a day. I go through a lot of chapstick.
It is a holding action I am fighting, nothing more. I go to vernal pools and whisper sonnets that turn into wood frogs. I say the words squeak and squill and spring peepers skitter away into the trees. They begin singing almost the moment they emerge.
I read long legal documents to a growing audience of Fowler’s toads, who blink their goggling eyes up at me. (I wish I could do salamanders. I would read Clive Barker novels aloud and seed the streams with efts and hellbenders. I would fly to Mexico and read love poems in another language to restore the axolotl. Alas, it’s frogs and toads and nothing more. We make do.)
The woods behind my house are full of singing. The neighbors either learn to love it or move away.
My sister—the one who speaks gold and diamonds—funds my travels. She speaks less than I do, but for me and my amphibian friends, she will vomit rubies and sapphires. I am grateful.
I am practicing reading modernist revolutionary poetry aloud. My accent is atrocious. Still, a day will come when the Panamanian golden frog will tumble from my lips, and I will catch it and hold it, and whatever word I spoke, I’ll say again and again, until I stand at the center of a sea of yellow skins, and make from my curse at last a cloth of gold.
Terri Windling posted recently about the old fairy tale of frogs falling from a girl’s lips, and I started thinking about what I’d do if that happened to me, and…well…
!.
You know how if you go through years and years of “best science fiction short stories”, every so often you find some short story you’ve never heard of before, but it’s just amazing and brilliant and leaves you wondering why you never read stories with that plot before? This is one of those.
Seriously, wow.
this made me smile.
i’m still smiling.
I love this one. Thank you.
Change a single letter and change the word game
I want to play a game with you all.
You have to make a new word by changing only one letter of the last word.
Dirt
Dire
Bare
Care
Mare
Made
Lore
Lyre
Pyre
part
Fart
farm
Fare
Fore
Sort
Soft
Sift
silk
Milk
Mill
Mull
Vile
Time
Bike
Bake
Lake
Bile
Tile
Lilt
Kilt
Kill
Jill
Dill
Dole
pole
sole
sold
meld
mend
Mind
Hind
Bind
Rind
Rent
Lint
Tins
Tons
Line
Lone
Hone
Hose.
Cost
lose
tony
tiny
Tint
hint
hunt
Bunt
Bunk
Funk
Fuck
Duck