youcalledsworld:

The Wrong Hostage

Jazz was just minding her own business walking around Metropolis, after visiting the University she will be going to next year. That was when Lex Luthor crashed near her. She knew she needed to get before the fight could resume or be taken hostage, since this wasn’t Amity Park.

Lex was getting his butt kicked even with and with his suit busted he needed to get away. Luckily he still had an energy pistol with him and he landed near a young redhead he could use as a hostage. Sadly Lex didn’t know that he picked the worst person to use, because back in Amity Park every Ghost knew not to harm Jazz or Danny would become very ruthless.

As Lex reached for her Jazz yelled as loud as she could for Danny and, pressed the emergency button Danny and Tucker made for her. Despite this Lex still reached for Jazz, but was stopped by a white gloved hand which proceeded to break his forearm. Then he felt himself thrown very hard onto the ground and being repeatedly kicked and stomped on from more than one person.

Superman was just finishing off his fight with metallo when he flew to where he threw Lex. When he got there he was greeted with the sight of multiple white haired teenagers in, black and white Hazmat suits repeatedly kicking and stomping on Lex. While another one was frantically making sure a young Redheaded woman was ok.

ahami22:

prokopetz:

prokopetz:

Trying to creep a mutual’s recent posts right now and making no headway whatsoever because their blog theme is paginated and they’re posting so fast that by the time I flip to page two it’s the same posts I just read on page one.

I get to page three and see posts I haven’t read yet and I’m like good, I’m finally getting somewhere – and then five posts down is what was the first post on page one when I started. They fucking lapped me.

anthropictales:

writing-prompt-s:

The summoned hero is effective if not a little… eccentric. He claims that he is a “dark souls player” and keeps saying “why should I wear armor if I don’t intend on getting hit”. Nevertheless, the great foe is no match for him, and the people love him.

They didn’t look like much when they were summoned to the fallen kingdom of Miredeep. You’d seen career soldiers who had fought the creeping dead, risking their lives on the walls of the last city of Miredeep, and this kid looked like they hadn’t fought a day in their life.

but the gods make their decisions, the mortals gotta deal with them.

And you have to say, you might have misjudged them.

Afficher davantage

chamomilegeode-deactivated20221:

chamomilegeode-deactivated20221:

thinkin about a baby of my acquaintance & how when her parents are hanging out & chatting, she’ll almost fully participate in the conversation–politely watching who’s talking, saying something approx the same length & tone of what her parents are saying, occasionally using a questioning cadence & looking at someone specific for an answer, laughing when they laugh–doing everything except actually using any recognizable language

this baby also once tipped me a granola bar at work. she’d been watching everyone in line very closely & when it was her parent’s turn, at exactly the right point in the transaction for a tip, she pickpocketed her mom’s granola bar & shoved it in the tip har

quotesfrommyreading:

When I’m out with Deaf friends, I put my hearing aid in my purse. It removes any ability to hear, but far more importantly, it removes the ambiguity that often haunts me.

In a restaurant, we point to the menu and gesture with the wait staff. The servers taking the order respond with gestures too. They pantomime “drinks?” and tell us they learned a bit of signs in kindergarten. Looking a little embarrassed, they sign “Rain, rain, go away, come again another day” in the middle of asking our salad dressing choice. We smile and gently redirect them to the menu. My friends are pros at this routine and ordering is easy ― delightful even. The contrast with how it feels to be out with my hearing husband is stunning.

Once my friends and I have ordered, we sign up a storm, talking about everything and shy about nothing. What would be the point? People are staring anyway. Our language is lavish, our faces alive. My friends discuss the food, but for me, the food is unimportant. I’m feasting on the smorgasbord of communication ― the luxury of chatting in a language that I not only understand 100% but that is a pleasure in and of itself. Taking nothing for granted, I bask in it all, and everything goes swimmingly.

Until I accidentally say the word “soup” out loud.

Pointing at the menu, I let the word slip out to the server. And our delightful meal goes straight downhill. Suddenly, the wait staff’s mouths start flapping; the beautiful, reaching, visual parts of their brains go dead, as if switched off.

“Whadda payu dictorom danu?” the server’s mouth seems to say. “Buddica taluca mariney?”

“No, I’m Deaf,” I say. A friend taps the server and, pointing to her coffee, pantomimes milking a cow. But the damage is done. The server has moved to stand next to me and, with laser-focus, looks only at me. Her pen at the ready, her mouth moves like a fish. With stunning speed, the beauty of the previous interactions ― the pantomiming, the pointing, the cooperative taking of our order ― has disappeared. “Duwanaa disser wida coffee anmik? Or widabeeaw fayuh-mow?”

Austin “Awti” Andrews (who’s a child of Deaf adults, often written as CODA) describes a similar situation.

“Everything was going so well,” he says. “The waiter was gesturing, it was terrific. And then I just said one word, and pow!! It’s like a bullet of stupidity shot straight into the waiter’s head,” he explains by signing a bullet in slow motion, zipping through the air and hitting the waiter’s forehead. Powwwww.

Hearing people might be shocked by this, but Deaf people laugh uproariously, cathartically.

“Damn! All I did was say one word!” I say to my friends. “But why do you do that?” they ask, looking at me with consternation and pity. “Why don’t you just turn your voice off, for once and for all?” they say.

Hearing people would probably think I’m the lucky one ― the success story ― because I can talk. But I agree with my friends.

  —  I’m Deaf And I Have ‘Perfect’ Speech. Here’s Why It’s Actually A Nightmare.

ev-arrested:

My favorite HC ever is Dick Grayson just. Acting dumb. In all aspects.

Richard John Grayson is perfectly fucking capable of cooking. Is stereotyped to be capable of burning water and is banned from the manor’s kitchen. His brothers have no idea he knows how to make a three Michelin star steak.

Dick Grayson is bisexual. He knows this, has known it for forever, and is 100% comfortable with it. Based on what others would tell you, though, he’s completely straight and is actually a little uncomfortable with being considered gay. 100% a fierce ally to his queer family and friends tho.

What’s navigation like for Dickie Gray? A master. Can track anything, navigate anywhere, knows a dozen methods for any given survival scenario. To everyone else? Dick cannot do it. Incapable. Directionally challenged. You’d think a trapeze artist would know which way is up, but no. He gets it from his parents.

Dickiebird? Excellent manipulator. We know this. His family knows it. Some of his friends know it. They pray for any poor soul who has no idea how manipulative Dick can be. They watch in the distance disappointedly, knowing that Dick’s victim just thinks he’s an ordinary, honest, standup guy, all the while not even knowing that despite being aware of Dick’s true nature, they are being manipulated in equal measure.

Related side note: Good ol Richy? Incredible conversationalist. Everyone knows this. It’s his whole persona. Wears that fact on his sleeve. He always finds a way to make everyone feel like he’s interested in the conversation, even if he would rather die than talk about the current topic for a second longer. And this goes beyond just giving occasional sounds of acknowledgment and peppering words like “cool” or “yeah”. Someone could be talking about the most boring topic imaginable, and he’d have a dazzling smile on his face, his body language signifying that he’s completely engaged, will even ask proper clarifying questions in an attempt to learn more. When he exits the conversation, someone asks, “wow, are you really that fascinated by (insert inane topic)?” and while Dick’s smile doesn’t even falter, he immediately drops the pretense and says, “Oh, absolutely not. That was the most boring conversation I’ve ever had in my life.”

Dick Grayson has gotten this far in life because people consistently underestimate him. He’s made himself come across as juuust incompetent enough (in very particular ways that don’t compromise his image as a capable leader), leaving everyone absolutely fucking blindsided whenever he pulls the rug out from under them about what they thought he was capable of.

And we love him for it.

dycefic:

writing-prompt-s:

Two identical infants lay in the cradle. “One you bore, the other is a Changeling. Choose wisely,” the Fae’s voice echoed from the shadows. “I’m taking both my children,” the mother said defiantly.

Once upon a time there was a peasant woman who was unhappy because she had no children. She was happy in all other things – her husband was kind and loving, and they owned their farm and had food and money enough. But she longed for children.

She went to church and prayed for a child every Sunday, but no child came. She went to every midwife and wise woman for miles around, and followed all their advice, but no child came.

So at last, though she knew of the dangers, she drew her brown woolen shawl over her head and on Midsummer’s Eve she went out to the forest, to a certain clearing, and dropped a copper penny and a lock of her hair into the old well there, and she wished for a child.

“You know,” a voice said behind her, a low and cunning voice, a voice that had a coax and a wheedle and a sly laugh all mixed up in it together, “that there will be a price to pay later.”

She did not turn to look at the creature. She knew better. “I know it,” she said, still staring into the well. “And I also know that I may set conditions.”

“That is true,” the creature said, after a moment, and there was less laugh in its voice now. It wasn’t pleased that she knew that. “What condition do you set? A boy child? A lucky one?”

“That the child will come to no harm,” she said, lifting her head to stare into the woods. “Whether I succeed in paying your price, or passing your test, or not, the child will not suffer. It will not die, or be hurt, or cursed with ill luck or any other thing. No harm of any kind.”

“Ahhhhh.” The sound was long and low, between a sigh and a hum. “Yes. That is a fair condition. Whatever price there is, whatever test there is, it will be for you and you alone.” A long, slender hand extended into her sight, almost human save for the skin, as pale a green as a new leaf. The hand held a pear, ripe and sweet, though the pears were nowhere ripe yet. “Eat this,” the voice said, and she trembled with the effort of keeping her eyes straight ahead. “All of it, on your way home. Before you enter your own gate, plant the core of it beside the gate, where the ground is soft and rich. You will have what you ask for.”

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