#and this idea just sparked

[haveihitanerve]

It was 3 AM and Peter was awake. He didn't want to be awake, but insomnia didn't much care for what he wanted now did it. Peter sighed, tilting his head to look at the clock. 3:01 AM. Blinked back at him. Peter groaned, tossing his pillow at the ceiling. “Im hungry.” He muttered, and with a sigh, swung his legs out of bed. “Fri?” He whispered. “Yes Mr. Parker?” Came the quiet response. “Is everyone asleep right now?” The AI waited a beat before answering. “You are not the only one awake currently Mr. Parker, but I have been asked not to reveal the others.” Peter sighed. “Yeah okay. Thanks Friday.” he muttered. “Of course Mr. Parker.” The AI responded automatically. Peter creaked the door open, checking to make sure the hallway was empty, before sneaking down the stairs to the kitchen. He was in the process of pulling out a bowl and the cereal when something connected with his head. “Ow.” Peter groaned, turning. “Why are you awake?” Sam Wilson was seated at the island, his own bowl of cereal in front of him. “I couldn't sleep.” Peter answered back sulkily. He pulled some milk out of the fridge and poured it into the bowl before putting it back and closing the door. “Fucking hell!” He gasped, clutching his chest as Bucky appeared behind the door. “Jesus warn a guy!” Peter muttered, slowing his heart rate. Bucky smirked. “You're far too easy to scare.” “yeah wheres you Peter Tingle when you need it?” Sam added. “I hate you both.” Peter said in answer, taking a seat across from Sam. Bucky plopped down next to the Falcon, spooning his own cereal. “This is pitiful.” Peter let out a soft groan, closing his eyes as his heart rate spiked again. Sam and Bucky coughed into their food, smiling. “Hey Loki.” “It doesn't work on you assholes anymore.” Peter grumbled in answer. Bucky choked on his cereal. Loki smirked. “This sort of food is�� primitive. Isn't there better substance to be eaten at this time?” Peter looked at Sam and Bucky. Sam lifted the keys to Tony’s lamborghini. “Midnight Chipotle run?” He suggested. “Hell yes.” Bucky whooped quietly, shoving his bowl away. Loki smiled. “That should be agreeable.” “technically its three in the morning.” Peter corrected as they trooped to the front door, shoving their feet into random peoples shoes. “These are definitely yours.” Peter muttered to Bucky, lifting his feet exaggeratedly in the massive boots as they walked to the car. “Give em here.” Bucky reached for him, but Peter ducked away. “Nuhuh! I picked these i get these!” Bucky groaned, but accepted it, stomping after him in Nat’s heels. 

“Loki! Smile!” Peter called as they waited in line. Loki spun, offering a bright, surprised grin. Bucky cackled and the poor Chipotle employee just watched them in confusion. 

“Thanks guys.” Peter murmured sleepily, curled against Bucky's side as Loki drove them home. “Not a problem kiddo.” Sam grunted through gritted teeth as the god narrowly missed a fire hydrant. Bucky chuckled, smoothing some of Peters hair out of his face. “Anytime kid. Anytime.”

“Loki I swear to Thor if you hit another bike-!!!!” 

[chloesimaginationthings]

Poppy playtime got a guy worse than William Afton

[hinamie]

I don't want to regret the way I lived

[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 -> ]

[zeropro]

could you draw the lambo twins again pretty please?

Sunstreaker's an artist!

Skywarp deserves to wear make up, as a treat✨

[factual-fantasy]

After making this post with Bulkhead and Wheeljack, I wanted to try drawing the bots in my colored line art style in hopes the characters would pop a bit more.

Some hours later and this piece is finally done! I personally think the colored lines were a success! But MAN did this take a long time to draw.😩I will either have to just be extra patient when drawing the bots, or will have to start testing out those simplified redesigns ideas I have floating around 😅

[melioristicbeast]

"Knock knock! You boys up-" "NO! You can't come in, he's not DECENT!"

Stiles stilinski makes goo eyes at and jealously hoards soft derek hale send tweet

Part two of the brainworm @nerdherderette's request gave me (: Derek in stiles' clothing - the pajama bottoms are my own though (10+ years old target purchase, sadly not available anymore or i would've purchased a backup pair)

In my heart of hearts soft derek in comfy clothes makes stiles go HEART EYES MOTHERFUCKER in a markedly different way from nudity (◡‿◡✿)

[five-oh-first]

rots crack/fix-it au where somebody in the senate spread a rumour that palpatine was senile but anakin takes it very seriously. they’re at the opera and palpatine is all like “my boy, have i ever told you the tale of darth plagueis the wise?” preparing to be all evil but anakin is like “i don’t believe you have, your excellency” y’know in that tone that people speak ~encouragingly~ to kids and old people? palpatine is like ‘,:| not thinking too hard on it and continues his tale, but by the end anakin is like “wow, that sounds mighty interesting, your excellency. it’s getting late, why don’t we start heading home?” and palpatine’s evil plan is foiled because anakin believed he was an old man not fully in charge of all of his faculties, ending with a vote of no confidence

[frekyaka]

I would puke too if I saw Bill in such a getup.. 🤢

it's puke, nothing else, maybe.

[s0fter-sin]

everyone makes fun of soap when they find out how many hair and skin products he keeps on hand. the cabinet in his bathroom is filled to bursting and he always keeps travel sized bottles on him on missions

when soldiers outside the 141 find out, they call him precious and self-obsessed, a vain pretty boy too preoccupied with his reflection to focus on the enemy. no wonder how he got his callsign. price has given up telling him to leave them on base and just teaches him to individually wrap them so they don’t rattle against each other and give himself away

what they don’t know is that each product contains an ingredient that when mixed with any number of the others, creates potent chemical bombs. he was caught unarmed once, he won’t let it happen again

[sillyfairygarden]

there's magic everywhere you go

[scribblelimbo]

So I've spent the entire night doodling out a comic handling Thespius getting to touch Click's literal beating heart (on their request) based on Slipping Through Your Fingers (Go read it on AO3 if you haven't!) so I'm putting it under a read more below. It's pretty intimate and very roughly drawn so proceed if that sounds up your alley!

[ID: Two images of Thespius and Click Clack from Great God Grove, the first one shows them kissing and the second shows Thespius saying "I love you". /End ID]

[bananafire11]

Tw buggy bugs

Centipede got your tongue?

Plus a doodle

[asterisdumb]

so what if Vee was the first to get infected with the ichor but literally no one could have guessed because shes an electronic and she just thinks shes having normal bugs until its too late

[blodwyrm]

𝔰𝔞𝔡 𝔪𝔢𝔡 𝔠𝔞𝔱 ۶ৎ follow the link to offer if interested!

[blockedragon]

It almost makes sense for the Bosmer population to have a higher rate of severe allergies to common crops than other groups. Most people who had those issues in other societies would just kinda… Die. Some poor kid drops after eating some cabbage for the first time and so on.

But most Bosmer go their entire lives without eating these things. Natural selection wouldn't pressure those allergies out of the population. A byproduct of this is that Y'ffre's wrath against turncoats is very real and immediate in the minds of the Bosmer…

…Because half of them are deathly allergic to wheat.

“See children? This is what happens when you eat bread. Consigned to the ooze within minutes!”