#do I wish it does so that there can be peace

[ofbatsandballads]

please take this. I made myself cry writing it and I have nothing to say except that putting ya’aburnee and darling by halsey on my jason playlist was a brutal choice. also look up flower language if you want additional feelings.

There’s so many things you want for Jason Todd.

You want him to get a good night’s sleep for once. You let him close his pretty seafoam eyes and lay his head in the crook of your neck as you scratch gently at his scalp. It always calms him down, grounds him in the here and now. Your arms around him, your fingers carding through his hair, the rise and fall of your chest that’s synced with his–it all reminds him that he’s safe, that he’s home. You want that feeling to follow him into his dreams, to let him find true rest. So when his body goes tense and his breathing gets labored, you hold him closer and hum gently into his ear until whatever haunts him in his sleep is chased away by the comfort you bring.

You want to make sure he’s protected. You wish you could deflect every hit, blade, and bullet away from his body. You wish he would see his body as something worth protecting. He would stop if you asked, would settle into a normal life as best as he could. You would never ask because to do so would be to deny the part of him you love most: his heart that beats to help others. So you protect him in the ways that you can. You stitch cuts and treat burns, you mend his jackets and help clean his guns. More than anything, you guard his peace of mind like it’s the most valuable thing in the world. You’re never cruel to him, never scream vicious words or toss him out into the cold night. You call Bruce and thank him for the first edition Jane Austen novels that arrived on your doorstep on August 16th when Jason just…can’t. You let him grip your hand brutally tight under the table when you go to the manor for Thanksgiving for the first time. And when it gets really bad? When he feels the burning of green waters that breathed life into him that he didn’t want, when hideous laughter echoes in a place it’s never been? You do something no one has ever done for him. You wait. You stay. You stay by his side until he can breathe again, until dawn breaks and he can see the light again. And always, always you, haloed in it like an angel he doesn’t think he deserves. He does.

You want him to have a good cup of hot chocolate. He told you about it once when he came home after a long winter patrol. Half delirious from exhaustion, he reminisced about how Bruce would make them both a cup of hot chocolate after particularly rough or successful patrols in December. How this specific hot chocolate had no equal—even Alfred couldn’t replicate the richness and warmth. You noticed the fondness in his voice, the longing so intense that it still makes your heart ache for him. So you do some light stalking and hunt down Tim Drake, demand that he give you the information you want or else you’ll disclose how he really lost his spleen to Bruce (why he was dense enough to tell Jason, you’ll never know). And that is how Bruce Wayne, billionaire philanthropist single father and the Batman, receives an email with the subject line “URGENT: Recipe Request” that reads as follows:

To whom it may concern,

I have been made aware that you have a remarkably compelling hot chocolate recipe that is hitherto unparalleled by cafes, franchises, and butlers alike. I am emailing you to inquire about my being sent this recipe post-haste. This is less a request than a demand. I will do my best to ensure that you, at some point in time not specified (it will take great effort on my part), are able to witness the consumption of the hot chocolate by the individual that will be receiving the product of the recipe.

Best regards,

Someone who loves your son.

Bruce sends the recipe the second he receives the email. He has to sneak his phone under the conference table at the Wayne Enterprises board meeting to do it, but he still manages to reply in two minutes and forty-seven seconds. And you make good on your promise. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Jason shine as brightly as he does that Christmas, lit up by the lights on the twelve foot tree as he sips his hot chocolate from the same red mug that’s been sitting in the kitchen cabinet since he last drank from it. The matching black mug is clasped in the hands of the hot chocolate connoisseur himself, who smiles softly like the magic of the season has returned to his life for the first time in ages.

You want him to heal. It’s a big ask; you know that. But you’ve never been one for giving up hope, and if anyone can manage to achieve the impossible, it’s Jason. So you tell him it’s a great idea when he jokes about getting a therapist. You wait for him in the car the first time he goes and you let him open up to you in his own time when he comes out of the appointment body tight as a bowstring and eyes bloodshot. You watch quietly and celebrate the little victories you see him win. He can call his father first now; he doesn’t do it often, but he can. He can talk to his younger brother without hating his hands and the blood that’s been spilled on them, without going out on patrol and intentionally letting all the worst hits make contact. He can go out to lunch with his older brother and his youngest, can laugh with them over that ridiculous thing Bruce did at a gala once to make them all laugh. He can bear his birthday a little bit better now, can accept the cake you bake and actually make a wish when he blows out the candles. But you’ll never know about the moment that you start to get what you want. Jason goes to visit his own grave on the anniversary of his death and finds a bouquet of red carnations, baby’s breath, and honeysuckle with a note in your handwriting that reads “Someone told me once that you were magic, that that was the best thing about you. I think it’s far more important that you were loved. I don’t know what you could’ve been. I don’t wonder about it like those that loved you did because all I know is who you became. He’s wonderful. He’s still magic. I think you’d be proud of him. I’ll do my best to take care of him for you.” He sits there for an hour in tears. Then he takes one bud of each flower and the note, goes home and presses them into the pages of his favorite book. He holds you in his arms in bed that night and feels, for the first time in a long time, a sense of peace down to his very bones.

You want—above all else—Jason Todd to feel loved. You want him to feel so cherished and wanted that he cannot possibly look at himself without realizing that he is something precious, something beloved. So you tell him that you love him and you accept his warm embrace as his way of saying it back. You make him chocolate chip cookies and sneak one into the pocket of his tactical pants when he goes on patrol (they’re soft, they don’t get crunched when he’s thrown from a roof). You read his favorite books to understand what he’s saying when he goes off on tangents about class and social hierarchy and how they governed life in the 19th century. You trace his scars and kiss away his tears when he can’t believe that he could be transformed from a being marred by brutality into a man revered with gentleness. You will love him until the day you both die. You will love him in death, until whatever atoms made up you and him come together again. You will love him until everything that ever is or ever was ceases to be in a supernova of light. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll love him in whatever is born after.

[aporatael]

...

Who’d want to waste spacetime on anything else?

“Do you only take people along with you just to convince yourself that you’re not selfish?” I ask, interested. “Or do you normally take children - no, not children, children would argue - but fuckable young people, I bet. Girls, mostly. In their twenties, I bet. Because they’ll just smile and agree and compromise.”

“That’s very rude,” the Doctor says, startled. “Like. Wow. Seriously?”

“Is it true? Eohippus.”

“Not true at all. Pliohippus.”

“Pliohippus comes just before Equus, you quack.”

“Why do you even care? They’re not like they’re real horses. Just a generic beetlin’-around, weird little spotty beastie paddin’ around like a long-legged boring badger. D’yiu want to see some real proper horses, alien ones? I know a race of them with blue shiny wing cases and six genders. Caste system based entirely on the production and rating of poetry - ”

“Oh, they’re spotted?” I cry happily. “Wait, you’ve seen them?”

“All they do is run about on the forest floor, eatin’… fruit.”

“Fruit?”

“I don’t know. Boring things. They don’t even neigh. Just trundle around like guinea pigs.”

“Doctor,” I say eventually, pondering this, “you like horses, don’t you.”

“Absolutely not,” the Doctor says. “I only humour you to keep the peace. And it isn’t bloody working.”

“You like horses. Let’s meet the first ones. Again. And do it properly. Look them in the eye and see the spark of the kinship - see if we can feel the deep emotional connection of the bond-”

“What bond is that?” The Doctor says, but - hahahaha. I’ve got him. The Doctor is such a horse girl.

“The deep emotional connection of the kinship between horses - well, horse-shaped things - and humans. Well. Human-shaped things. Is it still there? Did it start there? When you look in the eyes of Eohippus, will you feel it?”

“Feel what?”

“The thing you feel when you look at horses,” I say. “Excitement and adventure and potential and wonder, the desire to love and be loved by it, a thousand wishes, and the feeling of being there at the dawn of the world.”

“We could just go to the Big Bang -”

“I didn’t say the Big Bang. I said the dawn of the world. It’s different. Are they horses? Will you feel the same way with Eohippus? Is the feeling there?”

“Rubbish!” says the Doctor, looking hot and bothered, and setting the coordinates.

Of course it does escalate from there, with running and shouting and aliens (seeking to stripmine the earth’s resources before there were humans to defend it; quite a good plan honestly; genuinely can’t work out why they aren’t all trying that?) but I don’t care; I’m sitting on the forest floor with Eohippus in my arms, having decided that there’s nothing stopping me from doing so; at the dawn of the world.

“NOT the Big Bang,” I say again, as the Doctor squats down beside me. “The dawn of the world.”

And we are quiet for a while.

“Wow,” the Doctor says eventually.

“Yeah.”

“They really are all in there. All the horses that ever were and will be. In that little eye. It’s a kind eye,” he announces, as horse girls do when they mean to compliment a horse with few other notable positives. “And that’s where it all starts.”

“Yeah.”

“Bellerophon and Secretariat and Arthur - I had a horse called Arthur.”

“What happened to him?”

“Gave him back. Can’t keep a horse in the TARDIS.”

“Keep this one,” I say impulsively.

“You know we can’t.”

“… can we clone it?”

Something Doctor Who misses out on is how none of the companions are extremely interested with any one thing. All the companions are all “idk, I have a few ideas of stuff that’d be cool to see, but I’m up for whatever! All of space and time, woohoo! :)”

And that’s great for them and I know it makes for a better show overall but I think it would be more realistic for someone to say “I want to see every historically significant moment for my special interest, and then I want to double back for mundane bits too.”

I, for example, would be an insufferable companion.

I’d be like, “okay now take me to the place and time where they first used stirrups for the whole ride instead of just using them as a foothold to mount the horse. Then I want to watch Ray Hunt put a first ride on a colt. After that we’ll take a nap, and then let’s sneak onto set of the Return of the King to be extras in the Ride of the Rohirrim”

The Doctor would be all “please. This is the twentieth horse-centric stop in a row. We have all of space available to us. Can we leave Earth this time I’m begging you”

And my annoying ass would go “not unless there’s horses in space” roll credits

[amorchai]

𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍 ���𝐀𝐃 ─ j.m

────────────

⭑ ttpd collection!

pairing(s): jj maybank x kook!female!reader

summary: two people who start off on bad terms but find themselves irresistibly drawn to each other, eventually overcoming their initial animosity.

words: 2108

warnings/tags: female!reader, kook!reader, violence, mentions of jj’s alcoholic dad, cigarette use, r goes to gym but does not imply their figure in the slightest! this based off s1/s2 jj so no spoilers included.

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“are you kidding? you would date y/n given the chance?” jj furrows his eyebrows and lets out an exasperated laugh at pope’s confession, what was originally a conversation where they say who they find attractive in outer banks.

pope looks just as confused from the opposing side, “one hundred percent, have you seen y/n?”. jj sits up off the sand, dusting off his hair as he responds, “she’s a kook! we don’t mix with kooks, pope.”

“i was just saying she was pretty, you didn’t need to-”

“a person could look like thor for all i care, but if they’re a kook nothing’s happening, i’m not fraternising with the enemy,” jj interrupts his friends mumbling from beside him and jj turns to look away from the water and to his friend hiding his face underneath a baseball cap in order to keep the sun at bay.

when pope doesn’t respond, jj tips the bill of the cap to look at him properly, “you hear me?” pope smacks the pointed finger jj has aimed, he can see in his peripheral vision that john b, sarah, and kiara are returning with the coolers as promised.

“all i heard was you implying that you find the god of thunder attractive.”

jj shakes his head, ignoring pope and greeting the returning group, “why did you two get to chill while we lugged all this down?” kiara groans while they drop the boxes as both boys look curiously into the coolers.

“i’m excited for tonight,” says sarah, tucking under john b’s arm while they join the boys on the sand. jj grunts, laying back down and tipping his sunglasses over his aching eyes, “it’s gonna be kook central.”

pope nudges him, nodding towards sarah and jj shrugs, “what? it is…”

the group had planned a couple extra hours on the beach before the party arrived, sitting with cold drinks and the last of the rays as the sun set the mood. jj wasn’t going to go, bail for it before people arrived but kiara already lectured him on doing so.

and before jj knew it, the space was full of bustling teenagers and music blaring through speakers. now and again, crowds came and went, each member of the group went to refill drinks or talk to someone but jj stayed put, staring at the now blistering fire keeping him warm, sunglasses perched atop his blonde strands.

his eyes were closed, elbows keeping him up as he lets his head drop back to face the sky. he had been extra put out from his dads drunken antics recently, unsure the last time he set eyes on his dad sober so it was nice having these moments of serenity.

but his peace was quickly ruined by pope’s, “oh god.” jj opens his eyes, looking at his friend, “what?” but pope is staring behind jj and when he follows his gaze it lands on you.

jj knew pope was right from earlier, he had eyes. but he wish he didn’t think just how pretty you looked in that moment. pope audibly gulps as you approach with sarah’s arm linking through yours, laughing bubbling between you both.

he sits up fully, taking a swig of his drink when your eyes fall upon his and your smile drops, “oh.” everyone in the group looks to jj who glances up and down your frame, fighting it off with a quick, “i’m not thrilled either.”

“’not thrilled’ is a nice way to put it, maybank.”

jj’s lips threaten to quip a smile but he just nods while holding his stoic expression, “why are you over here? saw more people having a nice time and though to come ruin it?” he ignores john b and sarah’s cautious gaze as you shake your head dismissively at his reply.

“i’ll catch up with you later, sarah,” you tap her arm, waving bye to the others, a now sweating-pope pathetically replying, ‘nice to see you!’

jj knew it was coming, but still flinches when sarah smacks his arm, “okay, my brother i get but y/n? you can’t just be rude for the sake of it, jj.” he only shrugs, fumbling a cigarette between his lips.

however, before he can even flick open his lighter and inhale the puff of smoke, an all-too-familiar voice cuts in, as if hearing sarah mentioning him and spawning from nowhere, “well, look what the shore dragged in.”

he’s accompanied with a few friends, drink in hand and hair tousled. sarah sighs, moving away from jj and sitting next to john b who looks from his friend and to rafe, “leave us, man.”

“where’s the fun in that? am i not allowed to talk to my sister?” rafe’s voice is teasing, and jj can feel his blood already boiling so he quickly lights his cigarette. this time sarah perks up, “go away, rafe.”

“hey jj,” rafe says after jj exhales a long puff of smoke, he refuses to look, to interact. because whenever he does, his friends get annoyed at him. but rafe continues, “i saw your dad the other day.”

the air thickens, jj pulling the cigarette between his fingers while glancing at the kook, his eyes angry and sending warning signals. he hasn’t seen his dad in over a week, so he can only imagine what rafe will have seen.

with this comment, you appear. jj watches as you grab rafe’s arm and attempt to tug him away, sarah standing up to grab his other arm. “i was passing the liquor store and saw the cashier running after some deadbeat alcoholic with as many bottles of alcohol he could hold.”

he laughs, his friends joining in and jj shrugs off kiara’s hand upon his shoulder as john b continuously says, ‘drop it.’ rafe is staring into jj’s soul and while he knows he just wants a reaction from the pogue, jj is more than happy to give him that satisfaction.

“i’ve never seen such a lost cause in my life. like father like son, am i right?”

jj stands, but before he can make a run to the kook, you suddenly slap rafe across the face and the now forming crowd gasp, rafe turning to look at you, “what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“we could all say a lot about your father – i’m sorry sarah – but we don’t!” your words enrage rafe who shoves your hand from his arm and pope and john b now stand up. “you’re pathetic! you’re always trying to push their buttons, let it go! you’re obsessed with them!”

in a flash, both jj’s friends are holding rafe back as he attempts to jump forward, but jj is staring at you in shock. rafe and his friends are pulled to the side, arguing with john b and pope while kiara asks jj if he’s okay.

“yeah.” you’re staring at each other, your gaze small under his as he’s confused what to say or do in that moment. “i’m sorry, sarah,” you repeat, more firmly and meaningful as the blonde shakes her head dismissively, “he was out of line, i get it.”

words are lodged in his throat. sure, his friends cared for him but he’s never experienced anything like that. anyone defending him the way you did, and despite the shouting from rafe at the other side, jj can’t break his gaze from yours.

but then you turn, quickly walking away. and before he can move, you’re collecting your bag from the ground and running off.

somehow, the following day, john b convinces jj to go to the gym. he stares at the building through tired, sleepless eyes. he would rather be surfing at the beach but his pogue friend insisted on working the machines together so he reluctantly follows.

when he picked jj up, the boy was quick to dismiss the ‘you okay, man?’ comment with a quick nod and change of subject. but all he kept going back to was you. he was confused not only by your actions but his feelings.

the whole night he didn’t sleep, replaying the scenario in his head. a kook would never defend a pogue like that, except sarah. but you, who bickered with jj anytime you were in the same vicinity, was the first to defend him the moment rafe mentioned his dad.

he can picture you in that moment, the constant image of your facial features usually calm now fuelled with anger as you responded to the most wasteful piece of kook jj had ever interacted with.

you were pretty.

“four sets each?” john b asks, resting his water to the side, while sitting on one of the machines, and jj nods unamused, standing beside the machine until his friend finishes his first set.

however, his eyes wander, john b’s outward counting slowly dissipating in jj’s focus as he hears a familiar voice. you’re standing with a friend, laughing and talking in gym gear. you must have finished working out, jj thinks, shoulder shining with some sweat and you were panting slightly.

“jj?” he’s snapped out his trance and turns back to john b who laughs, “i said, same weight?” and jj nods, forcing himself to switch with him and do a set of his own. when his set finishes he stares again, and again after the next, then again when they move machine.

“you look like a creep in the gym staring at her,” says john b, using the bicep curl, “oh wait, you are.” you’re still talking to your friend and jj doesn’t tear his eyes from you as he tells his friend to shut up.

once jj finishes his next set he’s taking in your frame, hardly moving out of the way for john b to use the machine who rolls his eyes and mutters, “down bad.” all it took was a girl he previously declared enemies to defend him and jj was immediately head over heels.

“let’s go to this machine, and you go first,” john b suggests, leading them to a machine away from you so jj can focus for a moment. once jj starts working out, john b is tutting, “you know, pope would kill you if he found out.”

but jj who is pulling faces during his shoulder press huffs out a quick, “found out what?” but the other pogue just lets out a small, “oh no,” while jj finishes his set. “what?” he asks confused but john b is glancing to the side before letting out a happy, “hey, y/n.”

jj stands quickly, squeezing his eyes and rubbing the bridge of his nose while his back is facing you as you greet john b before he turns around with a quick, “hey.” your eyebrows flicker, looking towards him, this time instead of mutual friction, it’s a nice, friendly gaze.

“hi, jj.” you respond, somehow shyly. which jj doesn’t understand since he saw you shouting last night at rafe. john b is watching you both through side glances and before jj can talk you are, “listen, about last night-”

before you can continue, he interjects, “no, uh- thanks for what you did, i guess. i could’ve just punched him but you got a hell of a slap on you.” it’s the first time jj has been nice to you and you smile slightly, “well, he deserved it.”

you bid goodbye and start to head towards the exit, john b thinks nothing of it, turning back to the machine and starting his set. jj watches as you continue walking and before he knows it he’s running in that direction, “c’mon!” he can hear john b exasperated statement.

you turn at the thudding of his feet and eyes widen as you stop walking, turning around to face him, “jj?” he’s smiling, head tilted slightly as he tries to find the words he needs, “can i take you out for dinner sometime?”

“dinner?” you ask, a hint of a smile threatening the corners of your lips as you stare up at the blonde boy, who smugly shrugs, “you know, as a thank you. for being my hero.”

it’s teasing, back to the jj you know, except it’s not laced with rudeness but flirty notes. “as a thank you…” you trail off knowingly, this time smiling as you finish with a quick, “sure. you can get my number from sarah.”

john b watches the interaction and a smug jj jogging back over while you walk out the gym. he shakes his head knowingly, “pope will kill you.” jj sits on the vacant machine aside john b now awaiting his next set as he only shrugs, “i don’t care.”

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amorchai masterlist . taglist

amorchai © ─ all rights reserved. no reposting/translating/copying will be tolerated.

[skunkes]

doing figure drawing studies because i know thats what i should be doing right now but also ive been in a very insane deranged state for the past 2 months that leaves me like this whenever i look at a man for too long

[akkivee]

🙂↕️🙂↕️okay okay okay so so far within the og divisions we have:

❤️: they strive for a world where words solve conflict. they pointedly did not use mics to express this. at the end of the track, they’re dynamic as brothers has shifted to a more equal dynamic, where ichiro doesn’t feel so compelled to raise them

💙: they strive for a world without violence and used their mics to resolve the conflict. at the end of the track, they reject their status quo and aim to find a new one to change the world without the use of violence

💛: wanted to be real with each other and used their mics to get that across. at the end of the track tho, they say that truth doesn’t really matter anyway and stay true to the selves they formed their bond with

🩶: a battle of wills using the mics. jakurai’s love for yotsutsuji manifested in the form of sacrificing himself and dohifu trying to stop him using their love for their bond as mtr. at the end of the track it’s that love that’s saved jakurai, healed hifumi and elevated doppo’s status at work

and things have changed for all they’ve stayed the same so i’m genuinely curious where nagosaka fits in this lol

[sieglinde-freud]

you know ive never had robin s support a spotpass character. maybe i’ll marry gangrel

[sysig]

One better (Patreon)

[mihai-florescu]

The thing about being a bitch and a hater is that you need to be charismatic about it for people to still like you somehow. And most importantly you need to be a poor little meow meow people will want to help see win.

[gregxb]

This is how I think of Galvatron... and I am mostly extrapolating from what was on screen. Now am I reading things that weren't there? Maybe. But I like it.

1. Megatron is Megatron, we all know who he is. Leader of the Decepticons, started the Third Great War. His conflict with Optimus Prime brought that war to Earth. Longs to conquer the universe. Can he? Probably not. But he'll cause a lot of damage trying. He hungers for power. He rules through fear. But Optimus Prime is, as ever, the greatest thorn in his side. In War Dawn, when he first meets Prime... Prime is right, he's Megatron's worst nightmare. And worst of all, it's of his own making... when he gunned down Orion Pax. But hey, peace through tyranny... one day, he will control all.

2. He is finally defeated, humbled... humiliated. On the brink of death. Starscream chucks him out of Astrotrain. Easily. Without opposition. They're not afraid of him anymore. Was Soundwave loyal? Maybe, probably. But not quite loyal enough. No matter what happens, he's done. Megatron is done. It's over.

3. Along comes Unicron, the devil of legend... I doubt Megatron was a believer. And even with Unicron in front of him, his sheer ego won't allow him to bow down... Unicron makes him an offer. A new body, and new troops to command... the price? His freedom. His autonomy. Megatron says no and then, with oblivion before him... his ego is finally broken and he begs for it. He pleads for mercy. Optimus Prime, who faced death with grace and dignity was right, Megatron, in the end, wasn't made of sterner stuff.

4. A new body, more powerful than ever before. New troops. A second-in-command all other Decepticon and Predacon leaders would beg for. A new identity, a fresh start and yet still able to evoke the "ghost of Megatron". He easily re-takes what was once his. Re-asserts his will, and hey, he doesn't need Starscream anymore so he makes an example of him. The oh-so loyal Soundwave is still useful, but he no longer has his ear directly, he reports to Cyclonus and Scourge now. And best of all, Optimus Prime is dead... and he clearly doesn't regard Ultra Magnus as a threat of any kind. But, oh yes... he still needs to follow Unicron's commands. But he refuses to do so and in his pride and thirst for power, his hubris believing that he can control a god... he nearly dooms their entire race.

5. In a moment of desperation, Galvatron tries to strike an allyship against Unicron with a mere Autobot... which Autobot? He seems familiar, but clearly this Autobot is insignificant, but facing destruction he instead does battle at the behest of the master who holds his leash. Now, this isn't known to Galvatron, but Unicron must sense what kind of danger he's in at that moment. The Autobot is quick and agile, but ultimately not a threat of any kind. As soon as Galvatron manages to lay a hand on him, it's over... the Autobot is in his grasp. Cybertron is on the verge of destruction and ultimately servitude or destruction are what awaits him... so yeah, there's no satisfaction. And then it happens. He witnessed the birth of a Prime once before and no Decepticon leader wishes to see that twice. And then, before he knows it... it's over.

6. Weeks go by, months... and then he is found. Recovered by Cyclonus, Scourge, and the Sweeps. And what's left of him? He has physical power. He managed to retain most of his newfound might. But the control he desired? The Decepticons are in shambles and now... he no longer even has full control of himself. Will he rule the galaxy? Or will he just tear it all down just to watch it burn. He is the nth degree of what he was and yet, somehow still a shadow of his former self. Once he ruled through fear, now he rules through terror. Traitors are executed or banished at the first sign of acting against him. And yet, maybe this makes him even more dangerous.

Being a Galvatron fan is weird, cos like, there's a lot of potential hidden in his character and you want to see him as a really cool villain, but in the original G1 show all he ever does is get angry and hit people. So then when you go to read fics and all everyone ever writes him as is an angry guy that hits people and you're like "I know you're being accurate to the source material but Hey!"

[louff4tw]

69.8% are not happy people dis on Bruce in the Batfam tag. This is my official petition that y’all use a different tag. Poll bellow

Here are my suggestions for y’all to use instead

What does this hope to accomplish?

Less arguing. People who love Batman won’t see the hate in BATfam tag.

And people who don’t like him can post in peace without Bruce stans going after you. This is a mutual benefits thing

I’m partial to y’all having Gothfam or DiFam. Especially DiFam as I can see why people would rather Dick lead the family. Or NightFam if you want his vigilante name. Or y’all can come up with one.

Also to address the person who said the Bat can stand for those who have been Batman before. But no. Dick was a Batman. He played the role. He ISNT Batman. That’s also taking away Dicks identify as Batman’s whole association is with Bruce not Dick. Batman is Bruce Wayne (not counting future) it’s a expression of his trauma. Don’t make it Dicks

[seventh-district]

I'm probably far from the first person to say this, but you can't tell me that this song doesn't just scream Aventurine, c'mon.

[girlivealwaysbean]

my sister called me and kept asking excitedly that what's happening in my life and

[b-blushes]

friends i am experiencing the consequences of my actions (did activities and now i feel real bad)

BUT we stay silly

[unproduciblesmackdown]

appreciation for winston's watch wednesday. all the little buttons on it

[thewhizzyhead]

you know my dudes i don't think i'm quite sure on whether i prefer "it's not a game" or "be safe/be good" as a prelude to it's just a ride aka the rtc finale cause like. "It's not a game" fits more musically and thematically to it's just a ride and it sounds so damn good and it focuses on the kids bittersweetingly making peace with their choice to concede for Jane Doe which is VERY important to them making peace with their lives in "it's just a ride" and their character arcs in regards to how they treat Jane Doe BUT THEN AGAIN "be safe/be good" has the kids MOURNING their deaths and the lives they left behind and like,,,the idea of first mourning their own deaths before coming to peace with them via finding the fun in the rollercoaster ride that led to their deaths IS SO FUCKING HEAVY AND PROFOUND ESPECIALLY CONSIDERING THAT THE CHARACTERS ARE KIDS LIKE HOLY FUCK THAT'S IMPACTFUL

[bridge-demon]

this crippling loneliness will NOT get me down!! it will however probably continue to mess up my brain in the future