#I haven't decided yet

[sennenrings]

star wars au because I've been watching the clone wars with my friends. they aren't representing any particular characters. Remus is a Jedi because I think it fits him, Severus and Lily are two senators that Remus is supposed to be escorting, and Sirius and James are smugglers coming along for the ride.

Severus: Do you have a plan, Master Jedi?

James: Fear not Senators! You're in great hands! Severus: Can't he just use the Force and get us out of this?

Lily: That's not how the force works....

Sirius: Hey when we're done can I have a go with your lightsaber? ;)

Remus:... we're so going to die

please do not repost my art

[itsdefinitely]

Aren't I so much better now that I'm just a normal guy?

[the-badger-mole]

PLEASE elaborate on dark Aang killing Sokka, I love your ideas

Aang's demonstrated a lack of respect for the SWT customs and culture. I think a lot of it has to do with the fact that they are more overtly dependent on hunting than the other nations, but also I think there's not a little bit of classism, too. As they get older, and Aang becomes more insistent that the whole world be more like the Air Nomads, it would become a sticking point between Sokka and Aang. Suki would also not trust Aang blindly, which would influence Sokka, too. The tension between them would grow over the years, not at all helped by Sokka's feelings about how Aang treats Katara and her children.

Over time, Aang's support for the soft colonization of the NWT of the SWT would become too much, and Sokka would demand that any NWT transplants are subject to the SWT's laws and customs just like they would be if they immigrated anywhere else. Aang would argue that the more "sophisticated" NWT was having an enlightening effect on the rustic SWT. His thinking is that the NWT's influence would bring the SWT closer in line with Air Nomad philosophies, or at least the philosophies as he understands them. Sokka's not having it, though. One day Aang goes too far and supports what is essentially a coup that would leave Sokka as chief in name only so the the NWT can set up an annex government. Of course Sokka will not stand for that. At this point, the rest of Aang's friends see the problem, too and go to support Sokka. There is a skirmish between the NWT colonial forces and Sokka's warriors. Aang goes into the Avatar State, trying to end the conflict, but he attacks the SWT forces, who are being led by Sokka. Sokka takes a hit and he dies. It's too fast for Katara to even attempt to heal him.

When Aang comes back, he sees the death and destruction he's caused. Sokka  is among the dead, and Aang is at a crossroads. He can either realize that he has failed as the Avatar and become the very thing he was supposed to protect the world against, or he can retreat further into his selfish denial and lament what he was forced to do.

Sokka's death has a ripple effect. Fire Lord Zuko officially voices his dissent of the NWT's occupation of the SWT. Katara takes her brother's place as leader of the SWT, and she leaves Aang, taking her children with her, including Tenzin. With Toph's influence, Gaoling and Omashu both unite with the Fire Nation against the NWT and Aang. Something like the Equalist movement takes shape in the SWT and the Earth Kingdom, and Aang finds himself facing backlash. The people of the world begin to question the actual duty of the Avatar, and how much say he should have in any of the world's conflicts.

[royalarchivist]

Ranboo: [Reading chat] "Twink death"? I haven't been a twink in years.

Ranboo: I've been at- I've been at least twunk. Slight– I've been on the edge of twunk for a bit. You know what I mean?

[bluebird8683]

RR is dead, Tim is not

Tim Drake stood on the rooftop of an abandoned high-rise, the wind pulling at his cape like it was trying to hold him back, as though Gotham itself were begging him to reconsider. He would miss this—the only home he had ever known. The city stretched out beneath him, its ceaseless hum a bittersweet symphony, a reminder of all the people who probably wouldn’t miss him, not really. And yet, the wind seemed almost alive, whispering doubts, pleading with him to stay, even as he remained steadfast in his decision.

They’d mourn Red Robin, perhaps. Maybe even Tim Drake, for a fleeting moment. (Tam is the only one he truly feels bad about leaving behind, but she has a life outside of him, friends who care about her. She'll be ok.) But eventually, they’d move on, the way Gotham always did. Would the family even notice his absence?  A part of him whispered they might be better off without him. That they’d be happier, lighter, without the weight of someone they never seemed to truly see. 

He’d made sure of it.

Tim looked down at the blood pooling on the cracked concrete, dark and glistening under the cold moonlight. The crimson trail spidered out across the rooftop, a macabre work of art he had painted with his own blood, painstakingly collected over weeks to ensure authenticity. Almost hiding the faint scent of ozone in the air from the rainstorm earlier today, the scent of iron, or blood, hung heavy in the air. The scene in front of him is a gruesome sight- one he purposely staged to be that way, but horrid all the same. The manikin he painstakingly ensured looked exactly like him (down to not having a spleen and that paper-cut he got earlier today in the office) was one that he had grown and made explicitly for this. It never breathed in life, but he had made sure all the muscles showed all the wear and tear his muscles likely had.

He arranged it to be crumpled near the roof entrance of the building, its fingers splayed unnaturally, some twisted and broken as though his attacker had tried to torture something out of him that he refused to give. One shoulder was visibly dislocated, the other broken in such a way that his bone was sticking out of his skin. The left leg bent as if he had somehow gained a second knee. The neck bore the telltale bruising of strangulation, the skin mottled with dark purples, a haunting testament to his fabricated final moments. (Though there is bruising elsewhere on the body, the ones on his neck were the darkest.)  

The area around the manikin was a tableau of chaos: broken bits of his bo staff scattered like splinters of a shattered life, and tears in the suit—carefully slashed to match the grotesque injuries—added the final touch of authenticity along with the extra blood he had collected from himself in advance pooling and being poured from specific spots. He doubted anyone would be able to tell that he was still alive after seeing this. No one but him would ever see this as what it was, a staged exit. They might call it a tragedy (if they're feeling generous) or a lost fight. They would call it the curtain call of his life, but all it truly was is the end of Act I.

The stage was perfect. (Thinking of this all as a play had made him feel better about it, thinking of the clone as a manikin as he removed the spleen and injured it, as he put together the murder scene...) 

Tim’s gaze swept over the rooftop one last time, cataloging every detail. The smear and drops of blood around the roof, the broken bits of his bo staff lying near the body covered in wounds, the com he placed in its ear. The entire scene screamed tragedy—a hero ambushed, overpowered, and left lifeless on a cold rooftop, the final act of violence etched around his neck in a black bruise.

It had to be convincing. It had to be enough to fool Bruce, Dick, Damian, and even Barbara. Tim could imagine the triumphant sneer on Damien's face, the satisfaction of no longer sharing the Robin title in any form. And Jason… Jason might raise a beer, toasting the end of the “replacement.” The thought hurt. (Thoughts of how they viewed him always did- it's why he tries not to let his mind wander... not that he can really do that- but that's part of the reason that he's doing this.) He’d run through every possibility, refining his plan with several contingencies he can switch to at a moment's notice. That was what he did. That was who he was. (Something that Bruce trained into him.)

His fingers trembled as he adjusted the position of the manikin’s arm one last time. Not from fear or regret—those emotions had burned out weeks ago. This was the final piece of a puzzle he’d been building for months. (He left a nice little case for the detective family to follow, if they decide to investigate his demise. All the leads would turn cold though, of course.) He should feel relief, maybe even triumph, but all he felt was a bone-deep exhaustion.

“This is it,” he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible over the gusts of wind.

He stepped back, letting the scene burn into his memory. For a moment, he allowed himself to imagine what would happen next. The news would break—Red Robin, dead in the line of duty. (He knew his body would be discovered in the morning- the owner of the building liked to come up for a smoke every morning before going to work.)

The family might grieve, or maybe they wouldn’t. Tim wasn’t sure anymore. Would they even miss him, or would they be better off without him?  Maybe they’d even be happier. Bruce would brood, sure, throwing himself into the case until he found just enough to close it. Damian, though, might sneer, claiming he saw it coming. Dick… Dick might actually cry. But eventually, they’d move on. They always did. After all, it had been months since any of them had really talked. How could they miss someone they never cared to know?   

But eventually, they’d move on. They’d forget. It's not like it'll change much.

Tim swallowed hard, forcing the lump in his throat back down where it belonged. This wasn’t about them. This was about him. A chance to finally breathe without the crushing weight of their expectations, their demands, their indifference. All this without even a courtesy "thanks." He’d spent so long loving them, sacrificing his sleep, his time, his social life for them, and all it had earned him was emptiness. Exploitation masquerading as family.

He's had enough.

He turned away from the body, moving to the edge of the rooftop. His new gear was already packed, hidden in a secure location outside Gotham. His offshore accounts were loaded, his new identity (and several back-ups) painstakingly crafted. Every system he’d set up—from the programs helping Gotham’s homeless to the automated responses at WE—would run smoothly without him. He’d made sure of it. Everything major will be fine without him. They’ll be fine without him.

Tim took a deep breath, letting the cold air fill his lungs. His heart pounded in his chest, adrenaline coursing through his veins. This was it. The last goodbye.

He turned on the device that would hide his heartbeat from anyone with advanced hearing, stepped off the ledge and disappeared into the shadows, leaving behind all he had ever known, the fractured remnants of his life, and the only city he had ever called home. 

[bs0da]

Hey BB fandom, who's planning on buying the principal plush?

[lovely-------lady]

Decided to start work on another jacket since the first one went so well. Going to be cherry blossom themed this time.

[ryusxnka]

I may or may not be moving this blog after the New Year. Start fresh. With a different Username and a new attitude. Love this blog to death, but it's old. My DM count is stuck at 99+ and I'm following so many, oh so many, dead blogs. I think a spanking new blog would vastly benefit me.

[jester-d-ace]

Quick Buggy sketch which came out of nowhere. Caught in the act of longing for a certain red-haired pirate.

[beesthebees]

Zebix squeaky toy

[gildengirl]

Is it just me, or is "imgonnagetyouback" extremely Abby and Townsend coded?

[gauloiseblue]

Ugh now I have the mental imagine of a flustered monster!König Stück in my head for a long time if you do write it I'm reading that shit immediately fr

Hopefully, I get enough motivation to write it because it's gonna be a long one✌️

[hellomagicalsouls]

i stg every photo ive even seen of klaus hargreeves he's going through something. has this even been given a break?

he needs - no deserves a break, give him a blanket and some tea and just pause for a little bit.

boy is stressed, im stressed looking at him. god they're gonna kill him aren't they? (again)

or at the very least he needs to acknowledge and accept he's not happy and maybe get some help. a therapist could live like a king off one of these siblings

[swiftieinbrazil]

[eowyn-igneelcheshire]

I am once again returning to my creepy pasta hyper fixation so have an old Candy Pop/Jason the Toymaker piece I did back in 2021