#these are free to good home btw

[aethersea]

📚 [sorry I didn't know what book to go with so I picked many haha]

You send multiple books, you get multiple fics! Kinda. See, I really want to read the stories that the people of Gotham come up with about their resident vigilante cryptids—rumors, urban legends, wattpad rpf with dubious content warnings, all of it. I have a whole list of increasingly insane theories about what the batfam’s whole deal even is, but I never got any further than writing the frame story for one of them.

Some highlights from the list include:

Batman is a warlock and Robin is a demon bound to serve him. When ten years are up, Robin gets Batman’s soul.

Batman and Robin live in the sewers and can pop up anywhere in Gotham via manhole covers. They’re always fighting Killer Croc for real estate.

Obligatory vampire theory! Batman is a vampire and Robin is the person he feeds from. If Robin dies, Batman will go into a frenzy of bloodlust and drain half the city dry.

Robin is a trickster spirit who helps Batman out because it’s fun, and because the Joker’s bad sense of humor pisses him off. Batman has to keep him constantly entertained or he’ll run off and join the Riddler.

Cass (in her terrifying void-black costume) is the vengeful shade of the previous Batgirl, who finally clawed her way back from the afterlife and is here to take no prisoners.

Vampire theory v2: This Time With Duke! Everyone’s a creature of night and darkness except Signal, who is the sun incarnate. STRONG teen paranormal romance vibes, heavy-handed metaphors of self-destructive love or something, definitely involves shipping Signal with one or more batkids.

Batman is a professional comedian who got sick of Joker’s bad clowning. Things got out of hand.

Batman & Robin aren’t real. Criminals are making them up. 

One of my favorites, though, is the theory that Robin is the ghost of a murdered child, who wants revenge for his murder but, in the meantime, is willing to help Batman make sure no more children end up like him. This would be a story written by one of Dick’s classmates, maybe for English class. Dick reads it and it’s a whole emotional roller coaster ride, especially the scene where Robin’s ghost looks in on his living parents, as he does often to make sure they’re safe, and wishes more than anything that he could hold them and be held by them just one more time.

[faeriekit]

The Foster Mother

Now on ao3 and VHS release

There was, supposedly, someone waiting for him in the green sitting room.

“…Why?” Tim asked. Most of the usual suspects had already come by to give their “condolences”—former Drakes Industries investors, curious about the newly orphaned heir; fellow socialites, once again flocking in to give and receive sympathies for their “close friends, the Drakes”; gawkers come to see what they could scavenge off of a dead family’s home, never mind that their child was alive.

“She claims to know you, Master Tim,” Alfred offered, kettle in his hand. He spent a moment deciding between different two canisters of tea; a sign of possibly difficult future conversation. “Her interest in your father's estate seemed quite…minimal.”

…Alright.

Tim was still in his formalwear. Dissolving Drake Industries would take at least another year, and plenty of future hours cementing the future home of certain resources in their dissolution, but the outfit probably was more appropriate for whatever oncoming conversation that was about to ensue than his planned change into Dick’s old hoodie and board shorts.

Okay. Tim steeled himself. The self-determination…mostly worked. Whatever. He trudged up into the green sitting room from the kitchen with his usual introduction ready on his tongue.

And then Tim walked into the room.

And then Jazzy was there.

*

Tim had been three, and Miss Jasmine had been his had been his third nanny. He’d outgrown the wetnurse early on, and his second nanny had been dismissed, so although Miss Jasmine was the third nanny, she was first nanny Tim could consciously remember.

She’d had red hair. She’d been very gentle with him.

She got him up in the morning and put him to bed at night; for the first time, there had been someone who sat with him until he was asleep, reading all sorts of books his parents had left to engage him with as an early genius. Then, when those were over and done as promised to his parents, they got unauthorized books from the library: silly books with made-up words, dinosaur books, books about teddy bears and adventures around the world.

Tim hadn’t been allowed to travel the world. Tim hadn’t been allowed a teddy bear. His parents had thought it would encourage undue attachment.

(It had been the same reason he’d never been given a pacifier.)

Miss Jazz had given him a knitted bunny. She’d said her dad had made it especially for him.

The toy’s name was Bunny and Tim remembered him being very soft.

She didn’t smile all the time, but smiles were rewards that were easy to earn. He finished his meal and she smiled. He finished an educational puzzle and she smiled. He was quiet all through her phone call and she smiled, and answered all his questions once she was done.

Jazzy had been the first person in his life who was there all the time. She’d kissed his forehead after the bath and kissed his scraped knees; she’d carried him in his arms when he was tired and sometimes even when he wasn’t. His parents had wanted him to be independent, proactive, and not clingy, but Jazzy had been someone who he could run to from his bed when he’d had nightmares and someone he could cuddle on her lap with when he’d cried.

She was gone when he was seven. He didn’t remember why. His parents had probably never told him, but still; he'd assumed he'd have found out why eventually.

Jazzy looked the same right now as she looked in Tim’s memories, although she was likely no longer a college student at a nannying gig. Her red hair was pulled into a high bun, her dress modest and conservative from her neck to her ankles. There was a backpack beside her foot. She was sitting, one leg crossed over the other, on the high-backed loveseat in the green sitting room.

She looked up when he came in.

Tim. Stopped in his tracks.

It didn’t matter. Jazzy—Miss Jasmine stood up as soon as she saw him, eyes alight with worry. Foggy memories were swimming to the forefront of Tim’s brain. He couldn’t move.

“Tim?” Ja—Miss Jasmine asked, teal eyes raking over his frame. Tim froze where he was. He didn’t move, wide-eyed and terrified for no reason at all when Miss Jasmine got closer to him, at a distance that was more appropriate for a conversation.

She stood there. Watching him. It felt like his mother had just come home from her trips with Dad, and a ghost of old terror wafted through him as he waited for her to decide he’d done something wrong. Her voice got softer. Her eyes got softer. Why was Tim feeling so wrong-footed?? It was only a former staff person!

“Tim?” her voice was so gentle. “I don’t know if you remember me. I’m—“

“M’s Jazz,” Tim croaked. Which. Wasn’t the level of formality he’d been going for, but better than Jazzy. He wasn’t a toddler anymore.

Miss Jasmine was so tall—honestly, was she taller than Bruce? She’d seemed insurmountable as a child; he hadn’t expected her height to truly be so statuesque as an adult.

(Or. Well. Almost an adult.)

She didn’t quite kneel down, but she did stoop lower, as if Tim was small and he needed to be on equal footing in order to have a serious conversation.

He could see all her freckles. Tim swallowed. It was too familiar. Everything about her was too familiar.

“You’re so big now,” Jazzy whispered, looking at his hair, his suit, his polished shoes. He didn’t feel it. “Oh, you’ve grown up so well.”

Thanks, Tim almost said. Something stopped him—something thick in his throat, to impassable to break through.

“I—“ he tried. He coughed. “Why…you… You’re here?”

Jazzy threw him an incredulous look, and then an incredibly wry one. “Well,” she drawled a little too primly, in the way that Alfred occasionally made obvious statements, “I’d think it obvious that when one’s parents have passed away, that those who care about you might come to check and see if you’re alright.”

Which. That didn’t make sense. Jazzy hadn’t come back for any other reason; she hadn’t come back for his mother’s funeral, nor when his father was injured publicly by a villain. Why start now?

“And,” Jazz added, seeing his visual confusion and distrust, “Your parents can’t exactly threaten me with a kidnapping charge for visiting you when they’re dead.” Pause. “Which I am sorry about. My condolences.”

Which. Whiplash. What a statement.

“Uh,” said Tim, who was rapidly losing control over the situation.

Jazzy stood again, and went back to her seat; she didn’t set herself down, though, as she only stooped to grab her backpack. “I am sorry for being unable to visit, although I really wanted to; you were at a very vulnerable age and had already moved into a class a year above you, and your parents should have been less hasty about replacing your main caretaker. The assassination attempts were unwarranted, but they did drive the point home that attempting contact was perhaps discouraged.”

“What,” said Tim. “Assassin what.”

“They were ninjas,” Jazzy offered, as if that was an answer. “Except the last one, which was a former marine. The point is that I do care about you, and wanted to ask if you had any idea where you’re going now that your parents are no longer…available guardians.”

Tim’s mouth opened. It closed.

Jazzy waited patiently.

“…How have you been?” Tim tried, resorting to a part of the script they hadn’t gone through yet.

Jazzy’s laugh was tired, but no less real. It was nothing like listening to his parents titter politely; he didn’t think Jazzy would even know how to fake a laugh. “Well, my brother told me that my former bosses had died, which was somewhat stressful. Otherwise, I’m pretty happy: I live with my brother and worked with him for the last few years. I was going to pursue medicine, but…well. The assassination attempts made it hard to interview for scholarships. I suppose that I could return to that now,” Jazzy mused, attention now elsewhere. She pulled the backpack off the floor and up into her grip. She opened it, and flipped through its contents. “How are you doing? I know that Wayne Manor fosters, but your parents were always rather…hands off. I thought the difference in levels of attention might be overwhelming.”

It was. Tim should be surprised how clearly she sees through him—

—But Jazzy used to watch him stim for almost a full hour after school, twisting Bunny’s arms back and forth until he could calm down. Seeing other people all day had been too much for him. Coming home from his parents’ parties had been similarly stressful.

She’d never been mad at him for it. She held him while he talked and stimmed and talked and talked and talked, and brushed his hair sometimes, or if it was very late and he was very young, helped him brush his teeth through all the medieval execution facts he could name.

“It is a lot to get used to,” Tim agreed quietly. He didn’t want to be ungrateful. He didn’t want to let on anyone about his plan to leave.

He had an out. The papers had already been filed; there was an actor waiting to play his uncle for a custody battle, ready for the fight.

Tim was ready to up and go. It was no hardship to leave all the good things here; anything beat making Bruce stick his fingers into Tim any deeper than they already were, compromising the dynamic they’d already established.

It was for the best.

“I can imagine,” Jazzy sympathized easily. “And I wanted to offer—well. I know there’s probably a lot of choices available to you, but my brother and I recently moved back to Gotham proper for the time being. He’s teaching astronomy courses at the university and I’m filing paperwork for Arkham patients. It’s not so privileged a home, but it’s quieter, and more central in town.”

…Tim’s heart skipped.

He. He couldn’t stop staring. Jazzy stared back at him, quiet and sure. Sure of what, Tim had no idea, but…

Why? Why would she want Tim? There was no way she would be able to get to his trust fund without his help, and he for sure knew better than to enable her ability to leech from him. The last time she’d known him, Tim had been a snot-nosed kid who cried all the time and couldn’t be normal for twenty consecutive minutes. His parents couldn’t even stand to be on the same hemisphere as him as a child. What appeal did this have for her?? What could having a teenager with severe baggage living in her house do for her?

And it’s not like there was any chance she knew he was Robin!

“Oh,” Jazzy suddenly interrupted. “I brought these for you, by the way. Your parents had tossed them out at various points; I’ve washed them since, of course.”

She handed him the backpack by the handle.

…Tim peeked inside.

On top was Bunny, still a washed-out faded sort of pink. He looked as fresh as he had the day when Tim’s parents had ”cleaned out” Tim’s nursery—in other words, a faded, a little gray, and slightly discolored from an old spaghetti stain. His button eyes were big and blue.

And beneath him were books that hadn’t passed his father’s muster as appropriately masculine reading material: The Velveteen Rabbit, with the cover a little scarred from a fierce attack of wet wipes. There’s A Monster at the End of This Book, with a goofy-looking Muppet on the cover, gold spine beat up beyond belief. Art Tim’s teacher at the time must have laminated and sent home; Tim’s dorky, crayon cat proved he would never make it as an artist, but attached to it was a photograph of a grinning boy with a bowl cut and a missing tooth.

Tim stared. There’d been purple marker on his hands and face. His grin looked…really bad, actually, like as if he was baring his teeth because he didn’t know how to smile. There was no formal grace there. Nothing to show the neighbors, nothing worth framing to put into the line of sight of the investors in the office.

Jazzy had kept it and brought it home with her. Jazzy had fished it out of the trash, and brought it with her to give back to him in Gotham.

It was crinkled like it’d been folded, over and over again. Further down in the bag was a crumpled certificate dedicated to “Timmy Drake, for: knowing a lot about octopi”, and a baby blanket Tim didn’t even remember. It had rocket ships on it. It looked as if someone had cut into it with scissors, although it had been obviously and brightly mended with red embroidery floss later on.

Jazzy had only been his nanny until Tim was seven. She had simply been gone one night, and Mom and Dad had been home for ten nights after without help before giving in and hiring Mrs. McIlvane and Mrs. Edith. Ms. Edith had never been so…permissive…with Tim as Jazzy had been.

Tim swallowed. He carefully put everything back into the backpack, unsure if he even wanted to keep it or not. It wasn’t like he could leave it here; he’d be gone, ideally, before the week was out. There was no point in taking it with him if he only planned to live with a stranger until he was eighteen.

“J…” Tim tried. He cut himself off before he could get too informal without prompting. “Miss Jasmine—“

“Just Jazz,” Jazzy corrected politely.

“—Why are you here?” Tim asked, ignoring how she’d technically already answered. He didn’t believe her. “What made my parents fire you?”

Jazzy’s expression turned…soft. Tim couldn’t look at her. Something horrible was welling with it, and he didn’t know how to cope.

“I’m here because I care about you,” Jazz repeated, and knelt beside him. She looked up into his face, and took his hand. Tim didn’t know why. He was practically an adult—he didn’t need this!

“And I was fired because your Mother overheard you calling me ‘Mommy’ on accident when you were tired. I suppose she was insulted, although I’d never know why; it’s not like she was ever home to bond with you in the first place.”

Tim’s throat closed. He missed his mom. He missed waiting up for his parents’ flight home, seeing their headlights outside the window, and knowing they’d bring home gifts from overseas. He missed using Mom’s perfume, and knowing he’d used more of the bottle sitting on her dressed than she ever had, but that it still smelled like her. He missed hearing his Dad telling all sorts of adventure stories and promises through the phone to be home for the holidays, even if Tim knew there was every chance he’d find some other way to spend the time back in Gotham.

And there was some small child in him who missed Jazzy, who hugged him and walked him to the library and made him soup from a can instead of fancy dinners and, who’d never needed to be waited for in the first place.

Tim looked at Jazzy’s round, freckled face.

He swallowed.

Tim moved out before the end of the week, as expected.

[holmsister]

Au in which kabru is this super celebrity. Probably an unusual sort, like a short-lived races rights activist that started out as a model but then people started getting into his politics podcast. He started out as extremely online but by now he has been like... interviewed by the dunmeshi equivalent of conan O'brien. He's a household name people on the street recognise him.

One time it's like 3am and he goes to get a real dinner after this unending after party where they only served drinks and he's just so fucking tired of being himself you know? He just wishes he could be a fucking nobody for a bit.

Enter the waiter at this cafe. His name tag says Laios. He's blonde and 185cms tall. He gets Kabru's name wrong three times and stutters when Kabru calls him 'darling'. Kabru falls in love immediately.

[hyperfixationtimego]

I love you fucked up tv shows I love you gorey movies I love you traumatized characters who perpetuate the cyclical nature of abuse while still managing to remain sympathetic I love you intentionally morally ambiguous media that exists specifically to pose questions about psychology, ethics, and human nature I love you unflinching examinations of what it means to dance the line between acceptable and unacceptable behaviors I love you I love you I love you

[chompe-diem]

ok i've listened to the latest ep now and u cannot tell me albin and sol are not qpr. sorry but they are bonded 4 lyfe like that. we already knew this but now it's finally canon. Do Not Ask Caldwell Or Murph but it's canon. i'm not crazy-

[soo-won]

Rereading the beginning of the Eunyung's Home arc right now and yeah...when Eunyung's mom tells him "why don't you just apologize? Why do you bring up the school play event again after so many years?" it really connects with what Eunyung says to Haejoon in ch201, huh. That it would be so nice if he was nice like Haejoon and could accept everything and not be so hung up on things like that. Maybe if he was like Haejoon his relationship with his mother could be better?(I don't think so. but Eunyung maybe does).

But in parallel we also see how this aspect of Eunyung, being hung up on things and staying angry can also be helpful. It's because Eunyung is like that that he doesn't let Haejoon apologize to his mom when he shouldn't have to. It's because he is like that that he makes Haejoon have a medical diagnosis after his homeroom teacher hit him. It's because he is like that the bullying situation in the Marie arc could be resolved as well. As Haejoon says, it's also thanks to Eunyung that he could sort out things with his uncle and receive more allowance. This side of Eunyung that every adults around him try to make him suppress is good and healthy. It's this anger that causes change. It makes things harder for him and it causes more ruckus, sure, but Haejoon's acceptance in these moments is hurtful as well, it doesn't resolve the issue at hand, it just makes him carry all the burden. Haejoon grew up wanting to cause the less problems and worries possible to his mom (and now his uncle) and avoids confrontations with adults as a result (also a direct consequence of when he lost his mother probably), while Eunyung grew up fantasizing about his parents receiving punishments for all their abuse. The consequences were so bad to him when he tried it's the one thing he gave up on though, so it's no surprise he lashes out whenever else he can.

When you think about it it's also connected to their level of trust in adults. Haejoon relatively trusts adults. If you take the New Dorm arc, Haejoon was planning to tell other adults about the situation there, before Eunyung told him not to (pretty violently lol) because he can't trust adults to deal with it or believe them. So Eunyung uses his own way to deal with it and it works! But Haejoon trusts adults to deal with other adults and yeah. That's how it should be and go. But Eunyung presents the "but" of this. That's how it should be, but in some cases it doesn't work because adults are douchebags, and for Eunyung it's the majority of them. Haejoon grew up with a good(even if not perfect) mom getting angry for him so he knows good adults exist. He also was moved by Juwan's mom's kindness as well(even if that makes him embarassed too). Eunyung doesn't, though, so he has to rely on himself and get angry for himself, because otherwise who will?

Writing all this I'm like....yeah No Home is all about balance. Haejoon and Eunyung searching for the right amount of distance and closeness in their relationship. Searching for the balance in their distrust of adults too. Eunyung can't trust adults for very understandable reasons, but the arc with Haejoon's uncle shows us that adults are simply struggling sometimes and trying their best, even if they're clumsy. It's true Haejoon's uncle was drinking, but he's not an irredeemable piece of shit like his father either. But it was a situation where Haejoon couldn't rely on any adults either, after all his uncle is basically his only family left. And that's why Eunyung's point of view was so helpful.

Idk man I just love the hundreds of layers in this manhwa so much. Like it's not just "the best is not to be extreme <3 not too much not too little" it's "sometimes you have no choice but to be too much. Sometimes it's destructive, though. But sometimes it's the only solution. And /sometimes/ you need a bit of the two. Sometimes both solutions work equally well. Sometimes the consequences are bad and sometimes everything ends well" like yeah life really be complicated and unpredictable like that. There isn't one guide to follow and that will work no matter what, you constantly have to adapt to the situations and people around you. Something something Eunyung and his father but if I don't end this post now I never will.

[kannibalkaiii]

🦈 Mauga won my poll

He's a big ol Tiger Shark y'all

Im glad he did cuz I feel this suits him.

-

Og sketch below cut

[cuntrytaylor]

i opened my hinge for a quick second today and some girl sent me a message diagnosing me w autism 😭😭😭

[momentomori24]

Ahhh, the September 5th. The day after the 5 year anniversary of the Sans being in Smash reveal. *blows kiss at my 12 year old self* Happy anniversary of a very happy memory to you too, you little unhinged maniac. This is all for you.

[magikmaelstrom]

@rockstonewizard I need a fire mana stone. I will give you this rock in exchange.

trust me, it's for a good cause.

[hawkeyedflame]

.

[roguetelepaths]

concept. ex-Borg Bajoran saves the metal from their implants after getting them removed, and melts them down to make a new earring

[currentlylurking]

Every few months my brain conveniently misplaces my band class trauma and lack of skill with rock music to think about making a Dumpty Humpty concept album full of songs loosely connected to DP characters and plot events.

Anyway I dug up old lyrics I wrote for them last night and now I'm hyperfocused.

[dreamytrashdoe]

I saved nearly 340 wishes waiting for Arlecchino over the last few months. I normally have terrible luck and haven't won a 50/50 since my very first 5 star character banner (I've since gotten 12 additional and have lost every 50/50 along the way). Normally I need to wish roughly 160 times to secure the banner specific 5 star.

Anyway, my pity was about 20 and I did my first ten pull on Arlecchino.... she was the first wish, and on a 50/50. I won my 50/50.... with only 10 wishes spent. I literally stood up and began pacing while nearly crying. Thank you genshin. Thank you father 😭😭💕💕💕💕💕

[liebelesbe]

it's so fucked that I need a note from the doctor to stay home. bro I'm sick!! just trust me!!

[ridgystacis]

imma write down some quick thoughts on narratives as living things real quick

Deltarune has got itself a really healthy narrative, alright? It's thriving, its guiding the path in the background, tangible yet invisible. It's the ferris wheel scene for Noelle and Susie -- a convenient set-up marks the deft hand of fate moving to direct the pieces and roles into their correct places, narrative framing, art. Its vigor is its emotion, the satisfaction one feels and it fuels within a desire to live and experience with it. You can feel it within every sequence, the warmth of a song for you.

And then you got the narrative in something like Devil May Cry 5. This narrative is rotting, full decay. The characters must play roles that don't fit them, it's oozing and slippery and they fall into patterns, moving further along with no ability stop what is mundane now. It's later seasons of sitcoms, stories repeating again and again except that it's not a cycle, it's a spiral, and it's been spoiling this entire time. Why do Dante and Vergil have to fight? It's because they're the protagonist and antagonist of an action game that refuses to ever let them die because it has one story it wants to tell. As the narrative dies they corrode with it, continuing to play out their roles and awaiting to be fossilized in them.

so like, games where the narrative is a living, breathing thing am i right?