#Don’t know when though

[mimikip4744]

Pom Headcannons (+ art)

These are my headcannons for this character, if you don’t agree that’s totally fine. I just felt like sharing :)

Since I’ve heard people refer to her as both Lisa and Pom, I’ve decided that her full name is Elisabeth Pomeranian, with Pom as a preferred nickname

HATES the nickname ‘Lisa.’ It reminds her of home. Yeah she doesn’t like her family that much.

Loves dogs, and was ecstatic when she found out she would constantly be working with one in the rescue corps

Was and is a beach girl. Karut has a rather hot climate with plenty of beaches. She has tan skin and freckles as a result of staying in the sun all day. She also constantly looks sunburned

Is pretty fuckin strong. Growing up around beaches has resulted in her being a really strong swimmer, and she can lift around 3 times her own body weight if she wanted to. Shepherd and Dingo were absolutely HUMBLED the first time they saw her in action, as she’s not someone who looks strong at first glance.

contrary to how Olimar and Louie appear to be some kind of Bad luck magnet, Pom is like a lucky charm. She’s not incredibly lucky, but she was lucky enough to find Shepherd almost immediately after finding Collin, among other small things like getting to shelter just moments before a storm, or finding a lucky coupon for her favorite restaurant on the street out of nowhere.

she’s one of those people who look cute and dainty but can and will kick your ass

If she had to pick a favorite Pikmin, she wouldn’t be able to, but she would tell you that she likes that the blues can swim with her

She likes to work out with dingo

her and Bernard have a sister/brother type relationship. They spend a lot of time together and often go eat together. They also act as each other’s wingman should either of them get into a relationship.

she gets pretty scary when she’s mad. Like she even freaks out those she’s not mad at. Her usual peppy tone deepens into growls, and her eyes narrow into slits.

[ethereance]

Part 3 of the allurance social media au:

<<First <Previous

[chloesimaginationthings]

William Afton winning that “idgaf” award in FNAF

[peachyykira]

.

[gongyussy]

“if you could pick up another language, what would it be?”

“i’d go russian. i’d love to know what geno says or has said over the years… i’d love to know 🥰 i just want to know (giggles) 🥰”

[gatoburr0]

I HATE how this turned out WITH A PASSION.

[morganbritton132]

I know I already posted about a Wrong Number AU today but consider: Stobin Edition.

Robin gets a text from someone saying they had a great time at the party last night. They wish they lived closer. Robin is just like… “Wrong number, Buckaroo.”

Steve texts her back like, ‘no way, for real? she put her number in wrong??’ Followed ten minutes later by another text saying he reverted some of the numbers and texted those, and got a dick pick back so, ‘safe to say that was not her. Bummer.’

‘Yeah. She was probably the one. You fucked up.’

‘That’s fucked up to say to someone!’

And then he…doesn’t stop texting? Robin finds him mildly amusing, and then actually hilarious, and suddenly they’re texting all day and she privately thinks of him as her best friend.

Steve told her his name at one point but then also sent her a pick of an ingrown hair on his chest and well, he’s Harry now. Steve calls Robin ‘Penguin’ (since Robin is a comic book character and she’s not cool enough to be Batman) but has forgotten that.

She’s literally in class texting him about how much she hates the guy that sits in front of her. He’s getting bagel crumbs everywhere! And Steve is texting back like, ‘lol, kill that guy with a rock. He sucks.’

Then they find out that they’ve been texting each other the whole time at Scoops Ahoy when Robin goes to put her number in Steve’s phone.

[bloobydabloob]

maybe a rq- have you ever drawn terezi? would love to see hir in your style

Nyeeeesss I have, but only every once in a while and all of the ones I have are very old and not very good at all. Have these quick things

[ciderjacks]

despite Laios low self esteem making him think that if he’d been eaten, Chilchuck and Marcille wouldn’t have helped Falin,

theres a small part of me that thinks the reason Chilchuck stayed with the party and went back in the dungeon in the first place was because he didn’t want to leave Laios alone. That Laios was moreso the reason he stayed.

[the-real-list-of-ominous-threats]

You cannot cry. You must craft.

[wyvernspirit]

The one big thing out of seeing all the hermits irl for me is that people need to do more fanart with Pearl being really fucking tall

[greenglowinspooks]

(DCxDP) The obligations of a rogue versus those of a parent (Pt. 4)

—

Tw: descriptions of body horror, Dr. Crane has PTSD and Does Not Realize, Crane has an actual panic attack and just doesn’t care, the Riddler makes one (1) sex joke about Batman

Will be crossposted to AO3 eventually

(Pt. 1 here) (Prev here) - (Pt. 5 here)

(Masterlist here)

—

Dr. Jonathan Crane is in his lab, the acrid scent of chemicals filling the air, and his hands are shaking.

Danny’s health, for the first week that he had him, had been steadily improving at an extremely quick rate. However, his healing had begun to stagnate. Danny said that it was because his body had run out of ectoplasm, and that while there was a lot of ambient ectoplasm in Gotham, he needed a stronger type in order to heal.

And so, that led Dr. Crane here.

He had stolen the research notes from the Penguin years ago regarding his experimentation on him.

(He quite vividly remembers the sound of bone creaking and groaning as it twisted, lengthened. The squelching of shifting tendons and muscles, the strange fabric-like tightening of skin. The feeling of going from man to monster, of losing all claim to his humanity.)

Danny had called him Liminal, part ghost. He had said that he was transformed by, among other things, a kind of synthetic ectoplasm.

Danny needed ectoplasm.

Crane had the research notes. He had every ingredient necessary. And yet, attempt after attempt failed.

The chemical smell burns his nose. His hands tremble.

Dr. Crane is not afraid.

He doesn’t feel fear anymore. He’s tried to, many, many times, but nothing has worked. And yet, his hands are shaking still.

(The horrifying sensation of vertebrae pop-pop-popping along his spine, growing and lengthening. The unbearable itching beneath his skin as toxin glands begin to form. The feeling of his teeth sharpening and elongating, of his skull growing, of his vision changing and brightening. The awful stench of chemicals. The awful stench of ectoplasm.)

Jonathan takes careful note of his shaking hands, his blurring vision, his accelerated heart-rate and shallow breathing.

(Human hands. Human vision. Human heart and lungs and organs.)

He takes note of them, but he does not let that distract him from the task at hand. Danny is not a chemist, but Jonathan is.

The boy knows enough about chemistry in theory, but he won’t go anywhere near Crane’s equipment. He seems to have some sort of intense fear of laboratory settings, probably developed during his stay with the GiW, and Crane is willing to respect that, if only because he cannot afford to lose him.

As such, Crane is the only one qualified to do this. And, unfortunately, if he isn’t successful the boy may very well die.

He heats the chemicals to precisely the right temperatures, adding each one to its correct container.

Dr. Crane thinks of the Scarebeast, that creature born of cruelty and greed and a sense of superiority. That creature which he tries to ignore is a part of him, that can never be removed. A damage which cannot be undone.

He pours the contents of a small beaker into a larger flask, watching the liquids swirl together. The stench in the air is becoming closer and closer to the one burned into his memory.

Crane’s whole body is wracked with unpleasant sensations. It’s truly unfortunate, he thinks, that despite his mind’s lack of fear, his body still reacts so harshly.

Jonathan’s eyes wander, eventually settling on a purple and green card sitting innocently on the corner of the table.

Right.

Even if they wiped out the GiW tomorrow, and even if Danny could survive without ectoplasm, he would still be in danger.

Crane has to get him back to good health. It’s the only way he can be sure that the boy can defend himself properly.

The solution in the flask begins to foam, and Jonathan does not hesitate as he adds the final ingredient. He pours the mixture into a new container, capping it and placing it into a freezer set to -40 degrees.

Hopefully this time he got the timing right.

Jonathan tries to relax, the ventilation in the room slowly but surely clearing the familiar smell from the air.

He thinks of the letter.

Surely, he thinks, that man can come up with some better material for his jokes. Or, at least something new.

Same old threats, same old attempted poisoning.

Aiming his threats at Danny, though, that was new. New and utterly unacceptable.

Scarecrow did what he had to.

He doubted that his solution would last forever, of course, as with that man it never did. As such, he would prepare both himself and Danny for the inevitable moment that his choices came back to bite them.

However, for the moment, they were safe. Danny could rest and recover, and Jonathan could figure out a plan to minimize possible damages.

Jonathan is no longer shaking.

He’s exhausted. This is his fifth attempt today, and each one leaves an unfortunate strain on his mind and body.

With a sigh, he settles himself into his seat at a nearby desk, opening up his computer and logging his most recent attempt. He still has to wait for it to chill to know if it was successful, but he can always update the logs later.

Once he’s done, he stretches, joints popping loudly as he walks to the freezer.

When he sees the results of his tireless work, the ghost of a smile flits across his face.

Success.

Jonathan picks up the jug of ectoplasm and leaves the lab, which is in all actuality the basement of the new apartment that he moved himself and Danny into after receiving the note. The scrappy old woman who was his landlord had told him that as long as he paid her five hundred dollars up front, she would let him set up in the basement without any questions or cop calls.

And so, the most expensive apartment in the Narrows was his.

At least, he thought, the distance between the basement and the apartment was short enough that Danny didn’t have to sit in while he was doing his labwork.

Jonathan knew that he didn’t exactly have a strong grasp on the concept of ‘lab safety,’ proven by his built-up immunity to almost every toxic chemical he’d ever encountered, and he doubted that Danny should be around such an environment.

He was back to the apartment quickly, not bothering to hide the self-satisfied smile on his face. Danny is sitting in his armchair, trying to read one of his books. Danny looks up, ready to greet him, when he sees the jug in his hands and pauses.

“Is that..?”

“Synthetic ectoplasm,” Jonathan says proudly, “I found the Penguin’s research notes and decided to recreate it, since you said that you needed it to heal properly. I’m not sure if it’ll work the same as what you usually have, but I hope it’s helpful all the same.”

Danny is standing, now, and looking at Jonathan with a strange look in his eyes. He looks, Jon thinks, like he’s about to cry.

Then Danny is rushing forward and wrapping his arms around Jonathan, his scrawny form shaking.

Jonathan is, for a moment, horrified. Did he do something wrong somehow? Why is this child, who’s so afraid of touch, hugging him?

And then he hears Danny’s voice, and he knows that it was all worth it.

“Thank you,” he’s mumbling, over and over, “thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you so much.”

“Of course,” Jonathan says softly, because what else can he say?

The boy cries in his arms for a while, and Jonathan briefly wonders what his life must have been like before, if a person like him can be seen as a comforting figure.

Then, Danny pours himself a small glass of the synthetic ectoplasm, putting the rest into the small fridge which had come with the apartment, and he settles back down, sitting in the armchair once again.

Jonathan sits opposite of him, and they chat with one another as Danny drinks.

Danny talks to him about the stars and tells him about different spaceships, and Jonathan makes sure to pay attention and ask the boy questions.

He doesn’t miss the way that Danny lights up every time he asks him something about his interests. He’s so passionate, so smart, a trait that he seldom sees outside of his fellow rogues, and Jonathan wants to encourage that.

It’s…nice. Peaceful, almost.

And then the front door flies open, because Jonathan isn’t allowed to have nice things.

“Jon,” a familiar voice rings out, “what the hell?!”

Danny is frozen in place, clearly terrified.

Jonathan heaves a sigh, turning to face the nuisance who’s entered his apartment.

“Eddie,” he drawls, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Edward’s face is red with anger as he invades Jonathan’s apartment.

“Oh, I don’t know! Maybe it’s the fact that you sent a bunch of rogues a cryptic message and then dropped off the face of the earth for two weeks! I was worried, Jon!”

Jonathan hums in acknowledgement.

“I didn’t think it was that cryptic,” he says, picking up a book in order to pointedly ignore the Riddler.

“Oh, of course you didn’t, you straw-stuffed hickory dickory dickhead. I swear, you’re always—” he pauses, finally having noticed Danny sitting opposite of Jonathan, “—who is this?”

“My apprentice,” Jonathan replies, dreading the upcoming headache he was no doubt going to develop from Edward’s company, “he’s helping me hunt down the GiW. His name is Danny.”

Edward gasps dramatically.

“You—an apprentice?! And you’re letting him sit in the old man chair?! You don’t even let me sit in the old man chair,” he wails, draping himself over the headrest of the couch with a flourish, “Jonathan, I thought I knew you!”

“Edward,” Jonathan says, “get out of my apartment.”

“Oh my goodness, this is incredible. You’re becoming the bat!”

“I am not becoming the bat, Eddie, now get out.”

Edward has a shit-eating grin on his face as he waltzes over to Danny. Danny, who seemed terrified when he first appeared, is now looking at him with obvious amusement written all over his face.

“I mean, look at him! The hair, the eyes, the scrappy build. If you put him in one of those traffic light vigilante costumes, he could easily pass as a Robin!”

“I’m not doing this with you today, Eddie.”

“Riddle me this, Jon: I am a treasure hidden inside of a chest. You can break me, or steal me, or give me a rest. I can flutter, or pound, or attack, or drop, but if you don’t have me, you’re certainly fucked. What am I?”

Jonathan pauses for a moment before he groans, dropping his head into his hands.

“Eddie.”

Danny sits still, a confused look on his face as he repeats the riddle silently. Then, his face lights up in delight.

“A heart!”

“Jon, I like this one,” Edward says with a smile, ruffling Danny’s hair, “you are correct! A heart, something that I wasn’t aware that our dear Jonathan had!”

“Eddie, stop.”

“No, no,” Edward says, “I was worried about you, you deserve this. I mean, you even missed girls night! You never miss girls night!”

“Girls night?” Danny asks, absolutely delighted.

“Oh, of course,” Edward says, sprawling over on the couch, dangerously close to just laying in Jonathan’s lap, “we have it once a week. I’m invited because of Selina and Jon’s invited because Harley likes him.”

“And what does girls night entail, exactly?”

“Eddie,” Jonathan groans, “please.”

“Well,” Edward hums, “we usually paint our nails, or watch a movie, or gossip about the other rogues, and occasionally, we tell each other about any ‘encounters’ we have with Batman,” he says, raising his eyebrows up and down.

Danny’s jaw drops.

“Edward, shut up,” Jonathan says, an irritated tone in his voice that wasn’t there before.

“No way,” Danny says, “I thought that Batman, like, hated you guys or something. You mean he actually..?”

“Oh, the Bat is much like a bottle of liquor or a cheap cigarette, in that he was made to be passed around.”

Danny chokes on air.

“Edward Nygma,” Jonathan hisses, getting out of his seat and looming over the man, “get the hell out.”

Edward pales.

“Leaving, leaving!” Edward says, dashing away from Jonathan. He pauses, turning to flash Danny a quick smile.

“Remember Danny, I’m your favorite uncle! Not any of the other rogues, me!”

With that, he leaves, the room falling completely silent.

And, as per usual, that silence does not last.

“You full-named him?” Danny asks gleefully, “and it worked?”

Jonathan just sighs, sitting down on the couch and rubbing at his temples.

“Please, don’t take anything Eddie says seriously. He’s a moron.”

“Dr. Crane, please let me come to girls night with you,” Danny pleads, his eyes sparkling, “I promise I won’t embarrass you.”

Jonathan groans.

“Of course you won’t, Eddie will do it for you.”

“Come on, please?”

“I think we’re a bit busy with the GiW at the moment,” Jonathan snaps. He pauses as he notices the crestfallen expression on Danny’s face.

This boy is going to be the death of him.

“Perhaps, though, when all that is taken care of…”

Danny cheers, grinning wildly, and Jonathan is not at all relieved to see him happy again. Certainly not.

The rest of the day is relatively normal.

Danny works on trying to get information from the GiW database while Crane refines his his fear toxin, both preparing for a raid on the GiW base they located in Gotham.

It was only a temporary base, nothing of note, but there was a chance of discovering more bases through it, and that wasn’t something either of them were willing to give up.

Still, something like this would take time. Rushing would only lead to failure.

…

Late in the night, long after Danny is fast asleep in his room, Jonathan pauses.

The GiW are not the only threat out there. They aren’t the only threat to him or to Danny. Perhaps it could be helpful to reach out to someone with greater resources than himself.

He sends a quick message to Red Hood.

Hopefully, he thinks, everything will go smoothly.

—

[crowlixcx]

[ghosts-and-blue-sweaters]

“Abraham lived for 175 years, and he died at a ripe old age, having lived a long and satisfying life. He breathed his last and joined his ancestors in death. His sons Isaac and Ishmael buried him in the cave of Machpelah, near Mamre, in the field of Ephron son of Zohar the Hittite.” - Genesis 25:7-9

In true Grace fashion, I am doing what I enjoy best: going crazy over brothers. And just look at this!!

Imagine. You are born. The story of your birth is a messy one. Your dad and his wife were told, directly, by the Lord of the universe, that they were going to have a son—that God was going to gift them a son. But they grew impatient, grew tired of waiting for God. So your dad slept with your mother, a servant, and that is why you exist: impatience. Your father’s wife mistreats your mother, and your mother runs away, and she is frightened and crying. God sees her. He tells her it’s okay, it will be okay, things will be okay. Go back. And God fulfills His promise and gives a son to your father and his wife, and it is instantly clear that though you are the firstborn, you are not your father’s gift. Your father loves you. Your father calls you son. You make fun of your baby brother. You know you are not the one God promised, but God promised to bless you even so. A great nation will spring forth because of you, God said. You are wild and you are in the wilderness a lot. Maybe the thorns and the animals and the mud and the hawk that snatches its prey crying from the grasses is more understandable to you than your own home. But you think your home never was your home after all. You wish you could love your brother and it is hard.

Imagine. You are born. You are told from the moment you are first held that you are promised, chosen, gifted, loved, anxiously and impatiently awaited. You have an older brother. Your mother does not like him. Your mother does not like him or his mother. Your brother makes fun of you. You don’t know why things are hard. Your brother and his mother are sent away and they do not come back. Your brother grows up wild. You think of him sometimes. God has a plan for you both, and just because the plans are different does not mean that one is less. Your father loves you both. Your father loves you more. You want to love your brother but it is hard.

Imagine. You both live entirely different lives; thistles and tents, water jugs and raised daggers, wildness and submission, prophecy. You live in different lands. You have different people. You think, speak, walk different. You don’t see each other much and maybe sometimes you try to pretend you are not brothers because it would be simpler if that were true. And then your father dies. And you bury him together, next to his wife. Isaac’s mother. Ishmael’s afflicter. But you bury him together.

At the end of the day, you were both born. At the end of the day, you were both loved. At the end of the day, wondrous plans were written into infinity for you both by God Himself. At the end of the day, you both had the same father. At the end of the day, he died. At the end of the day, you bury him. Together.

At the end of the day, you are brothers.

[rendside]

Could you draw Brightheart please?

[morganbritton132]

Post-Starcourt AU where Steve and Robin kinda just wander off in the all chaos.

They’re just walking around because Robin can’t go home like this and Steve doesn’t want to go to his house. Robin also doesn’t want to go to Steve’s house. There were monsters there once.

So, they’re just moseying along still feeling the high of Russian drugs and monster fighting when a minivan pulls up next to them. They roll down the window and it’s…Tommy’s mom? Telling them to get in the car right now, “Steven Christopher.”

Tommy’s mom, Maria, heard about the mall fire on the radio. She vaguely remembered Tommy mentioning that Steve worked there and gave his house a ring. Her mom brain went into overdrive when she got no answer.

The unknowing made her so sick with worry that she got into her car to drive out to the mall to check herself. That’s what she was doing when she found them and all that worry wore on her face.

So, they listen. They kinda have to listen so they got in the car. She asks questions. They answer some of them.

“We’re fine,” Steve tells her even though his lips is bleeding and he’s all bruised up. He smells like smoke and blood, turning to Robin in the backseat, “Robbie. This is like, my mom.”

Robin thinks, whoa.

Steve’s mom is like nothing she was imagining and she takes them home to a regular house? It’s cozy and clean, but like. Robin thinks her house might be nicer than this. Honestly, weirdest thing she experienced tonight.

She immediately revised that thought when Maria gives them both a once over and sends them to bed. She follows Steve upstairs and watches him flop into bed next to - “Tommy H?”

Steve’s cuddling up beside Tommy instead of providing any sort of explanation so Robin puts the pieces together and concludes, “Tommy H is your brother?!”