i feel like rogue

  • Director Krennic: Lord Vader, have you ever considered toning it down just a bit?
  • Darth Vader, casting a 20 foot tall shadow while surrounded by golden glowing fog as he slowly descends the catwalk: I have no idea what you're talking about

I feel like if the rogues ever got in a fight with each other but didn’t want to have shoot outs or extreme violence they’d passive aggressively call the police on each other like

‘GCPD, what’s your emergency?’

‘Hello? Yes, I’d like to inform you that Edward Nigma is going to rob the Gotham City Bank at 8 pm tomorrow.’

'Alright, and what’s your name?’

'This is Jonathan Crane.’

’…sir, is this a prank call?’


I’ve never been good with riddles, and it seems I’m not all that better at drawing Riddlers

Like, seriously, there’s so many options and I couldn’t decide how to draw him yesterday so, I did the next most logical thing of course, and drew many

Last three are @neonjawbone ‘s, @harveydont ‘s, and @hermannco ‘s, I hope you mind that I drew them, they are all great and beautiful Riddlers!

yknow how theres tons of posts of rogue in a wedding dress as a joke

consider: (non-binary) rogue wearing a wedding dress to their wedding totally seriously

shopping w/ yukino and minerva and having them help rogue make sure they look perfect and glowing

sting fucking sobbing at the altar because they look beyond beautiful (and they’re in white, what a plus)

rogue feeling more beautiful and special than ever in their whole life

b y e

anonymous asked:

au where stars are watching humans

 observer effect

i. stars get it wrong, of course–they assume too much phosphorus and not enough fear of death, pulsar instead of pulse. They leave out uncertainty, not knowing what it was above the subatomic level; the softer shades of melancholy and the gentler warmths. But they get the shape right, the brighthot of blood. They get that right too.

ii. all their metaphors are for burning, and they ascribe to soft tongues a taste for sulfur, fingers at the ends of spiral arms. They drink liquid helium from a cracked Dewar flask and wonder aloud if humanity is looking up, looking back.

(how cold they must be, the stars’ carbon cousins–wet and cold, and can humanity do arithmetic in parallax, do you think, counting parsecs between two stars in inexorable collision?

it’s called a kiss, cygnus X-1 says quietly. they call it a kiss.)

iii. they say when you feel your child’s protoplanetary disc first differentiate, you will cry tears of methane.

iv. it’s called the Kindling, when the faint sheen of protostellar mass catches alight, and burns with all the brightness of adulthood. Protostars of thirteen stand around bathroom mirrors, examining their helium layer for bright spots, looking for stray molecular clouds in their nail beds. All of them are in love with the astrophysics teacher, whose stellar wind sends flickers of light across the meteor fields.

late at night (but what is night to a star?) they trace the spiral arms of their evolving galaxies, and dream dry dreams of neutron star collisions hotter than blue hypergiants.

v. we are made of starstuff, says a man, craning his thread-slender neck, looking up into the abyss of wind and fire of the universe.

oh, breathes a star, squinting down at the infinitesimal speck of rock, turning and turning in the vastness of space. oh. 

we didn’t have a name for us, before.

i feel like the universe where we got this like, cool rebellious rogue christmas elf link who escapes the north pole to become a teen pop sensation and ends up having to save the world/christmas from aliens along the way is the same universe where we got danny devito as wolverine and id like to visit that universe for maybe a day just to see what its like but god am i glad i dont live there