#idk how canonical it is but i dont care

[masterofiodine]

i'm finally listening to tma!

(adding this version too because i cant decide which one looks better hehh)

[separatedleoau]

He doesn't know what everyone's singing

I guess this is propaganda for @tmntaucompetition vote for SLAU and I'll uuuhhhh.... I'll make the matching jerseys canon I guess

[cloudysfluffs]

prismo stop moving, hes trying to make up some constellations!!

---

inspired by @tickletails post abt the stars on prismos back and one of the convos we recently bc we are the normalest ever about these two

[artandbrimstone]

choosing which scars to keep.

close ups under the cut

[tenderjock]

outstanding leadership, extraordinary initiative, & steadfast devotion to duty

Daniel&Jack&Peggy, and medals earned in wartime.

"You ever notice that Thompson doesn't talk about the Navy Cross?"

Peggy froze in the middle of adding milk to her tea. After a moment, she put the bottle down and stirred carefully, thoughts racing. Without turning to Daniel or letting her surprise inflect her voice, she said, "What do you mean?"

Daniel shrugged, a little jerkily. "I don't know. Everything's always bigger and better with him, you know? He'll tell you how much he earns or how long his - ah, you know, he'll brag. But he changes the topic every time it comes up."

She tapped the spoon against the side of her cup. "Perhaps he -" She broke off, struggling for the words that would turn Daniel's attention away from the issue. "Perhaps he simply doesn't like to talk about things that happened over there. We've all been there; it's never anything like the medals or newsreels seem to say it was."

"Yeah, sure," Daniel said. "It just doesn't seem like Thompson to not tell everyone he knows about it."

"You don't talk about your Purple Heart," Peggy pointed out, not ungently. Daniel stiffened.

"That's different."

"It is," Peggy agreed. "It's different for all of us."

A pair of familiar footsteps joined them at the office commissary before Daniel could respond. Peggy glanced back down into her cup and added a generous spoonful of sugar.

"I see my top agents are spending their workday productively," Jack remarked, his smirk a sharp line in his face.

Peggy shot him a rather arch look. "I see Chief Thompson is having an equally productive day," she said. "Have you admitted defeat yet?"

Jack made a face. He'd been fighting, along with Agent Faut and some rather obnoxious pencil-pushers, to balance the New York SSR's budget for the better part of the week. Most of his morning had been spent in a meeting with the senator's aide.

"I got 'em on the ropes," he said. Daniel clears his throat, rather judgementally.

Peggy isn't quite sure who he's been more upset with recently: Jack, for taking the promotion, or her, for not being bothered by it.

His attitude was a bit annoying, to be honest. Frankly, she was never going to receive a Medal of Honor or the position as New York Chief, no matter who advocated for her or what evidence was presented to the U.S. government. Daniel had to know that, too; the man wasn't stupid. And he had to realize that having Jack in charge, where they could keep an eye on him, was better than any alternative.

"We were discussing wartime medals," Peggy said instead of all that. Jack stiffened; Daniel noticed; Peggy rolled her eyes. "I once knew a man who earned an Order of the Bath for strategic actions in battle." She considered the memory. "He had terrible teeth."

"Order of the Bath?" Jack said, disbelieving.

"For conspicuous heroism taking place in a sauna," Daniel said. Both men laughed. Peggy sniffed. They had no respect, these Americans.

"What about Carter?" Jack asked, still laughing.

Peggy blinked at him. "What about me?" she said.

"What kind of awards did Agent Peggy Carter deign to accept?"

"I didn't earn any," Peggy said stiffly. "Women aren't combatants."

That's a bit of an oversimplification, she will admit in the privacy of her own mind. There were a few medals she could have theoretically earned, from the Americans and her own government, had circumstances regarding her service not been so, well, unique.

Some Englishwomen had received medals, but their service had been different than hers - usually as pilots or somesuch, not the covert missions she had in occupied France and Nazi Germany.

She may have qualified from the U.S. Women's Army Corps Service Medal, although it perhaps would have required Colonel Phillips to pull a few strings. Peggy had occupied a strange place in the war: a woman, first of all, and therefore not allowed in combat or eligible to receive medals for heroism under fire. But she had also been a spy, someone who technically didn't exist; and a British operative working for the Americans. Both sides had simply sort of - cut her loose, after victory was obtained and she was no longer useful.

It was only due to Colonel Phillips' recommendation that she had this job in the first place. Peggy pursed her lips, then shook herself out of her thoughts.

Only to find the two men staring at her like they had just been dunked in ice water. It was a bit unsettling. She took a sip of tea.

"Anyway," she said. "I actually do have work to do. Daniel, try to keep in mind what I was saying."

Jack was frowning at her. Daniel was frowning, too, but his gaze flicked to Jack once when she spoke, before he nodded.

"Sure thing," he said, and shifted on his crutch out of her way to let her back to her desk.

: :

Peggy frequently found herself the last person in the office, nowadays, with the possible exceptions being Daniel and Jack. Right now, Daniel's dark head of curls was bent over his desk and Jack's light was still on in his office, although the blinds were drawn.

They've all been working in a companionable silence for the last two hours. Daniel was eating something that smelled hot and spiced at his desk; little noises kept coming from the Chief's office, the sound of a file cabinet being opened or the desk chair being pushed back.

For Peggy's part, she's been combing through reports of gun sales to women matching Dottie's description in the tri-state area. She has found three that warrant a closer look, and was just about to get herself another cup of tea and really settle in when Jack's door opened and he slouched out.

He stopped in front of her desk. She looked up at him and raised an eyebrow. He stared at her for a second, looking troubled.

"Yes?" she ventured, when it became clear he wasn't going to say anything to her.

"Can I talk to you?" he asked, rather abruptly.

Daniel was looking at them now. Peggy drummed her fingernails on her desk, then nodded and followed Jack into his office, where he shut the door behind them.

He then proceeded to stand at his desk, hands braced against the wood, staring blankly. Peggy was honestly starting to get worried, not that she thought letting Jack know that was a good idea.

"Chief Thompson?" she said. She didn't touch his arm, but it was a close thing.

Jack opened his desk drawer and pulled out a box. It looked like a large jewelry box and was made of navy blue leather, with gold detailing. Peggy didn't need to ask what was inside it - even if it hadn't had the name of the medal printed on it in little gold letters, she would have known.

"You should have it," Jack said. His face was grim and set.

"Jack!" Peggy said, shocked.

"You should have it," he insisted. "I don't - it shouldn't be me, anyway. And you deserve it, Peggy. We both know that." Jack glanced at her, then glanced away. "I was going to put it out on my desk but - I couldn't. I can't. You should have it."

Peggy stared at him, feeling like her heart was in her throat. Jack Thompson was a liar, and a fraud, and a self-serving, arrogant pain-in-the-arse to work with, but sometimes he still surprised her.

And, anyway, it would do no one any favors to make this into a bigger deal than it already was. She nodded, and carefully took the box and tucked it under one arm.

"I'll keep it safe," she said quietly. Then, more briskly, "Do you want me to brief you on the progress I've made in the Underwood case?"

"Christ," Jack said, rubbing his eyes. He laughed, a little wetly. "Yeah, that'd be great. Tell me you got something."

They talked for a few minutes. Jack agreed with her that there was meat in the rumor of a bank robbery being planned, although neither of them could fathom why a notorious Communist would want to rob a bank. When Peggy left his office with the Navy Cross in hand, Jack was pouring himself a Scotch, looking exhausted and like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

Daniel looked up as Peggy fastened the clasps of her purse and got her coat. "You leaving?" he asked, and then considered her more closely. "Are you okay, Peggy?"

"Yes," she said. "Just, you know." She looked at Jack's office door and clutched the rectangular shape in her purse tighter. "I need to get home."

"I'll walk you out," Daniel said, still watching her. "I'm just about done here anyway."

Peggy waited while he grabbed his coat, hat, and briefcase. She had to watch her pace a bit when she's walking with Daniel, but the company was usually worth it. Tonight, she was tired and a little shaken and a bit too reflective, and she appreciated the distraction of having to make small talk with Daniel as they walked to the subway station together.

As they were waiting for her train - hers was due in four minutes; Daniel's, in six - Daniel said, apropos of nothing, "I guess I just never expect Thompson to care enough about anything to feel, I don't know." He looked across the platform blankly. "Shame or guilt or, or loss. Or anything."

Peggy looked at him. "I know what you mean," she said.

"You know why he doesn't talk about the Navy Cross." It wasn't a question. Daniel wasn't looking at her.

Peggy tucked her heavy purse tighter to her torso and breathed out slowly. "Yes," she said. Just yes, and nothing else.

Daniel nodded, still staring across the empty platform. "Is it something I should know about?"

She gave that some thought. "It's not something I'm going to tell you," she said finally. "Not without Jack's permission, which I don't think he'd give. But it doesn't change who he is, not really. It might explain some of what he's done, recently." Then, because she wanted to be honest with Daniel: "Although you may not like the explanation."

He dipped his chin to his chest. "Alright," he said, then again, quieter, "Alright."

Her train arrived, and Peggy boarded, wishing Daniel a good night. Peggy observed him through the car's dirty, cracked window, a dark figure braced on his crutch, looking down at the concrete beneath his shoes. Peggy put one hand into her purse, pressing her palm against Jack's medal as she watched him.

As the train pulled away from the platform, Daniel seemed to shake himself and turned toward the opposite tracks, where his train going the other direction was arriving.

[batbux]

In the League of Assassins, to return home to find one's personal quarters breached, door ajar, is a violation of the highest order - a threat, a declaration of war all rolled into one.

In Wayne Manor, it was WORSE.

Damian stood in the hallway, backpack clenched in one hand, glaring at his bedroom door with everything he had. In a just world, the door would have the decency to at least burst into flames. Alas, it did not and Damian came no closer to developing x-ray vision in the intervening moments.

He clicked his tongue and stalked forward, determined to spew vitriol of the highest caliber at the interloper.

Grayson and Todd had plans today - it was why Pennyworth had been the one to collect him from school. Brown and Cain were currently staying in the manor, but they usually only appeared around meals like the stray cats Damian fed behind the now defunct grilled cheese restaurant on the corner of Washington and 147th. Thomas and Drake usually returned later in the day - school and work respectively.

In short - Damian's room had either been breached by a stranger which was staggeringly unlikely, or there was a flaw in his information.

Throwing open the door, Damian's eyes met Drake's and every scathing insult died on his lips.

Because the older boy was sitting in Damian's desk chair with a pastel pink box on his lap. The same one that Damian had secreted away last night and hoped to return today with his older "brother" none the wiser.

"So, do you want to talk about this or..." Tim trailed off, seeming oddly relaxed.

"Get out of my room."

"Ok, because this Hello Kitty caboodle was a cherished gift from Stephanie and I was beside myself when I found out it was missing this morning."

Damian could see the bruising now, creeping up the side of Drake's neck where he'd turned to avoid taking a pipe to the throat.

"I decided to work from home," he explained unnecessarily, catching how Damian's eyes lingered on the too dark shadow around his collar. "Why did you take my makeup?"

Damian glared at him, lip curling in disgust.

"Ok," Drake said again. "At least tell me you didn't use my brushes and sponges. I don't want the cross contamination of your face germs."

"How dare you!" Damian hissed, clenching his free hand into a fist as well now. "To imply I'm unclean-"

"Oh my god, shut up. Everyone has weird face germs and whole ecosystems on their skin. People have mites in their eyelashes."

After a quick Google search, Damian determined that to be true and resolved to never think about it again.

"It's not sanitary to share," Drake concluded. Finally, he stood. Hopefully that meant that he was done with this whole mortifying ordeal. "But, Damian..."

"Leave," he ordered. Drake didn't. He just looked at Damian. It was- it was uncomfortable. Rude, even. And it certainly didn't make Damian sweat with the knowledge that a properly motivated Red Robin was nearly as observant as Batman himself.

"I'm going to make you an offer," Tim said, seemingly finding something in Damian's face or body language. "I'll take you out to a proper store for brushes and makeup - they'll be able to help with your shades and stuff better than I can - and as soon as we get home we'll never speak about it again."

Damian's eyes narrowed.

"Why?"

"Arguably so you'll be better able to go undercover - Bruce had me posing as Caroline Hill when I was a little older than you are now. But also, maybe it's a gender thing."

"It's not."

"Okay," Drake agreed easily. "But I'm going out as a woman if we do go - I have a rapport with the workers at the Sephora in Burnley."

Drake had no pride as a man, that much was obvious. Internally, Damian could admit that wasn't... Bad.

"Do you... Prefer to be a woman?" he asked stiffly because he may think Drake was a consummate waste of air, but he wasn't a monster. He would use the right pronouns.

"I don't really care," he said. "I don't feel strongly one way or another."

Leave it to Drake to half ass the entire concept of his own gender.

"If you go as a woman, would I present a hindrance to your cover?" Damian asked before he remembered that leaving for a little makeup outing with Timothy Drake was one of the last things he wanted to do.

"I could swing it," he answered. "But I think you might have fun dressing up. Have you seen my collection of wigs?"

Without knowing how, exactly, Damian found himself sat down at a proper vanity in Drake's private bathroom, hair framing his face in gentle medium brown waves. As Drake struggled with an unopened tube of eyeliner in the background, he looked at himself in the mirror.

A face achingly reminiscent of his mother's peered back at him.

[triglycercule]

"finally, mine. heh, and it looks better than both of yours."

"uhhh, mine and dust's are both in the same style, same everything. like, there's not even that much different about yours, horror."

"yeah, but it's me."

"i hope an alternate version of you gets severely mischaracterized irreparably."

"... damn."

💜/💙/❤️

[lemongogo]

why do i love the conflict more than anything else . the misery . the incompatibility that spreads like oil slick . wanting so desperately for resolution that never comes . hmmm

[gjsxj0]

mindless rambling in tags don't mind me

[koicrimes]

i think if you think someone is a bad person simply because they view/portray a character differently than you do, you need to take your ass outside and talk to real people. this is ESPECIALLY true when yall know that you're almost entirely projecting who YOU are as in individual onto these characters. you cannot expect people to portray a character as you with better hair-- none of us know each other. we're all strangers. your story- the one you use to try and force parallels with your fave- is nonexistent as far as the next person is concerned.

im not saying there's anything wrong with projecting on to your faves. TONS of people do it-- which is why, you're not always going to find people who view the character the exact same way you want them to. because their projection looks different from your projection.

if you want a character to be portrayed exactly like you want them to, if you want a character that shares your likeness (whatever that means to you) create your own original character. no one can "take that away from you" because it's your own creation and you dictate what's true or not.

everything else is all entirely up to the individual's interpretation that's consuming the media, same as you.

[kaeyapilled]

we need to lean more into the scara is a puppet thing. hes like an android robot. to me. does bro have a cooling system. removing his ram memory

[catboycyrus]

HAVE YOU HEARD THE NEWS ABOUT CYRUS BEING CANONICALLY AUTISTIC

well sure but I figured we all knew that for years due to his nature? One of the most obvious autistic characters ever invented right behind Fegan Floop of Spy Kids fame.

[sonknuxadow]

just got a blazed sonadow post on my dash that was actually such a jumpscare

[seizethedeansofproduction]

I just know that after Annie, Troy, and Abed watched Spiderverse, they all went as spiderman variants for halloween

[shikai-the-storyteller]

PAC GIVING ME HOPE THAT HE MIGHT PARTICIPATE IN THE FINAL QSMP EVENT???? THANKS PAC

[kingcunny]

still think theyre gonna make dyana gaemons mother in hotd. i feel like it would be the smart thing to do since theyve already named & introduced her. and it also brings into the story of ye olde abortives werent always 100% affective putting jaces parentage into further question. which i dont Personally believe criston is jaces father but i think its interesting if maybe rhaenyra/jace/alicent/criston THINK he could be……..