#shitposting. kinda

[bopbop171]

had to Google what an APV was for this

[shroombell]

"starscream, crank that soulja boy!"

[solarg0blin]

Ego, Miettam leviter pedis latere tangens: Mietta, movere, ne in te incurram

Mietta, oculis magnis: tu Miettae calcem IMPINGIS? illius corpori sicut folli calcem impingis?! eheu! eheu! In carcerem Mater conjiciatur! In carcerem in Mille Annos conjiciatur!!!!

Millions of thanks to @alda-rana for a much, much better translation

[thatguywhodoesstuff]

Hmm…

[bookwyrminspiration]

my experience reading the murderbot diaries 👍

[voice-o-fallacy]

This u? /j

Jokes aside though this is such a good fic. Please consider reading it if you haven’t :]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Look Outside (Video Game) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Hellen/Sam (Look Outside) Characters: Hellen (Look Outside), Sam (Look Outside) Additional Tags: First Kiss, Post-Canon, Ending: No Going Back (Look Outside), Romantic Fluff, Post-Apocalypse, you can probably tell the author is aromantic and fought demons to write this, first kiss as in first kiss together Summary:

Over a year after the world ended, live continued to move on. Plenty of people still lived in the apartment and needed supplies. Sam’s group spends the night in a store while out scavenging.

When he can’t sleep, he sits with Hellen.

It’s a comfortable routine.

[eirawashere]

Three brooos chillin in a hot tub five feet apart cau- *gunshots*

[heyhanibee]

more kataang twitter shenanigans🗣️🗣️

[justarandomart]

yeh

[quarzy]

why did he do that

[queewp]

redrawing a stupid thing my friends edited hehe

[fabahater]

drew this in like 5 minutes to cope with the catastrophic 7n7 lore drop we all got earlier over on twt

[unsung-idiot]

Bill was not frilled about that!

Bonus:

[raggedii]

stay safe 💔

[likopinina]

[thebibliosphere]

I’m ill and miserable so I’m tinkering with my Pennyworth universe fics and giving myself emotions about Patricia Wayne, of all people.

Non-Pennyworth fans can scroll on if you want, but do we think, just for a moment, that Bruce might adopt his party boy persona a little bit from his Aunt Pat?

I do. I think he looked at his bottle blonde auntie with her giant sunglasses, ditzy demeanor, cigarette always in hand, rumored to have a coke spoon up her sleeve, and a different lover ever week and saw someone sad and hurting but also someone smart enough to put up the exact kind of facade that lets her maneuver through their world, this high society minefield of gossip, judgement and scrutiny, and force people to look the other way out of sheer mortified scandal.

“Did you hear what Patricia Wayne got up to last week?”

“No, tell me.”

She’s all anyone can talk about. This ditzy socialite heiress with her too blonde hair and her too short dresses. Too loud, too bold, too much.

But none of them really know her.

The real her—the auntie with the sad eyes and the biggest smile who used to show up out of nowhere and take him for ice cream in the middle of the school day much to Martha’s annoyance.

The auntie who used to stand behind his father and mimic his serious facial expressions just to make Bruce laugh.

The auntie who showed up to the school run one time looking like a Christmas tree, hair still in foils from the salon because Alfred got detained and when Tommy called to ask she left before the hairdresser had a chance to take them out.

His Auntie Pat who lets him ask questions about the sister he never met and who everyone else is too sad to talk about.

Patricia Wayne who appears at Wayne Manor the moment she heard about Tommy and Martha’s deaths, looking pale and gaunt, aged about a hundred years in the time it took to drive from New York to Gotham because while flying might have been quicker, driving let her scream and howl her grief out because Bruce is a quiet child who needs quiet words and Patricia has never been very good at that but for him she’ll do it. She’ll rip her vocal cords out to give him the quiet solace he needs if that’s what it takes.

Patricia Wayne who signs over full custody to Alfred Pennyworth the moment she can because she loves Bruce but knows herself well enough to know that she’d be a terrible co-parent but also because it makes her want to jump into Gotham harbor with stones in her pockets seeing Tommy looking up at her from behind his eyes.

Auntie Pat who dips in and out of his adolescence like a lightning strike, teaches him how to act and move and glide through the world his parents tolerated and Alfred only knows how to interact with from the sidelines.

Teaches him how to flirt and charm and smile, how to be a darling of the press while never giving anything away.

Auntie Pat who catches him hiding in his parents old bedroom at a party, looking at himself in Martha’s old mirror and listens to the heartbreak in his voice when he admits he can see Martha’s features fading in his face as his jaw squares out. Pat pierces his ear for him, holding a needle over a flame, so he can wear one of Martha’s earrings, Thomas’s cufflinks on his wrists.

Patricia Wayne who watches him start to bulk out. Sees the bruises and cuts that definitely don’t come from polo practice or whatever the fuck Bruce claims they’re from.

Patricia Wayne who looks Alfred dead in the eye when a caped crusader begins stalking the streets of Gotham and remarks loudly at a party that she has no idea where Bruce has got to, but if she had to guess, he’s been detained by a pretty face. You know how Tommy was at his age, the apple never falls far from the tree…

She’ll never ask, and Alfred will never tell, but she’s always got an alibi ready.

Bruce was with her the whole time, officers. Batman? Don’t be absurd. He’s a Wayne. What kind of family do you think they are? Why, you might as well accuse her dearly departed brother of being a secret agent for the government. His wife too while you’re at it. Honestly, the nerve…

Patricia Wayne who coos sweetly at eight year old Dick but tells him quite seriously if he ever calls her “Great Aunt Patricia” ever again she’s taking the toaster for a bath.

She hasn’t had this much work and Botox done for nothing, thank you very much.

I dunno man. I just want him to have someone in his life that when the Brucie Wayne persona jumps out the whole of upper Gotham goes, “oh, he got those Wayne genes. Oh okay. Carry on.”