#no idea who gives a shit

[doloneia]

we need to abolish the idea that ancient greek myths and legend have a coherent timeline. they do not. for any given myth there are like 10 heroes mentioned that feasibly could not have been adults or even alive. herakles keeps showing up in places where he should probably be dead. anyone could be a suitor of helen. even herakles. even theseus if you count that kidnapping stint he did. nestor is alive for 10 billion years. time is fake and anything beyond vague generational outlines is conjecture

[podcast-hemocytoblast]

What if when Michael got Distortioned he/they/it/(?) had just kept showing up to work? Imagine Gertrude comes into the archives and finds a bunch of paperwork filled out in yellow highlighter and folded into impossible shapes, and then Michael-Distortion just walks into the room door-style and sits down at his work computer so it can email Gertrude a phishing scam.

[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."

[seventeendeer]

this isn't at all meant to be condescending or finger-waggy because 100% we all have blind spots like this, but I'm really, really hoping that the people who never found Gaiman's approach to his own fandom concerning in any way will take this all as a learning moment.

he was an older, hyper-famous author engaging directly and frequently with an online audience of largely vulnerable young marginalized people. he presented himself as cultured and worldly, and made himself approachable as someone to go to for advice, encouragement and "wisdom." his manner of speech was extremely pathos-heavy and clearly intended to be comforting and encouraging in exactly the way his target demographic needed it to be to swallow every word. the way he spoke about stories and creativity was designed to make young creative hopefuls feel special and important, while sweeping real analytical techniques under the rug - in hindsight, likely so no one would think too critically about the disturbing amount of patriarchal abuse played for cheap shock value and voyerism in his own body of works.

Gaiman saw a target demographic that was desperate for an older creative role model to tell them they were worth something, and he exploited that pain to twist a narrative around himself where he was king and any critique leveled at him or his works were the enemy.

to be clear, he could have been innocent. he could totally have been just an out-of-touch old man saying nice things to people because he wanted to be kind and he thought he was a lot smarter than he really was. red flags are warning signs, not a surefire way to tell if someone is actually "secretly shitty."

but if you used to look up to him, PLEASE take this moment to revisit the ideas you absorbed from him. did you take his words to heart because they seemed to have objective merit? or did you take them to heart because it felt good to believe what he said? do you still hold these values? does knowing he was intentionally manipulating his online audience make you less certain? do you need more information from a different source before deciding one way or another?

again, I'm just really, really hoping people on here will take a moment to reevaluate the ideas and opinions he's injected into tumblr fandom culture, because his reach is immense and he has absolutely been manipulating popular perception of relevant topics to gain further influence and control the narrative around both his own and Pratchett's legacy. please, please take this moment to notice what he's been doing - and next time someone tries to pull the same shit, hopefully we'll be able to apply what we've learned from experience.

[holy-reference-in-a-username]

Goretober Day 8: Xray

Sorry bro your skeletons fucking weird

[felsicveins]

His heart belongs to another

And no other heart will do

[bookwyrminspiration]

im aromantic which means I don’t care about shipping at all except for when I do, hope that clears it up

[weirdo-from-bonesborough]

Arkham Knight!Jason and Joker Junior!Tim and Dicky Boy!Dick and Birds of Prey Movie!Cass learn they’re all siblings in other worlds and create the most dysfunctional group of anti-heroes known to mankind. Even worse than the suicide squad because the suicide squad had actual goals whereas these guys just have “steal shit” and maybe “kidnap Batman and Joker and decide which one is our father and which one we should kill”

[musubiki]

my best friend is the main character

[piowasthere]

`i N S a N i T Y`

finally got this one done it was in the making for like a week, i'm just procrastinating for no reason lol

i also used only the thumbnails as ref cuz if i'd have to stare at his ugly mug for so many hours i would either explode or start to like it and neither is a good option.

anyway alts under cut, don't go insane <3

glitchless, no txt, alt

[mouthpoisons]

Im a gay aroace who in my 27 years have never been in an alloromantic allosexual relationship in my Life, but I’ve been in any flavour and combination of asexual romance/platonic soulmates/friends with benefits/queerplatonicism you could possibly think of and That Man can’t gaslight me least of all into interpreting jayvik as anything other than 2 guys who have been battling the comphet and/or “I’m not good enough for him” demons for like 10 years but have been yearning for eachother in Every way to literal world ending devastating effect the whole time

Not to headcanon a real person but if jayce is your self insert and you wrote all that and approved those storyboards/rough animations and everything else then you might have something to discover about yourself idk man but don’t make it everyone else’s problem. “Brother relationship” but then you have jayce be stuck in a ditch being forced to realise the fact he dated a woman with a gazillion “mirroring/super empathy powers” visual and narrative parallels to the man he is Desperate for while crying his ass off. You made them soulmates who in realising and accepting their love for eachother in every possible timeline they will save and/or destroy the world. Literally a you problem my guy everyone else out here has literally just been reading the fucking text

[bacchuschucklefuck]

this has been a roller coaster of a design journey but finally I can present you: class swap artificer!adaine and rogue!fabian

[softly-and-suddenly]

People are so boring about classic literature sometimes. Like I know it’s cool to be critical of men in books from the 19th century or whatever but it just leads to ripping out all of the nuance in favor of “Uh all of the Brontë men were evil and abusive and that’s all there is to those characters.” Say something interesting. I’m begging you

[sk-yay-sk]

I've gotta say I'm not a huge fan of putting Dragonese into the HTTYD movie franchise. The concept of a full-on dragon language they all share, that can just easily be translated into English, just really doesn't fit imo

I imagine they're a lot more like Orcas

There are universal ways to communicate with strangers of different species, like it's pretty easy to signal things like "i want to fight you" "i want you to leave" "it's dangerous here" "i'm in pain" etc. by just body language and vocalizations- but ways to communicate more complex ideas have to be developed and learned as unique dialects by different groups, especially flocks of dragons consisting of different species.

I imagine a terrible terror flock or a group of Speed Stingers have a lot of an easier time communicating with each other than a Thunderdrum and a whispering death do.

Dragons with their own dialects, cultures, and habits depending on location and group is really cool- I just don't think it should be a direct translation of how humans do these things, such as straight up language or mythologies or such.

[lavendertarot]

happy birthday to mikoto!! he ruined my life in the best way possible

[mohntilyet]

okay this is actually just bias now so before you read what i have to say i did warn you. yes illario would never be able to beat lucanis at being a crow or an assassin but you know what he would beat him at. being a lord of fortune. hold my hand as i take you through my mind palace and introduce to you my ideal post-game vision for illario dellamorte