#so it's definitely different

[xx-thedarklord-xx]

I can’t wait for finals to be over and then I can just BINGE the advent

Everything looks so good so far and it’s only day three! Very excited!

Ahh thank you! I hope your finals go well! When are they? As a treat for your finals, I will let you know that I'm currently writing one of your prompts. I don't think it's going in the direction you originally thought of lol, but I hope you'll like it! Sending all positive thoughts your way and hopefully you don't get too stressed out during your finals!

[hinamie]

newest issue of first years fashion just dropped

[batcavescolony]

Katniss is such an unreliable narrator. She says "Then something unexpected happens. At least, I don't expect it because I don't think of District 12 as a place that cares about me" girl you deliver strawberries to the Mayor, you hunt and trade for the district, when you fell at Prim being chosen someone caught you, when you went to Prim people parted for you, when you volunteered EVERYONE stopped. Idk how to tell you but I think you're a pillar of the community.

[pangur-and-grim]

I got to see the @noodlebutts creatures! it's impossible to explain how small they are, they don't look like real animals in person

[captainkirkk]

Concept: Peter actually got bitten by a totally normal spider. It's just a coincidence that his mutant powers were awakened around the same time

[shanklin]

Sentient Mystery Shack, who is really biased towards Stan, so when Ford tells Stan he has to give it back after the summer it’s on sight.

Ford keeps tripping over nothing, nothing is where it's supposed to be and somehow he keeps running into closets when he tries to go outside.

But the worst part, the WORST part is that Ford's lightbulb just won't. Work. No matter what he does it keeps flickering and exploding.

Ford is spiraling. 

There is no reason why it shoudln’t work. All his trial runs work perfectly. He’s already checked the Shacks wiring three times and relearned this dimensions science from the ground up. 

Nothing works.

The Rift? Bill? The impending apocalypse? Eating? Sleep? Who cares about that. 

WHY. WONT. THE. LIGHTBULB. WORK???

It doesn’t help that Stan keeps laughing at him.

“Then you do it!” Ford eventually snaps at Stan.

Stan shrugs and with a little song under his breath screws his own lightbulb in. It works perfectly.

Stanford screams.

[moonphotos0]

scrapped orv art from january 2025 that I forgot about lol

[bitterly-almond]

AU: Kuina lived and her father was supportive of her ambition. He sent her to Wano to learn the way of the swords so they meet again when Zoro arrived at Wano.

I just rlly wanted to design a giant Kuina after seeing how big Kiku is :)))

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Ignorantia Neminem Excusat

(Ignorance excuses no one, lat.)

"Commissioner."

Jim Gordon doesn't jump. They are years and years into this rodeo, he's stopped actually jumping at Batman's silent approach a long time ago. Yet, Bruce still notices the way his shoulders twitch just the tiniest bit, and his hand makes an aborted motion to his gun holster. Still got it.

The man turns around. Bruce can see the 'must you always do that?' in his slightly narrowed eyes. He presses his lips tightly together in order to not smirk: Batman doesn't do that, even if it's admittedly funny to see the seasoned Commissioner get spooked every time.

"There's a kid that wants to speak with you."

Bruce frowns. A kid that warranted a BatSignal? Not that he minds, but this is highly unusual for several reasons; however, Jim is not the kind of man that would fall for puppy eyes of any level, so it must be something more important than an autograph session or a victim of any of the recent cases.

Besides, the way Commissioner worded it implies that the kid, whoever they are, requested Batman specifically.

"He is a hacker," Jim puts both his hands in the pockets of his coat — he is either cold or uncomfortable, and Bruce highly suspects it's both. What's more, he starts to understand why. "I'm sure you're aware we were trying to track the person responsible for the few recent cyber attacks on GCPD servers," Jim glances at him, and Bruce nods. He is aware, yes, but the case was low-priority — it wasn't even an attack, really, someone just accessed the system foregoing the passwords and clearance levels, went through a few files, seemingly at random, and did a fairly decent job of hiding their traces. Bruce would have even thought it was Tim, if this happened a few years ago, when the boy was just learning the ropes.

Commissioner sighs and looks away, "But when we brought him in, the boy said he will only speak to you, and none of us have been able to make him say a word since." He pauses, a grim kind of expression on his face, "This was six hours ago."

Bruce is grateful for the way his cowl hides how his eyebrows raise. There are hundreds of scripts officers, detectives, and social workers can use to establish contact. Quite a lot of them could be attempted in the span of six hours.

Whatever the kid wants to tell him, Bruce decides it's worth a try. If not anything else, he can at least admire the sheer stubbornness.

—×—×—×—

The kid sitting in the interrogation room looks... younger than Bruce expected. Fifteen, maybe sixteen. He is dressed like any other homeless kid in Gotham — a hoodie and a jacket over it, jeans that look a size too big on him, sneakers with mismatched shoelaces — but he clearly hasn't been out in the streets for that long. His hair is braided into cornrows, and it looks professional, even if the roots have grown out so now it's just messy. What's more, he is missing that telltale wariness in his posture that Bruce has seen in every other street kid that has been brought into a police station. They always slouch and curl into themselves.

This boy is sitting with his back straight. Yet, there's a tension in his body that Bruce can only associate with a battle stance — give him the slightest reason, and the kid will lunge.

He steps into the room.

The boy — he hadn't given a name, and there wasn't a single ID on him — zeroes on him instantly. His eyes are a very pale, almost translucent green: a rather strange feature for a black-skinned person, genetically speaking, but Bruce doesn't dwell on it. Yet.

But then, the face recognition program comes up empty.

As in, 'there's not a trace of this person's prior existence' empty. Not a single camera footage, no records or reports of missing, no pictures, no social media, nothing. Bruce frowns.

"Hi," the kid says, his voice raspy, "My name is Tucker Foley. According to the government, I don't exist, so if your recognition program doesn't find anything on me, that's why."

Bruce doesn't say anything. Tucker wanted to speak with him, and previously, he was only merely intrigued by that request. However, as of right now, he wants to hear everything the kid has to say before asking any follow-up questions.

Because that always present, cautious and bordering on paranoid voice in the back of his mind tells him he is about to get into something way more serious than he expected.

Tucker moves — he kept both his hands on the table, palms open and visible, but now he closes one into a fist. Although, before Bruce can react to it, he opens it again. A small, the size of a flash-drive, dimly glowing green object rests inside.

"Do you know what this is?" The boy asks. He hasn't looked away from Batman's face once; Bruce is not even sure he blinked at all since he entered the room. Come to think of it, even with his tense, rigid posture, Tucker is too still, almost unnervingly so.

Bruce glances down to the boy's hand.

"Yes," he answers curtly, and there it is, the smallest shift in Tucker's face: he clenches his jaw like he's trying to hold the words inside his mouth. Bruce doesn't like it.

"What is it?" Comes the next question, but it's not curiosity that prompts it. It's a test of some sort. Bruce likes that even less.

"A power source," he decides on a neutral answer, not entirely certain what the boy is expecting to hear.

It seems to be a wrong answer because for the first time, Tucker's emotions slip from under his mask, and he takes a sharp breath in, looking like Bruce had just slapped him across the face. It lasts only a moment — Tucker closes his eyes for a moment, slowly exhales, and speaks again, calm and focused once more.

"And what exactly powers it?"

It's an important question, judging by the desperate, searching look in Tucker's eyes. His hands are not shaking, and there are no visible signs of distress, but for some reason, Bruce just knows that the boy's whole life seems to depend on the answer.

But.

"It's classified." Bruce doesn't take his eyes off the boy, but he still fails to see when he gets to his feet; the movement is quicker than the blink of an eye. All he knows is the aftermath of it, the screech of the chair legs on the floor and the loud slam of Tucker's palms on the table.

"Fuck the classified!" The boy yells, his face twisting in an awful mix of anger, hurt and a broken, terrified sort of hopelessness that almost breaks Bruce from the inside. "I need to know what they've told you, I have to- Tell me you think it's just a battery! Tell me you've never broke one to see what's inside, tell me you believe in science! They've showed you the research, didn't they?" Tucker's voice, so agonizingly different from the composed way he was talking before, breaks into a sobbing, almost hysterical laugh. His pale eyes are wide open and almost panicked, searching Batman's face for something he is not sure he can find.

"Tell me you've never seen one being made," this time, the boy doesn't yell, he whispers, his breath hitching and his knuckles white. "Please," he adds a moment later, and Bruce knows this kind of plea.

It's the plea of someone who is begging for the world to have mercy on them. A plea of a boy standing on their parents' grave, a plea of a man kneeled in front of his son's corpse.

Bruce swallows the bitter taste on the back of his tongue and takes a step closer. He sees the boy in front of him lean back and bend his knees, like bracing for impact, but he answers before any more misunderstandings can occur.

"I have seen the research. It provided enough information that I've never investigated further," he offers, and Tucker's shoulders slump like months and months of living in a constant state of fight-or-flight leaving his body all at once. Then, the boy's hands start trembling just slightly.

"Really?" He quietly asks, his eyes still glued to Batman, and there it is, the hesitant, uncertain hint of hope in his voice.

Bruce suddenly feels like not only this talk will be much, much worse than he ever feared, but also like in the end this will be another one of the things he will be blaming himself for. Things he could have prevented if he just tried a little harder.

"Really," he nods, taking a seat opposite from Tucker. "So explain what I've missed."

The boy keeps looking at him for a few more seconds, like trying to x-ray his thoughts for any sign of a lie. But then he blinks — for the first time, maybe — and rubs his face with his palm before all but dropping back in his own seat.

"Okay," he breathes out, evidently trying to collect himself and go back to the strong, focused self, "Okay."

[ part 2 -> ]

[chloesimaginationthings]

Michael Afton wishes he had FNAF Movie Mike's life,,

[cryptidmickle]

hough save me gay yaoi

[satoblue]

i like the thought of you never having been a sunglasses person before meeting satoru. not for fashion or for function.

before, the sun would be blazing overhead — and you’d still squint stubbornly rather than slide on the extra one you carry for him in your purse.

you used to say they made you feel like you were trying too hard to be cool, like you were pretending to be someone you weren’t (satoru definitely picks up on the way you inadvertently call him cool).

then, as fate would have it — satoru comes blazing into your life like the big fireball that is the sun itself. both blinding and impossible to ignore.

and of course, he wears sunglasses out like they are glued permanently to his skin.

but somewhere along the way, you find yourself wearing them too. you don’t know how — it simply just happened. maybe after a late night in bed when he wordlessly places his own shades on you just to see how they’d look and you’re too tired to fight it.

maybe then is when you finally start making use of the spare. and not just occasionally. always. and only bc it helped block out the annoying light. no other reason (you like to tell yourself).

and satoru notices.

he pretends he doesn’t at first. just grins with that usual cocky tilt of his head. but he definitely notices. especially when you pull an old pair of his from your purse mid walk and slip them on in sync with him.

the first time it happens, he pauses mid stride. blinks. then stares at you for a second longer than necessary before smirking.

“is that my influence i see?” satoru murmurs, failing to hide the swelling in his chest that is a mixture of pride and absolute joy — bc he already knows the answer.

“careful, sweets.” he points at your face with a serious tone like he’s warning you. “next thing you know, you’ll be walking around telling everyone you’re the strongest too.”

you roll your eyes behind the lenses, adjusting your purse over your shoulder. but the way you fidget with the strap betrays your nerves. you wonder if he thinks you look good in them. but you don’t ask.

instead you say, “oh, please. you wish.”

later that night when you’re asleep, he traces the arm of your sunglasses where they sit on the nightstand beside his. lined up perfectly — like they belong together.

and he smiles.

not his big, theatrical grin. but the smaller, softer one. the one meant only for you. bc you wear sunglasses now. and without ever saying it, you’re telling him he’s changing you in ways that stay.

and you’re letting him.

[justasecbro]

Why would you disturb him while he's watching exy games on his laptop

[nori-no-name]

Since main universe Alya is (was?) very invested in Marinette's love life, I think it would be really funny if alternate universe Alya gave 0 fucks about it.

[jimjamjomjum]

The parallels between these two haunt me.

[wyrmswyrds]

how's that rise and grind thing going for you doc?