#I JJST !!!!!!!!!!!!!

[demonicsuffrage]

Bruce showing his kids affection, aka, gift-giving

Tim, who finally got a spleen transplant after Bruce had begged him a million times, returning home from the hospital: Hey Bruce

Bruce, extending papers towards him: Welcome back. These are for you, sign here

Tim: Aren't these are Wayne Enterprises papers

Bruce: Yeah it's your company now :)

Tim: What do mean it's my Company now?!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

16-year-old Dick, returning home after winning his mathlete championship: What're the papers for, Bruce?

Bruce: It's your new mansion's paperwork

Dick: What?

Bruce: On your new private island :)

Dick: WHAT?!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jason, running into Bruce on patrol: Sup

Bruce, with a man in tow: Thank god I ran into you, Jason

Jason, eyeing the guy beside Bruce: Who's that?

Bruce: You couldn't get to family dinner last time because your bike was broken so

Jason: So you got me a guy?

Bruce: He's the new pilot for your new helicopter :)

Jason: My fucking WHAT

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cass, day after she defeated Bruce in training for the first time: Bruce, where's my suit?

Bruce: Oh I gave it away to charity.

Cass: What? Why?

Bruce: I'm getting you a new suit made with triple weave Kevlar and titanium dipped resin lined with memory foam

Cass: Expensive?

Bruce: Just $1,058,600 :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Damian, in his initial days as Robin, who hadn't killed anyone in an entire month: Good morning, Father, what are you doing?

Bruce, choosing a colour scheme for the new zoo he's about to make for Damian: It's a surprise:)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Duke, listening to music: Man i wish someone would buy me Spotify premium so I can listen without all these ads

Bruce, handing him the deeds of Spotify the next day: :)

[amidalashandmaidens]

Gonna be honest folks, whenever I consider a dark-arc for Eileen I think of these two songs:

Slow suspense right before the inciting incident:

Followed by aftermath. Disorientation, horror, loss of control:

Some recovery:

[nova-rpv]

"i have a sister now! thank you, granpa! we are going to do so much stuff together!"

(trans masc newborn shado btw. tag as ship and ill kill you)

[professional-writher]

*comes out of the new Crane Wives album shaking, covered in blood, and changed as a person* anyway-!

[xebecdav]

erm… anyone else think about the ninjas’ families post merge…

[fxndxm]

Saw @amelia-yap's derg au and cldnt resist using their Weiss design for a little warmup doodle :3

[spearxwind]

Happy 10th birthday to Cercerion!

OUGHHH UR RIGHT CERCIE IS 10 YEARS OLD NOW !!!!!!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY BABY BOY BELOVEDEST DID NOTHING WRONG EVER IN HIS WHOLE LIFE !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[lindaslover]

Linda in Scotland, 1969.

“ This [Maybe, I’m amazed] is supposedly Liza Minelli’s favourite of my songs. I expected her to go for something a bit more ballady. But she really likes this one. It dates from the time, the end of the 1960s, when Linda and I were first living together. […] Through the song was written immediately after The Beatles’ breakup, it was somehow included under the Lennon-McCartney rubric, where it doesn’t belong. It was one of my first solo songs, but because of the deal, it got caught in the publishing net. That was very annoying.

Actually, Linda and I were probably already married, because I can now visualise sitting at the lovely black Steinway piano that we got after our wedding. I was playing on it one day, and this song came to me – the central idea being that there’s so often a split between the inner and outer. […]

In any event, this song isn’t the conventional way of presenting a relationship, or of some of the contradictions that can arise from being in love. That’s maybe why Lizza Minnelli likes it so much. It shows the fragility of love. “

— Paul McCartney, from “The Lyrics”, 2021.

[geniemillies]

niamh and tamlin in hybern dooble (+ianthe) who invited her fatass she can't even fit in my canvas smh 🙄

king of hybern's court offer him the strangest kinds entertainments. i just know when tamlin was working with him he was questioning all life decisions. anything for his runaway bride i guEsS

[elliotstalksprite]

i gave up come get your slop gang

[waterghostype]

was assigned to do art for school based on the color green so of course i chose the green ninja (accompanied by long xiaojiao)

[theoryofwhatnow]

everyone shut up. he looks so tired and that raindrop looks like a tear rolling down his face

[digestive-system69]

Shittily drawn M.outhwashing g/t stuff bc why not

Also ples reblog my art yer /nf

[karda]

i wish i was a robot so someone could stick their hands in my wires and it'd be weirdly intimate and gay

[nyc-pizza-rat]

okay thinking about her

the tree bark at his back scratches him as he shifts. there are bruises on his skin that sting. he feels the slide of blood at his temple, unsettling and unfamiliar, even after all these years. castiel looks down at his hands, a little calloused, now, and wrinkling, and tries to center himself. there is dirt on his palms, under his fingernails. a small cut on his index finger that is loud and sharp. he curls his fists and tries to reach within himself. the well of his grace has been running low for a while, now, and castiel hasn't been sure of...well, anything.

it's harder to find his dimming grace within, here in purgatory. harder still to coax it to the surface. sweat beads at his brow but castiel keeps his fingers clenched, mumbles to himself in enochian — words to songs of praise and comfort and strength that mean so little now, and yet come to him easy.

there is a thin stream of silver light, and castiel heaves a breath, sinks further into the hollow of the tree. he unclenches his fist, and there are red half-moons carved into his palm. the cut is gone, but there is a scar, still, and castiel cannot stop looking at it. it looks like a thin tear in fabric, like the cracks in between the worlds that let them through. it looks like the beginning of the end.

he rubs his thumb over the scar, feels the slight raise of his skin. his thoughts begin to spin, and all he can focus on is the heat building at the back of his neck, the rushing of blood in his ears. suddenly, then, a ripple within. a breeze by his ear that pull at his core. that compels him to quiet, to listen.

someone, somewhere, is invoking him in prayer.

his grace surges now, easy as it hasn't been in a while, and while it doesn't heal him still, castiel feels more angel than he has in a long time.

Cas, I hope you can hear me... that wherever you are, it's not too late.

castiel sighs, something inside him relaxing. he hadn't even noticed the way his muscles had been pulled taut. hadn't noticed the tendrils of fear creeping into his heart. dean's alive. dean's alive.

I should've stopped you.

castiel swallows. digs his fingers into his thighs. his grace spins out, trying to find the source of the prayer. It's harder than it is on earth, and harder than it should be for an angel of his caliber, but castiel keeps trying.

You're my best friend, but I just let you go. 'Cause it was easier than admitting I was wrong.

castiel wishes dean would stop saying these things. he bites his cheek, listening, following dean's voice. he's always following dean's voice, even when he doesn't want to.

I – Ohh. I don't know why I get so angry. I just know – I know that it's – i-it's just always been there. And when things go bad, it just – it comes out. And I can't -- I can't stop it. No matter how –

dean breaks, and castiel pauses, stares at the blinking doorway that will lead them back onto earth. back into a battle that they are bound to lose. he thinks about jack, lost forever. about chuck, who cannot be beaten. about the pointlessness of what they are doing, the desperation with which he has been clinging to hope.

— how bad I want to, I just can't stop it.

he wishes he could see dean. there is something solid pressing against the back of his throat, like he has swallowed a rock, like it is blocking the air. his eyes sting. he wishes dean would just — just talk to him.

And — And I — I forgive you. Of course I forgive you.

castiel shakes his head. his wings are more bone than anything else, skeletons he lugs around because he cannot bear to sever them from his trueform. now they twitch, twined with his grace as they are. castiel lets them curl inwards, pretends he can feel them whole, their warmth, the comfort of it.

I'm sorry it took me so long – I'm sorry it took me till now to say it. Cas, I'm – I'm so sorry.

castiel forgives him, despite everything. thinks he'd forgiven him long before this, before dean ever thought to ask. he wonders if dean knows that castiel doesn't know how to loathe him, even if he wanted to.

longing surges out to him, the pull of the prayer strengthened by cords of need, of want.

dean thinks he's dead, and he's desperate for him to not be. castiel knows what dean can be like, when he loses those he considers kin, when he's even faced with the prospect of losing them.

Man, I hope you can hear me. I hope you can hear me.

longing can feel a lot like love.

angels were never meant to decipher the nuances of human emotion, and despite all the time he's spent on earth, even castiel is not all that good at it. so when prayer is made with longing, it can feel a lot like love.

and maybe it is. castiel doesn't know.

it's almost unsettling, the way warmth bleeds into his trueform, as dean finishes praying, as he makes his way closer. castiel tries to reign in his weak grace, pulsing away under his skin. tries to not let himself get carried away.

he looks up at the grey sky, the sunless world he is trapped in. he thinks about the empty. he thinks about his son.

maybe it isn't. human love is so complicated, after all.

somewhere to his right, footsteps. castiel breathes, wills his lungs to loosen, his heart to slow. he pulls the leviathan blossom out of his coat pocket. all that fighting and the fidgeting has smushed it a little. he rubs a thumb over one of its strange petals, and puts it back in his coat.

dean is getting closer. castiel can hear him breathing now. can hear the way his heart races.

he gathers himself and pushes out of the hollow of the tree. straightens a little.

"dean," he calls. he sounds tired, even to his own ears. human. god. "you made it."

[pothosrays]

tonight's marathon ft. other things from prior days.