#literally just disappeared

[pretty-pink-seaslug]

It’s been too long since I’ve posted a stolen meme, I’ve been neglecting myself truly 😔

[frosted-co0kies]

I was rewatching But I’m a Cheerleader . Love the set design of that movie so much. Also rupaul in a straight is great t shirt

[ruporas]

please be true

[ID: Digital Trigun Stampede fanart of Vash and Wolfwood cradling each other. Vash is facing the viewer with his face buried in Wolfwood's shoulder, one hand grabbing at Wolfwood's neck and the other grabbing his arm. Wolfwood is facing away from the viewer and is slightly leaned away, one arm wrapping around to Vash's back, but his hand is hovering, not touching. The background is black with white and red confetti-like and petal-like shapes falling around them. ID END] ID CREDIT

[veevil]

I am a child of divorce

[astronomic-explorer]

god dc fanon is actually crazy. "dck was gonna put tim in arkham!" BITCH HE TOLD TIM TO GO TO THERAPY 😭

[egophiliac]

oh, uh, this...this isn't Silver's backstory after all.

[starry-bi-sky]

Blood Blossom Au: Baby's First Commissioner Meeting :)

TL:DR This Post: Danny (orphan) gets poisoned with blood blossom extract by Vlad. He runs away from him and ends up under the care of one Pre-Robin Battinson Batman! Starry is loudly pushing her batdad agenda.

(Also known as "Late At Night, When The Nightingale Sings" on my ao3!)

This was a fun rough idea I've been sitting on for weeks, thinking about how Commissioner Gordon and Nightingale's first meeting might go.

---------------

Commissioner Gordon likes to think that he's adjusting to the new normal of Gotham very well, -- the new normal being grown men running around dressed like bats, in military-grade strength body armor, committing acts of vigilantism, -- and slowly, little by little, he was no longer being surprised when this new normal pops up out of the shadows like the world's most terrifying daisy. His shaving lifespan thanks him for it.

....

The kid is a surprise though.

Granted, he seemed to be a surprise to the Bat too.

There's been a string of murders lately, -- which, in Gotham, is kind of like saying there's been another storm during monsoon season. And there's just been another; in some dilapidated building down in south Gotham, with the broken, boarded-up windows and mildew-crawling walls to match. The victim is a man in his thirties, multiple gunshot wounds to the chest, left in the center of the room for the blood to pool out around him.

The place is already secured when he arrives, the building swarmed with officers and the forensic detectives. The Bat emerges shortly after he does -- or, he might've been here the whole time, hiding someplace dark and shadowy. For his own sanity, Gordon doesn't think about it too hard.

The kid is a surprise, and he appears like a bolt of lightning.

He shows up in the middle of a conversation Gordon is having with the Bat.

A whistle, sharp and loud, slicing through the air, meant for open air rather than a confined space. Gordon's ears pierce and protest the sound, and the solemn, murmured chatter floating through the room abruptly cuts off like the swing of a gavel. As he turns towards the sound -- as they all do -- he swears, up and down, that he sees Batman's shoulders jump, just slightly.

At the source, perched on the window, is a boy. A boy in a gray-blue scarf and an oversized black hoodie, one that hangs off his frame and has ace bandages wrapped around the wrists in some attempt to cinch the sleeves. The hood is up, big like the rest of it, and threatens to swallow the upper half of the boy's face whole in the fabric. What upper half Gordon can see, is smeared with some kind of opaque, black face paint. He's holding onto the side of the frame with one hand, on his hip is a grappling hook. A familiar grappling hook.

Gordon has multiple questions, and his officers tense up.

Martinez puffs up, brows furrowing as his face shapes into a frown. Shoulders rolling back. "You can't be here, kid--"

The reaction is immediate, like a spark to gunpowder, the boy yanks his fingers from his mouth and his mouth twists into a scowl. Head snapping over to Officer Martinez, his hood manages to stay on but Gordon swears that as he bares his teeth, the glint makes them look sharper than they should be. His voice is rasp and quiet and harsh; snappish in its hissing; "Put a fuckin sock in it, Martinez. I'm not stayin."

Martinez reels back, and the boy immediately veers his attention off him. Like a switch, his demeanor drops. Despite half his face being covered, his mouth twists into a cringing, apologetic smile. Slanted and off-beat, embarrassed. It'd be disarming if this wasn't Gotham, and if he didn't just hiss at Martinez like he was about to bite his head off.

"Sorry." He whispers, voice deceptively polite and softer now. Gordon has to strain his ears to hear him. "I was looking for him."

He points his finger towards-- Gordon? No, Gordon follows the direction, and finds himself looking at -- the Bat.

The Bat, who always looks stiff as a pole, now looks even stiffer. Somehow. Well, the explains the grappling hook attached to the boy's waist.

"What are you doing here?" The Bat says, gruff and unable to completely smother the stumble of surprise in his tone.

The boy still holds a sheepish smile, and slips off the window ledge. His feet hit the creaky boards with a near-silent thud, the Batman finds his feet and rapidly begins crossing the room.

Gordon notes the slight tremble in the boy's legs as he straightens. He adjusts his scarf, which droops close to his knees now that he's standing, and slings a backpack -- how long has had that? -- off his shoulders. When the Bat reaches his side, he does as he always does, and looms over the boy like a spectre. A threatening mass of shadows cloaked in all-consuming black. Standing next to him, the boy looks teeny in comparison.

The Bat is a man who terrifies even the most hardened criminals, Gordon has seen grown men shiver in fear at the mention of his name. And yet when the boy looks up at him, he doesn't even flinch.

Instead, his sheepish smile melts away like ice under the sun, holding only traces of his previous embarrassment. It remains as a shadow on his face, a small upturn at the corners of his mouth. The boy pushes his hood back just enough to reveal glinting, ice-flint eyes surrounded in tar-black face paint. He holds the backpack up with one arm. "You forgot this."

[genderqueerpond]

We don't talk enough about the fact that Amelia Pond, s5 Amelia Pond, before the timeline is reset, isn't just a normal orphan. Her parents didn't die, didn't abandon her, and didn't send her away. They never existed in the first place.

And if her parents never existed, then Amelia cannot exist. She is a causal impossibility.

"People fall out of the world sometimes, but they always leave traces." A photograph. A face carved into an apple. Yes. Sure.

A child.

Now that's too big, surely.

But that's what she is. She is exactly the same as these things. A trace. An echo of something that could never be, never was, never could have been.

And the universe should never allow it. A whole person, that's just too much. She could not have continued to exist indefinitely, in normal circumstances, after her parents never existed.

In normal circumstances.

Because the Doctor didn't just save her from things coming out of the crack in her wall. He saved her from going into it. And he didn't just save her from the threat of going into it simply because of its vicinity.

No, by arriving when he did, he interrupted a process that was probably already in motion. And then by arriving again only moments later on a cosmic relative timestream (too quickly for the process to complete) and yet in the local relative timestream, years later --- years of a potential future caught midway through the process of rewriting -- he solidified that existence. Amy is a creature from another timeline, caught in amber. The Doctor prevented her from never existing, but only after she could already never exist.

And so, no one around Amelia thinks about it. Neither does she. There's some kind of consciousness block, because if you thought about it, really thought about it, for two seconds you'd realize she cannot exist. And the human mind can't deal with that. So, to protect itself, everyone's brain simply slides off it before ever noticing. They just assume that her existence makes sense, and don't question it, and don't notice what they don't question, that is staring them in the face.

But of course, to some extent they do notice. They can't think it, but they notice subconsciously that there's something they can't think. They notice there's something wrong with her, something uncanny. And they don't like it, and they alienate her even more because of it.

"Does it ever bother you Pond that your life existence doesn't make any sense?"

[inonibird]

I've been introduced to the TTRPG called Wildsea and now I'm going to make it everyone's problem. This is Beezley. They are bees. That is, I've broken my creative slump by immediately coming up with a character concept that is a variant of the Tzelicrae race in this setting (which is officially described as "Spider-colonies wrapped in humanesque skins; thousands of tiny arachnid minds threaded like beads on a string to produce a full, rich sapience", hive-minded swarms who either create protective shells made of cloth and salvage or unnervingly puppeteer bodies that are no longer needed), but I'm arachnophobic, so...BEES. :D Yes, Beezley found a dead body and built their hive around the skull and there is 100% a sticky, honeycomb-encrusted skeleton under those clothes. :'D

[kataraavatara]

can we talk about how nesta’s forgotten drinking buddies definitely think rhysand and feyre are like. super classist. because they’ve watched the inner circle go to Rita’s and get absolutely fucked up for centuries but as soon as the high lord’s sister in law spends some time at a poor people bar she mysteriously disappears without a trace and her apartment building is torn down. there’s no way they don’t talk about it to this day.

[dykespirk]

spock’s dedication to lying, just for the love of the game, is so beautiful to me…we don’t see real liargirls like that anymore…

[evilkaeya]

skk au where everything is the same except Chuuya and Dazai have literal red string of fate tied to their pinkies. It appears when Chuuya kicked Dazai down in Suribachi. No one else can see the string. They've tried to untie it, cut it, burn it, rip it, bomb it- but to no avail. There's no limit to the length of the string. No matter how far they go, they're always tied to each other.

[sihtryggr]

Yeah, so, is this a safe space for me to say what the fuck? Not a single conversation - not even a single interaction - between Jinx & Sevika acknowledging what happened with Isha? As if the three of them hadn’t become a little family unit of their own. Certainly a choice.

[timblrdrake]

i love lying on the internet

i used to use “i’m not press trained </3” as an excuse for everything and no one called me out for it?? guys im literally a CEO not to mention Janet Drake’s son im not incompetent im just an asshole

[neptunym]

ULTRATOBER // Part 3 - Day 7: Favourite OTP

i don't have one, but one or more of these guys tend to show up in my favoured pairings

[answermywearyquery]

kitty!

+ spooky kitty: