The Massive Continuity of Ducks

Icon from a picrew by grgikau. Call me Tir or Julian. 37. He/They. Queer. Twitter: @tirlaeyn. ao3: tirlaeyn. 18+ Only. Star Trek. Sandman. IwtV. OMFD. Definitionless in this Strict Atmosphere.

rybonucleic-ket:

adoremikewheeler:
rootbeergoddess:
tae-fox-cryptid:
ding-dong-the-bitch-is-dead:
dracophile:
twinkgirlboywife:
randomingoftherandomness:
christchex:
dracophile:
teapotsahoy:
fallenangelvictorious:
disregardcanon:
pencilscratchins:
miles “who’s morales” morales’s biggest weakness is the cover story
peter, lying out of his ass: i was, uh, married to his uncle aaron. he just never let you know
Jefferson, later: Do you think Aaron never told us because Peter’s…
Rio: …Tall
Jefferson: I didn’t think Aaron liked … Tall people.
Jefferson: “But listen: Aaron might have married a white boy just to annoy me, specifically. It’s a thing he would do!”
Rio: “I can’t hear you. I’m asleep. I have a shift in four hours.”
I really wish there was a way Uncle Aaron lived and came back to meet his “husband” at some point now.
Aaron: …Miles…I love you, and I am proud of you…but you are somehow the smartest and dumbest boy I have ever known.
Miles: Says the man who used his big brain to become a criminal when he could’ve been a black Tony Stark with that gear he made. And thought working for the Kingpin, who everyone knows will throw his minions away like tissues, was a good idea!
Peter: He makes a good point, babe, you did kind of mess up first–
Aaron: Call me babe again and see what happens. I’ll whoop you with a collapsed lung.
All I see is “fake marriage au, but it’s also enemies to lovers”
If I ever stop reblogging this post, assume that I have yeeted myself off this mortal coil
Miles: Peter I think we can stop pretending you’re gay, my parents already know I’m Spider-Man.
Peter: Who said anything about pretending?
Miles: What! You can’t do that! You’re supposed to be Spider-Man, not my gay uncle.
Peter: Well congrats kid! Now I’m Spider-Man AND your gay uncle
Miles: Uncle Aaron?!
Aaron: …What? I never said I was straight, kid. And he’s not bad when he makes an effort.
Petter: Is that what we’re calling it now?
Miles: Aaah, god, stop talking!
@blackkatmagic @north-peach
Omfg I love everything about this
How did this post get even better?
@weirdo09
“Kid, listen-”
The front door screeches a bit as it opens, revealing Miles’ parents in the doorway, staring at Miles and the unknown scraggly white guy licking fry grease off of his fingers. On their couch.
“Miles, who is that?”
Fuck. “Uh!…this is…my….my uncle Peter!” FUCK. Peter shoots him an incredulous look, absolutely dumbfounded. Miles regrets being born.
“…what?”
Peter gives Miles an exasperated glare, before turning to look at his parents. “Yeah! I was, uh, I was…married! I was married to his- to his uncle Aaron. um. I guess he never told you, uh.”
there is a moment of excruciating silence. Miles contemplates jumping out the window.
“oh.”
–
“shit. Peter I am so sorry.”
“you owe me your body weight in french fries.”

titkoks:

astrangergivingthestrangewelcome:

Jadzia, talking to her children in the good timeline where she didn’t die and is raising a family with Worf: and remember the most important thing in any relationship is communication. If you don’t like something that someone you love is doing, you use your words and tell them. Lack of communication ruins relationships.
Her 12-year old: but Uncle Julian and Uncle Garak don’t tell eachother things and they’re happy together.
Jadzia, already developing a migraine bc that successful relationship undermines every rule she has about marriage: well honey they have a special need for their relationship to be a delicate game of chess with life or death hanging in the balance but they’re only like that because their parents didn’t love them enough so it’s not something you should anticipate for yourself.

thefingerfuckingfemalefury:

coherentinsanity:
thefingerfuckingfemalefury:
jbk405:
thefingerfuckingfemalefury:
By not letting Palpatine carry out a Jedi Genocide and conquer the galaxy you are JUST AS BAD u guys
Hey now, remember, the first two Jedi DID let themselves just be stabbed in this fight. No dodges or blocks at all.
Truly, they were the most tolerant of all.
If they didn’t, that would be being a Reverse Sith
We wouldn’t want the evil Emperor to feel like the most mistreated emperor ever right? He’ll cry about it on his Space Twitter.
Palpatine angrily denies having any connection to the Trade Federation and insists that the reports accusing him of having been secretly assisting them during the Clone Wars are Fake News
And he claims that him throwing Mace Windu out of a window to his death had absolutely nothing to do with the Jedi council having any kind of proof of wrongdoing on his part

amtrax:

Had to reupload because the audio glitched

I did that thing where I take a tumblr post that made me laugh out loud and record it. Thank you @sucymemebabaran and @farfetchling for crackling me up at 4 o’clock in the fucking morning.

BEHOLD MY TERRIBLE FIRST ATTEMPT AT A DOOFENSCHMIRTZ IMPRESSION

stories from school

whatevenrosslynch:

literalstardust:
The Jellybear Incident of 6th Grade
It’s the sixth grade. Somehow, I had come across a catalogue for the store they bought all the school store crap from. You know, the smelly erasers and dumb keychains that they sell for like a buck apiece. So I somehow got this catalogue, and little old entrepreneur me was like “I should buy something from this and sell it at school for an absurdly high price to gain basically pure profit.” As sixth graders do. So I bought two huge tubs full of these keychains called Jellybears. This is what they look like.
So I bought a metric fuckton of these assholes for about 20 cents a piece. I start selling them at school for a buck fifty. Like I said, pure profit. 6th grade me was brilliant. I broke even in like eight seconds of me whippin these bad boys out at school. Saying these are were a hit is an understatement. They were like a home run triple, or some other sports metaphor. People are buying this shit at lunch time, between classes. Shit, one girl even admitted to selling the ones she bought off me around her neighborhood for like five bucks. I was happy to be the middleman, but I digress. The point is, not only did I gain entrepreneurial skills, I also made a pretty penny. However, a month into my brilliant business, I get a call down to the office.
I had never been called to the office before. I was such a goody two-shoes you wouldn’t believe. This was in a school that boasted like two fights per week. The ratio of cops and administrators to students was like 1:3. And there were 1700 people at this school. That’s a whole lot of authority figures for a whole lot of miscreants and ne’er-do-wells. And here I was, reading large pretentious books and wearing polo shirts, with a gigantic backpack and in an advanced math class. I was, and still am, a lame weeny. Just wanted to put that in perspective.
Anyway, I was called down to the office that day. Literally shaking in the huge chair they had for me, facing down the terrifying vice-principal, she pulled out a Jellybear.
It was the DIVA one, if I’m not mistaken. I was then given a good lecture about how I’m not allowed to sell things on campus without explicit permission, yadda yadda, the whole spiel. Except I felt there was something fishy about the whole thing. Maybe it was how she held the Jellybear in her hand, perhaps it was the way she confiscated the rest of them.
After asking around with the intense gossip network of middle school, I discovered the real reason the administration confiscated the Jellybears.
They had reason to suspect I was filling them with vodka.
They had reason to suspect that I, the tiny, stupid haired, braces-clad sixth grader who played a tuba bigger than she was was the head of a sophisticated alcohol distributing cartel in which I punctured and drained the goop from cute keychains, refilled them with straight vodka with a syringe, sealed them off with no trace, and sold them around school.
I’m not sure if I’m flattered that they assumed me capable of that sort of espionage, or insulted that they thought me dumb enough to sell middle schoolers straight vodka for A BUCK FIFTY.
really who did they think i was i was in advanced math for petes sake.
This was a wild ride from start to finish.

plant-boyphil:

thebootydiaries:
thebootydiaries:
It’s a breezy summer day and the rustling from the leaves outside sound like whispers from my small apartment. I’m sitting in front of my laptop, silently studying the 1.6 billion faces speaking simultaneously in front of me. It’s Monday, the day of the weekly conference call between all Muslims. We have been required to attend this Skype meeting from the the tender age of fetus, but I had never spoken in one of them before.
That changes today.
“Hey guys, what if…” I start to say.
Nobody hears me, but I refuse to be silent. How could I show my face again on Tumblr if I couldn’t even save my mayonnaise friends from death? How could I expect to earn their respect? Anon was right; why hadn’t I done this before? Thousands of lives had paid the price for my ignorance, but not anymore.
“What if you guys….. stopped killing people.“
Suddenly, silence.
1,643,398,023 pairs of eyes are on me. My heart is in my throat as the ISIS leader gives me a blank expression.
A single tear rolls down my cheek. "Please.” I say with a broken voice.
He is moved.
“Aight”.
My fingers are almost shaking as I carefully type in the ten digit phone number I have had memorized my entire life. The buttons on my home phone seem to glow a bit more dull, and even the ringing of the phone from the other end seems to be agonized, almost as if the world is telling me to hang up. But I refuse to give up; I can’t let my white lily friends down. Not again.
The phone rings once. Twice. Three times. Still no answer. Just as I am about to hang up, there is a click.
All I can hear is heavy breathing.
“Hello….” I say quietly, my voice shaking. “Is….. Is this Muslim?”
There was a long silence before I heard a voice answer “ya lol”.
“I was thinking………..” I begin cautiously. “Maybe murder is…………bad.”
“Habibi, I…..I don’t understand. What are you trying to say….?” The voice seems shaken.
“What if…….world peace is good and killing people is…………not good”
He lets out an audible gasp. “Are you saying ISIS is…….bad?”
“Maybe death is…….not good.” I continue. My heart is racing. I remind myself that I am saving thousands of lives, and inhale.
The silence from the other end of the line is almost deafening. He seemed to be thinking, as if he had never considered this idea before in his life. Truly I had opened his heart and his mind. This…. This could end terrorism.
“Muslim….Please.” I whisper.
I hear a tear roll down his cheek, with my Muslim Communication Hearing™ and hold my breath as he finally breathes out his next words.
“Kk.”
you should be a writer dear lOrd