#as like a dad thing

[strawberrycowtime]

hi *pokes you* *pokes you* *pokes y

it’s all fun and games until i start screaming like ive been stabbed (immediately) and flail around like a headless chicken (also immediately)

(pokes you back)

[valtsv]

stuck between "psychological horror statement" and "objectively the funniest thing you could say to your real flesh and blood dad" in the father's day card aisle

[bananonbinary]

for ages i thought i didnt like drag because of internalized homophobia but it turned out i just don't like bright lights and loud music and really visually complicated things

spd is homophobic i guess is what im saying

[bruciemilf]

Okay. But when Bruce discovers Talia knew Jason was alive? That she knew his child was the man under the red hood. His boy.

Oh.

Jason’s met and memorized every facet of Bruce Wayne. He knows Bruce by the way his eyes melt when he looks at him, to the hard lines of his cowl. He knows where Bruce starts and Batman ends.

When Bruce rips off his cowl to give her the deepest glare Jason’s ever seen, he’s reminded there’s no difference. Fear hits his stomach when he swallows,

“Hey, old man, don’t fucking blame HER. She has NO obligation to you—“

Bruce’s eyes are unblinking, wide, jumping from her frozen form to him. And Jason’s suddenly 10 again, running from hungry stray dogs cornering him in a place with no exit.

Bruce’s voice is shadow and whisper, “Quiet.”

“…Okay.”

“Damian,” he rasps, pointing at the small figure with dark hair and green eyes, who looks at neither of them. He looks at Talia. Jason thinks it’s fair. He’s never seen her scared, either. “Car. Cave. Stay. “

There’s something incredibly bitter in Jason when he just does. Doesn’t ask. Doesn’t rebel. He wants to, with every fiber and matter and crumb in his body. And his body says no.

He grabs Damian like he’s an angry cat, not the small assassin he knew since he was born. He doesn’t look back. He doesn’t want to, he realizes.

“Did you know?” Bruce asks, such a deadly calm to him, too calm for the winter in his eyes. Talia would’ve preferred a blade to the neck.

She can’t meet his eye. Almost like if she doesn’t face his hatred, his disapproval, his disappointment, it doesn’t count. “I did. “

“…Whatever you do,” she’d take it as pity if he didn’t sound repulsed , “you’re still his daughter.”

[lazylittledragon]

he's nothing if not determined

[july-19th-club]

seriously have been thinking about this all night long. call me autistic but the fact that 90% of workplaces the point is not to get your work done and then be done doing it but to instead perform an elaborate social dance in which you find something to do even when you're done doing everything you need to do in order to show your fellow workers that you, too, are Working . because you are at Work . disgusting why cant we all agree that if there is no work immediately to be done. we just dont do anything

[ghost-bxrd]

Prompt:

Instead of Dick or Tim, Red Hood straight up goes for kidnapping Bruce Wayne and keeping him hostage just to see how desperate the birds get in trying to find him.

It’s a foolproof plan. Batman won’t blow his cover unless absolutely necessary, and “Brucie” would never know how to slip away from a crime lord of Red Hood’s caliber. It’s foolproof. It’s perfect. Jason can keep dropping hints and make threats towards the birds and watch Bruce squirm without consequences if he plays this right.

But then “Brucie” keeps begging him not to hurt his kids…

[everwalldigan]

Bruce being a toxic boy mom when it comes to nightwing will never not be funny as fuck he is literally the biggest nightwing defender one bad word against him and the next day he’ll show up at ur house

Bonus:

[raynewolferune]

DC x DP Prompt: Bruce is bad at emoting but at least ghosts are empathic (too bad bat kids are not)

Was reading Twincognito on AO3 when I stumbled across this gem again:

~

" “Danny, Tim. I was just…checking in. Is everything alright?” Curse his inability to make meaningful conversation when it wasn’t a life or death situation.

They glanced at each other and shrugged.

Then Danny hauled himself out of the bed and walked over to Bruce.

Bruce tried not to let too much excitement show on his face. "

~

Now I really want to read a story where Bruce adopts Danny post Meta trafficking and is being his usual emotionally constipated self. His kids keep getting mad at him because he's treating their new meta brother who was trafficked poorly (generally being stilted in conversation with him, walking away hurriedly mid-conversation, avoiding Danny when he's feeling really awkward, etc). They think Bruce is discriminating against Danny for being a civilian, meta, dealer's pick, but really it's just Bruce being horribly socially awkward. Danny knows this because of ghost empathy and find the whole thing hilarious. The whole thing comes to a head with the Bat Kids staging an intervention in the Bat Cave.

[chloesimaginationthings]

Pit Bonnie is doing his best as a FNAF dad..

[egophiliac]

queen of diamonds, upright + reversed 💎

I've redone this like eighty times, I have to just be done with it now and stop staring at all my mistakes oh no 🫠

[inkskinned]

the thing about art is that it was always supposed to be about us, about the human-ness of us, the impossible and beautiful reality that we (for centuries) have stood still, transfixed by music. that we can close our eyes and cry about the same book passage; the events of which aren't real and never happened. theatre in shakespeare's time was as real as it is now; we all laugh at the same cue (pursued by bear), separated hundreds of years apart.

three years ago my housemates were jamming outdoors, just messing around with their instruments, mostly just making noise. our neighbors - shy, cautious, a little sheepish - sat down and started playing. i don't really know how it happened; i was somehow in charge of dancing, barefoot and laughing - but i looked up, and our yard was full of people. kids stacked on the shoulders of parents. old couples holding hands. someone had brought sidewalk chalk; our front walk became a riot of color. someone ran in with a flute and played the most astounding solo i've ever heard in my life, upright and wiggling, skipping as she did so. she only paused because the violin player was kicking his heels up and she was laughing too hard to continue.

two weeks ago my friend and i met in the basement of her apartment complex so she could work out a piece of choreography. we have a language barrier - i'm not as good at ASL as i'd like to be (i'm still learning!) so we communicate mostly through the notes app and this strange secret language of dancers - we have the same movement vocabulary. the two of us cracking jokes at each other, giggling. there were kids in the basement too, who had been playing soccer until we took up the far corner of the room. one by one they made their slow way over like feral cats - they laid down, belly-flat against the floor, just watching. my friend and i were not in tutus - we were in slouchy shirts and leggings and socks. nothing fancy. but when i asked the kids would you like to dance too? they were immediately on their feet and spinning. i love when people dance with abandon, the wild and leggy fervor of childhood. i think it is gorgeous.

their adults showed up eventually, and a few of them said hey, let's not bother the nice ladies. but they weren't bothering us, they were just having fun - so. a few of the adults started dancing awkwardly along, and then most of the adults. someone brought down a better sound system. someone opened a watermelon and started handing out slices. it was 8 PM on a tuesday and nothing about that day was particularly special; we might as well party.

one time i hosted a free "paint along party" and about 20 adults worked quietly while i taught them how to paint nessie. one time i taught community dance classes and so many people showed up we had to move the whole thing outside. we used chairs and coatracks to balance. one time i showed up to a random band playing in a random location, and the whole thing got packed so quickly we had to open every door and window in the place.

i don't think i can tell you how much people want to be making art and engaging with art. they want to, desperately. so many people would be stunning artists, but they are lied to and told from a very young age that art only matters if it is planned, purposeful, beautiful. that if you have an idea, you need to be able to express it perfectly. this is not true. you don't get only 1 chance to communicate. you can spend a lifetime trying to display exactly 1 thing you can never quite language. you can just express the "!!??!!!"-ing-ness of being alive; that is something none of us really have a full grasp on creating. and even when we can't make what we want - god, it feels fucking good to try. and even just enjoying other artists - art inherently rewards the act of participating.

i wasn't raised wealthy. whenever i make a post about art, someone inevitably says something along the lines of well some of us aren't that lucky. i am not lucky; i am dedicated. i have a chronic condition, my hands are constantly in pain. i am not neurotypical, nor was i raised safe. i worked 5-7 jobs while some of these memories happened. i chose art because it mattered to me more than anything on this fucking planet - i would work 80 hours a week just so i could afford to write in 3 of them.

and i am still telling you - if you are called to make art, you are called to the part of you that is human. you do not have to be good at it. you do not have to have enormous amounts of privilege. you can just... give yourself permission. you can just say i'm going to make something now and then - go out and make it. raquel it won't be good though that is okay, i don't make good things every time either. besides. who decides what good even is?

you weren't called to make something because you wanted it to be good, you were called to make something because it is a basic instinct. you were taught to judge its worth and over-value perfection. you are doing something impossible. a god's ability: from nothing springs creation.

a few months ago i found a piece of sidewalk chalk and started drawing. within an hour i had somehow collected a small classroom of young children. their adults often brought their own chalk. i looked up and about fifteen families had joined me from around the block. we drew scrangly unicorns and messed up flowers and one girl asked me to draw charizard. i am not good at drawing. i basically drew an orb with wings. you would have thought i drew her the mona lisa. she dragged her mother over and pointed and said look! look what she drew for me and, in the moment, i admit i flinched (sorry, i don't -). but the mother just grinned at me. he's beautiful. and then she sat down and started drawing.

someone took a picture of it. it was in the local newspaper. the summary underneath said joyful and spontaneous artwork from local artists springs up in public gallery. in the picture, a little girl covered in chalk dust has her head thrown back, delighted. laughing.

[kosher-salt]

I'm sorry but if Sami people can be understood as other-than-white and lighter featured First Nations people can be understood as other-than-white and individuals of our sisters the Romani when similarly afflicted by melanin deficiency can be understood as other-than-white....

Your classification of Jews, who span the whole gamut of color but share the racialization and experience of being othered among any majority, including whiteness in the north/west, is only further evidence of your racism. Because in doing so you continue to perpetuate double standards for Jewish people, which is dangerous when merged with perspectives that view whiteness as a merit signifier. Not that our identity isn't a fair bit older than this pretty reductive view, but

Regardless, I'll remind that the minority indigenous groups I mentioned are in the context of a white majority, but white people do not have a monopoly on colonialism. Plenty of people don't want to be called Arab in MENA and plenty of people aren't sure that they'd classify themselves as Chinese or Russian in the sense that the West views national identity. But that kind of nuance probably isn't something I should bother with if we haven't made it past point 1.

[creek-dump-blog]

Creek Headcanon #2

When Craig visits Tweek Bros. he orders Tweek

Is Tweek’s dad an ass? Yes. Do I think he’s funny. Yes

[lazylittledragon]

more domestics to warm the soul <33

[bigfatbreak]

dad villain au: did emilie just. not consider at all that adrien was literally dying at the time. wow

she's in the habit of deciding when Adrien's suffering is acceptable, and if it is, she'll just fix it later.