Cosmic Funnies
titsay
i don't do bad sauce passes
Misplaced Lens Cap
Not today Justin
Sade Olutola
shark vs the universe
No title available
DEAR READER
Keni
AnasAbdin
No title available
$LAYYYTER
Janaina Medeiros
roma★
#extradirty
Xuebing Du
Peter Solarz
Jules of Nature
Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from South Korea
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Canada
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from Canada
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
@ckbookish
Batman and Nightwing Bingo?
Why not. Let the games begin...
Hmm depression
Lazarus Pit
HUH
Clark enjoys studying the meaning behind those grunts and sounds that bat makes.
he's right though!!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapter One: Blue fish...Why are they Sad?
We are overlapping and wound barbed wire Razer sharp and cold We are wool that is twisted and knotted Itching and useless Threads of fate destined to cross and cut And too snarled to make sense of who we are or how to be. May my hands bleed if it means I untangle you.
Poseidon stood listening to the city, muffled in the dingy hallway. Cars, and people, thousands of them all milling together to create this city his son was so fond of. He’d never much cared for it. The air was smoggy, the water rancid and the people–they didn’t call for his favor. Yet he knew, standing in this hallway–that there was nowhere else he would rather be. No pink sanded beaches, no mystic caverns deep in the depths where blue was black, no crimson wine wave drew him more. Knowing that didn’t make him any more at ease.
He eyed the apartment before him, something akin to fear in his gut. He didn’t fear its occupants or danger. He didn’t even fear his reception. He feared being a disappointment. They–the occupants–deserved anything and everything. Palaces, honor, feasts and displays to their glory and sacrifice–none of it would be enough or what they wanted. He reflected on the days of old where gifts were laurels, blood spilt in another’s honor and feasts that lasted days and nights. Poseidon knew that now was a better, gentler, and more peaceful time for the world. But that didn’t make this easier. He could call for all of that. He could wave his hand and make all of that easily happen. Now those things didn’t matter, they did nothing. He quietly wondered if they ever really had. All those children he’d thought he’d honored…maybe they too would have wanted something else. He pushed the haunting thought aside.
What they did or might want, Poseidon feared he couldn’t give. He couldn’t change all the pain that lived in that apartment. He knew he had been standing there too long–but he didn’t want to move yet. Instead he took it all in. The greige walls and wear worn carpet squares were oppressive. The line of doors on the hallway were the only splashes of color. But it wasn’t the wreaths or wooden initials hanging intermittently that made his heart lurch.
Their door was slightly worn around the edges, as if years upon years worth of hands had brushed over the paint leaving it rather shabby. He wondered at those previous occupants and the ghost imprints they had left behind them. The apartment behind the door was much nicer and less depressing. The only hint of the color and comfort out here though was the hall mat that had a blue fish printed on its bristled surface. The paint had been touched up several times and the shade of blue had been clearly incorrectly matched for those touch ups.
Rather than knock immediately Poseidon looked down at the fish for a moment longer considering it. He could hear muffled voices beyond the door. Lateness was not an option. Steeling himself, he raised a hand and rapped on the door three times. To his disappointment Percy did not answer.
Sally looked tired, he thought as he took in her frown, eye bags and hunched shoulders. Poseidon frowned for the smallest of seconds, then his smile broke. He doubted mortal eyes would have registered his frown at all.
“Sally.”
She looked at him in horror and his smile became even more fixed. He wasn’t used to seeing fear in her eyes, not directed at him. Even when he’d finally told her what he was–she hadn’t feared him. He felt himself cast out and around the building, no monsters would come not with his blessing and what he suspected was Athena’s too on the building.
“He just got back.” She hissed at him, her eyes narrowing into daggers. “You can’t. I just got him back.”
Poseidon stopped looking for a threat. It was plain to see what her fear was now. “I’m not here for a quest, Sally.”
The statement was small, and his voice soft. He too wanted Perseus to rest. He wanted to have the world leave him alone and let Percy live his life how he saw fit.
Whatever Sally thought, this statement had confused her. The fear didn’t leave her eyes.
The balloon of excitement he had felt coming slowly leaked out into his chest cavity and sadness bloomed. Perhaps Percy had changed his mind and did not wish to see him. He’d seemed so certain when they spoke last week, but being home and away from the horrors at last could have made him come to new conclusions. The conclusion Poseidon would have made were he Perseus. Had their family ever not cast away their fathers after great wrongs?
“Mom, who was–” The curse that Percy let loose was enough to make Poseidon’s eyebrow lift.
“I take it you did not tell your mother I was coming.” Poseidon smiled but didn’t feel it. Weariness overcame him. He would not allow his disappointment to show. Percy deserved to rage, dismiss and berate him should he choose to. Poseidon would not allow anything that could cause Percy–too forgiving as he was–to feel guilt. And so he would hide any hurt from him.
Sally turned on Percy, her eyes wide. “You–you knew he was coming?”
The question hung unasked between them all: do you want him here?
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"In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Ghost, here goes—I mean, amen."
-Perelandra, by C.S. Lewis
@supreme-leader-stoat
Dickie boy 🩵
Just thinking about Bruce and baby Dick. Angry, sassy, rage filled baby Dick Grayson... Now picture if you will Batman being good cop to Robin--angry ready to pound the face of a villain--bad cop.
Bruce hates every moment of it, not being the good cop but that Dick is not acting, not completely. He's that mad and he enjoys watching those who hurt others in pain, just a little more than he should. Bruce--looking at Richard John Grayson--is forced to look in the mirror and realize just how that same anger has been hurting him. All the years he trained to be Batman, all that anger and rage he held. It's taken this tiny, lethal child to get him to see how detrimental it is.
Maybe Bruce becomes the most gentle, grace filled, second chance giving good cop in the hopes that Robin will see how second chances and forgiveness are just a part of justice as the swift fist that they readily use against those who don't want to change. That punishment doesn't have to be cruel. Maybe Robin saves Batman because Batman has to save him.
Sword Illustrations by Ma-Ko (2018-21)
Quit ur job join our child army
A platitude?
PERRY THE PLATITUDE!?
according to all known laws of batman, a robin should not fight crime. batman hates child endangerment. the robin, of course, fights crime anyways, because robin doesn't care what batman thinks.
I heard you
Some things I can’t whisper Some words I can’t scream They die in my throat. My eyes are haunted with the ghosts of things left unsaid. Tell me you heard them anyway. Did you? Can you? Silence–it says volumes.
The big house phone was a landline from what Percy thought was the 1960s. It was discolored around the receiver handle from years of use and several of the numbers on the round dialer had faded from decades of fingers spinning it. Someone had written in the numerals with sharpe a few times over the years leaving the round spaces often smeared with finger prints of varying colors. The cord had been kinked and straightened, stretched and pulled leaving the plastic coating peeling and cracked in places and the wire underneath was covered with electrical tape in several places.
Annabeth bumped his leg with her knee gently. “It’s going to be okay, Percy.”
Percy nodded and picked up the receiver from the cradle. The dial tone sounded harsh in the silence of the office.
“You want me to dial?” Annabeth asked when Percy didn’t move.
He’d remembered her number before. But now it seemed to dissolve in his mind. “917?”
Annabeth reached across him and spun the dial. “That’s right. Then?”
“241… no 421. Er–689” Percy closed his eyes. He hadn’t slept in days. He hadn’t slept well since the fall. He had a headache and his body ached in ways that he hadn’t thought possible. He couldn’t remember his own number. It was right there but his mind felt like a drain at the bottom of a pool–over whelmed and flooded, but unable to hold a single thing in.
“6893.” Annabeth whispered her hand still pulling the dial around and round.
“Three.” Percy muttered. “I had it before.”
He had. He’d remembered but it felt like whatever the gorgon’s blood had done to recover his memories had slowly gone fuzzy. If it was the lack of sleep or something worse causing the effect, he didn’t know.
“I know.” Annabeth pushed the receiver up again to his ear. “It’s okay. You’ve not slept in a while and it’s not been a stress free few months. Give yourself a break, Percy.”
Percy allowed her to guide his hand and with his other reached out and took Annabeth’s. Her fingers wound around his. Her hands were calloused and her nails broken and dirt and blood lined the cracks in his skin. He ran his thumb along her knuckles. The ringer sounded fake in his ear, like a toy from his childhood. Most things had felt fake since coming back from Tartarus. Food tasted different, sounds were too sharp and the pitch off, even the feel of water wasn’t the same.
Annabeth had told him that he needed his ears checked and that his tastebuds had been burned by the phlegm river. While she had reassured him that the way water felt was in his imagination, he knew she was just trying to reassure him. She had no way of really knowing.
“Hello?”
Percy’s breath caught in his throat. It had been too long. He’d not heard her voice since December of last year. All worries and fears fell from his mind.
“Mom.” His voice broke on the word.
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I really love picturing the batkids having an "I need my dad" moment. Like yes, they all desperately fought for their independence and may have told Bruce they don't need him hovering over them, but they still have those days. Doesn't matter if it's one of those times where it's one bad thing after another, or they forget their wallet. All they know is that they need comfort. Of course, the bats being the bats, there's a system to this.
An interaction with a rude person? A text. Broke their favorite mug? A phone call. Woke up feeling a little off? FaceTime. Bad day at work, school, extracurricular activities? A visit to Bruce at the office. Really bad patrol? They'll stay a few days at the manor and hover around their dad. Although they'll never admit they need comfort, Bruce always has a hunch that something is wrong. Call it his parental instincts or whatever, but he's already preparing himself for the most random conversation he's about to have for the day.
I heard you
Some things I can’t whisper Some words I can’t scream They die in my throat. My eyes are haunted with the ghosts of things left unsaid. Tell me you heard them anyway. Did you? Can you? Silence–it says volumes.
The big house phone was a landline from what Percy thought was the 1960s. It was discolored around the receiver handle from years of use and several of the numbers on the round dialer had faded from decades of fingers spinning it. Someone had written in the numerals with sharpe a few times over the years leaving the round spaces often smeared with finger prints of varying colors. The cord had been kinked and straightened, stretched and pulled leaving the plastic coating peeling and cracked in places and the wire underneath was covered with electrical tape in several places.
Annabeth bumped his leg with her knee gently. “It’s going to be okay, Percy.”
Percy nodded and picked up the receiver from the cradle. The dial tone sounded harsh in the silence of the office.
“You want me to dial?” Annabeth asked when Percy didn’t move.
He’d remembered her number before. But now it seemed to dissolve in his mind. “917?”
Annabeth reached across him and spun the dial. “That’s right. Then?”
“241… no 421. Er–689” Percy closed his eyes. He hadn’t slept in days. He hadn’t slept well since the fall. He had a headache and his body ached in ways that he hadn’t thought possible. He couldn’t remember his own number. It was right there but his mind felt like a drain at the bottom of a pool–over whelmed and flooded, but unable to hold a single thing in.
“6893.” Annabeth whispered her hand still pulling the dial around and round.
“Three.” Percy muttered. “I had it before.”
He had. He’d remembered but it felt like whatever the gorgon’s blood had done to recover his memories had slowly gone fuzzy. If it was the lack of sleep or something worse causing the effect, he didn’t know.
“I know.” Annabeth pushed the receiver up again to his ear. “It’s okay. You’ve not slept in a while and it’s not been a stress free few months. Give yourself a break, Percy.”
Percy allowed her to guide his hand and with his other reached out and took Annabeth’s. Her fingers wound around his. Her hands were calloused and her nails broken and dirt and blood lined the cracks in his skin. He ran his thumb along her knuckles. The ringer sounded fake in his ear, like a toy from his childhood. Most things had felt fake since coming back from Tartarus. Food tasted different, sounds were too sharp and the pitch off, even the feel of water wasn’t the same.
Annabeth had told him that he needed his ears checked and that his tastebuds had been burned by the phlegm river. While she had reassured him that the way water felt was in his imagination, he knew she was just trying to reassure him. She had no way of really knowing.
“Hello?”
Percy’s breath caught in his throat. It had been too long. He’d not heard her voice since December of last year. All worries and fears fell from his mind.
“Mom.” His voice broke on the word.
Keep reading on AO3
I think that, as a fandom, we have given Dick entirely too much grace when it comes to the crazy shit he can undoubtedly do.
Like. This man was raised by The Batman, way back when Bruce was terrified of having a child on the streets with him, so he taught him fucking everything.
Dick can identify what bone was just broken just by hearing it snap. He can do rapid fire math, calculating the weight of a person, their muscle mass, and their general balance and snap any bone he so chooses.
He knows every single gun based off of their gunshot. There's about five pretty common and reliably used guns in Gotham and every Batkid and experienced cop can tell the difference between the five of them, but for any new sort of gun, they turn to Dick and he rattles off how many bullets, how fast a reloading time, etc etc
He knows how to mostly painlessly dislocate his shoulders and hips in order to squeeze into tiny spaces
He can wield every weapon ever used dating back to the origin of man- he's not an expert at every one but he can wield them, and non weapon objects he can turn into weapons just by wielding them
He can genuinely meditate away pain while mid fight in order to keep putting pressure on that leg that has a broken kneecap because he doesn't want to lose his balance and still wants to throw a punch with that snapped right wrist
He spent an entire summer jumping from the trees behind Wayne Manor and training his body to accept the fall and not fucking die at increasingly higher and higher heights.
He once broke out of a Riddler trap using nothing more than an eraser and a napkin
He walked around the Manor with a blindfold on for two whole months in order to be able to distinguish when someone was around or watching him and how to maneuver without sight, and then had worn blind contacts to a Gala so that even under immense stimulation unlike the absence of any at the Manor he still got the training for recognizing the good and bad
If you can hear his laugh, he can see you.
This fic is almost 7000 words. I'm so over editing, but I know if I post it without editing the last three pages I will regret it. Someone tell me to wait until tomorrow.
