#is the mistake NOT thinking about him?

[superexplosive]

some of yall aren't thinking about Atomic Robo 24/7 and frankly it shows

[prlssprfctn]

Somewhere in the year after Jason becomes a part of Bruce's family, a strange book appears on the desk of Bruce's personal study room. A book about parenting traumatised kids. He opens it, leafs though a little, noticing certain phrases underlined, and closes it back. Alfred probably left it. Just a few days ago, they had a short argument regarding his parenting methods, and he seemingly tried to prove his point by additional literature. Bruce is going to read it later.

...He doesn't have time, actually, and eventually, the book stays forgotten, tucked between many others.

Years pass. Jason dies. And then comes back, complicated and different, frustrating and hard to crack. Thinking about Jason — a habit, always a habit — becomes some kind of roulette: he either remembers something nice, comes up with some courage to talk with his son, at least through comms, at least not directly, or the exact opposite thing happens, sending them both out of balance.

It is the middle of cleaning day, when Alfred suddenly picks up the exact same book about children victims and how to take care of them, and to Bruce's surprise asks where does this book come from.

'What do you mean?' Bruce frowns. 'You gave it to me when I just adopted Jason. Well, not gave, I would say tactically sneaked in, but...'

'I would remember that,' Alfred frowns. He goes through a few pages, and his face softens. 'It wasn't me, master Bruce.'

And suddenly, it clicks.

*Jason* left it. He underlined lines that probably felt relatable to him, that maybe could help them both in their new, hard journey. A shy kid he was, though, very smart, he would never actually speak with Bruce directly — he would try to leave him hints. To open up more in a subtle way.

To—

Oh.

Bruce suddenly can imagine his little son overhearing his late argument with Alfred that day, all these years ago. Mulling over, "this kid is deeply traumatised, master Bruce" and "well, I can't get inside his head, Al" lines. Figuring out how to easen his burden. How to be understood and yet accepted.

And Bruce... unknowingly discarded that.

As usual.

Unknowingly, cluelessly, and yet so simply — he discarded everything that was dear to Jason, everything that meant something for him.

As he grips the book in his hands, caressing the soft cover, he can't help but wonder if any of the information inside, little highlights Jason did, are still working for him. If he still can fix it.

[stargirl230]

ghost of you

super quick Sua screencap redraw to celebrate the new video release - no I was not expecting it to be Like That and yes I was devastated

(no reposts; reblogs appreciated)

[heph]

BEAUTIFUL SHADE OF FORDTRAMARINE!

[blabberoo]

You've done this before...

Countless of times...

Why now?

Bonus :)

[flwrkid14]

What If… Damian Believed Tim?

Imagine this: Tim Drake, standing alone in his belief that Bruce Wayne is still alive. Everyone else—Dick, Alfred, even the League—thinks he’s grasping at shadows. But Damian? Damian listens.

Not because he trusts Tim. Not because they’re friends (far from it). But because Damian knows one thing: Tim is never wrong when it matters.

It gnaws at him. The grudging respect he holds, born from Ra’s al Ghul’s own words, calling Tim a detective worthy of his respect. And now, Damian’s watching as Dick dismisses Tim’s theory. It feels… wrong.

So, Damian makes a choice. He doesn’t scoff. Doesn’t fight. Instead, he stands beside Tim, unyielding. Not as allies, not even as friends—but as two sons who refuse to give up on their father.

Tim’s solo mission becomes their mission. Night after night, they search, fight, and piece together a puzzle no one else believes in. And somewhere along the way, between shared glances and unspoken words, they stop being rivals. They start becoming brothers.

Because sometimes, belief is the strongest tether. And sometimes, it takes the least likely person to believe in you to bring you back from the edge.

[oceanwithouthermoon]

"i dont hate this female character, i just have a nuanced take on her" and the nuanced take is comically stereotypical misogyny

[thekittyokat]

you ever just have a lot, a LOT of feelings all at once about a character and not even remotely enough words or brainpower to FORM the words to describe everything you're feeling. so it feels like you may explode. yeah

[pricegouge]

the erotic pin up thought but imagine nikolai tattooing his favourite pic and surprising his lover with it :3

he's already been away for two weeks when you get a text from an unknown number. you don't need the contact to discern who it is, anyway. in istanbul. things are running long. don't expect me back so soon. you're not expecting a reply when you tell him not to worry, to just keep himself safe, but you're delighted when you get one anyway.

>>You too, milaya.

he messages you at least once a day, just to check in. you've never been able to contact him like this while he's been on mission before and you don't want to ruin it by being too needy but the temptation of your phone lays heavy in your pocket all week. you'd hate to interfere but he makes it hard when he keeps up a slow, steady means of communication. you wonder about the mission, don't dare ask. it seems unlikely that he'd let himself be so distracted if it were something high stakes, though. it's possible he's been relegated to glorified taxi while bigger pieces make their moves and you can't help but sympathize when you picture him waiting around, dining in the quaint kind of cafes he'd never really seemed to find an appreciation for - at least, not on his own. he was always happy enough to take you but it had always been very clear where his interest lied, dark eyes trained on you even as he ordered. observant, filing away each little reaction he could pull from you with savory dishes and select deserts. you flatter yourself, imagining his patience breaking, just a little more each day, just enough to text you, earlier and earlier each day until two weeks have come and gone and you've basically fallen into a constant rapport.

you ask for pictures of the city and he obliges, little peeks into the life he's living while away. yet more evidence this is some bizarrely political mission he doesn't really need to be present for. you note when he moves locales a few times but he tactfully avoids telling you his location again. he stops sending you pictures altogether when you start guessing correctly.

so you start sending him pictures instead. they start out innocent enough, testing the limits of what you're allowed to say on this line. he shows gives no intent to stop you when you show him the view from the summit of a local hike, nor even when you snap a picture outside a local restaurant, its logo left carelessly in frame. he only tells you to enjoy, doubles down when you send a selfie with your cheeks stuffed full of spanakopita.

you start to think he deserves a reward, being on the clock for nearly a month straight and still finding the time to check in with you.

his hangar is a sacred place, one you rarely enter without his accompaniment. too many expensive tools, machinery pulled apart with all its fragile bits exposed. you're always afraid to touch, afraid to break. nik had told you once that every item there was made of sterner stuff, that you couldn't hurt a swashplate if you climbed up on it. funny how you might be taking him up on the offer now.

(you wouldn't know really, the knowledge about what a swashplate even was having gone in one ear and right out the other. not your fault when he looked that good, jumpsuit folded down to reveal a sweaty, clingy tank top, wiry hair visible through the thin ribbed material.)

but you're getting ahead of yourself.

the tarp kicks up a mess when you pull it free, concrete dust having settled in nik's absence. it sends you into a sneezing fit and you curse, smudging your makeup as you try to wipe away the moisture collecting on your lash line. you decide to roll with it when you catch a glimpse of yourself in some nearby chrome, see the kind of effect it brings to your overall look.

your makeup is classic, a bright lip and exaggerated liner. even a painted on beauty mark to really knock it home. the outfit was harder to settle on, your every instinct telling you nik always appreciated when you looked your finest, all dolled up in expensive labels he'd bought for you. but ultimately you'd decided what was good for the goose was good for the gander, pilfering from his closet until you'd found what you were looking for, the exact same outfit which drove you mad.

nik's a big man, his jumpsuit made to reflect that. it drapes away from your waist when you let it hang but it's nothing that a clever safety pin corset can't fix, the top of the suit left to hang over it, hiding it away. long legs are easier to remedy, hems tucked into a pair of hiking boots you hadn't cared about in years, now painted to look the part with the same gear grease you'd smeared all over yourself, tasteful swipes meant to accentuate your soft curves, here on display under the dirty tank top you'd sworn you'd told him to get rid of, now tied tight around your waist to show off your chest. and now with your smudged makeup you think you've finally got it right, the look exactly what you'd been going for when you'd first got the notion in your head.

with the stage already set, the photoshoot goes easily enough. the poses are almost instinctual, the big wrench you wield almost natural in your hands as you lean provocatively over the engine block, tits to squished you doubt he'll ever even notice the size isn't right for the bolts in front of you. you try a couple of different styles, positions which are obviously designed with aesthetics in mind interspersed with more competent looking ones, even though it makes you feel ridiculous when you think of how obvious it will be to him that you don't know what you're doing.

you just have to remember how little he's going to mind it, all told.

editing isn't your strong suit. you're racked with doubt all the while, hyperfocused on every little flaw you spot. it gets easier when you remember the whole shoot is meant to be quite grimy and in the end you settle on a decent collection. you even remember to upload them to a file sharing site to avoid compression, sending him the link with a wink and a warning not to open in front of his comrades.

he calls you naughty immediately, but it's long hours before he can properly respond, a call that wakes you up in the middle of the night so he can pant and moan in your ear about how much he wants to bend you over that engine, peel his suit off of you and eat your cunt from the back. it's the first time you've heard his voice in weeks and the low rumble of it conspires with the slickness in your panties which never fully righted itself after your little photoshoot, the anticipation of his reaction keeping you primed for him. you come together before trading quiet reassurances. how much you miss each other, how you can't wait to see him again. he makes a vague promise to be home soon and you're still so sated that the twinge of loneliness feels like nothing really.

you think that's the end of it. that maybe he'll request more, at most. but then you wake up days later with a furnace at your back and a hairy arm draped over your side. it's still early, the sun not even up yet. you should let him sleep but you can't help rolling within the age of his arm and planting a chaste kiss on his cheek. even in the low light you can see how haggard and hollow he looks, run ragged for too long. his beard is overgrown, the short stubble he usually keeps filling out into a decent beard.

really it's unfair how handsome he looks even now.

"go back to sleep."

you huff a laugh and press another kiss to him. lower now that you know he's awake. above his cupid's bow, your own lips drawn tight with your smile. "but it's morning."

"can't be," he counters, voice thick with exhaustion. "i only just fell asleep."

you hum, distracted as you trace the wrinkles of his forehead. was that one always there? was it new? "maybe it's not wherever you were," you concede. "where were you, by the way?"

"where wasn't i?" he sighs as he rolls away, a great puff of air that cuts through the easiness of the morning, reminds you of what exactly he's likely returned from. the culmination of the mission, even the easy one it seemed to be. he was rarely ever trotted out for emissary visits, after all.

but you don't want to think about all that so you follow him as he rolls, laying yourself across his chest to keep him grounded as you rub against his far shoulder. "well you're home now and my vote's for sleeping in."

his chest rumbles beneath you, a quiet laugh you can feel more so than you can hear. he takes your hand in his and presses a kiss to your fingers before setting it back down in favor of reaching much lower to pull you more properly onto him. your grip shifts from his shoulder to his bicep and you pause when you feel the edge of a bandage there, worry settling low in your belly as you trace the edges of it. "you're hurt?" you demand, but you don't give him a chance to respond before sitting up and leaning across him to turn the lamp on.

it takes you a moment to make sense of what you're looking at, the bandage you'd felt before nothing more than four haphazard lines of tape holding a square of black plastic against his skin. he laughs at your confusion, thumbing the furrow between your brows away as he also sits up, pulling you onto his lap as he reassures you he's not hurt.

"what's that then?" you ask, afraid to peel the edges up and see for yourself.

he's chuckling as he does it for you, the wrap pulling away to reveal the neat black lines and bold color of a traditional tattoo, a plump little pinup in a barely-hanging-on mechanic's jumpsuit, her cartoonishly circular tits squeezed between her own arms as she leaned confidently over simplified engine block. it's good work from what you can tell. his bicep is a big canvas, the tattoo itself appropriately sized, leaving the artist enough room for minute details, smudges of brown oil accentuating your curves and a wry smile below demure lids.

still.

"you didn't," you scoff, too blown away to even know if you're actually mad or not. you don't think you are, but what if he -

what if -

"well it was either this or i get you airbrushed on the side of the blackhawk, but you are mine, and i do not want just anyone to see you like that."

[blueskittlesart]

first appearance vs most recent panel. hits him with my babyfication beam

[fridgrave2-0]

hehe ghost-turbo haunting felix au

turbo is connected to the last piece of his code in the whole arcade - a trophy he gifted to felix in mid 80s as a symbol of him genuinely caring about their relationships on par with being the best racer. felix also gave him one of his medals and both kept their gifts next to other rewards, but when roadblasters and turbotime were unplugged, the medal was gone with everything else

now, after burning in cola-lava turbo is basically dead, but scraps of his code still were intertwined with the trophy (after all, it was his first winner's cup, but felix never knew about it), giving turbo an opportunity to exist as a shadow incapable of interacting with anything and anyone besides felix, who kept the trophy even after the roadblasters incident

also I went crazy in tags, feel free to check them out

[prlssprfctn]

We as society really underestimate the concept of Jason hallucinating Sheila of all people. Yes, of course, hallucinating himself, or Joker, or even Willis and Bruce is interesting, but what about Sheila? This woman single-handedly shattered Jason's last drops of belief in parents... Do we really think it doesn't hunt him, the last images of hers, in that warehouse?

From all moments they shared there, I also think it is not the image of Sheila trying to escape along with him in the last minutes, clinging into him helplessly - I think, it is a blurred image of a smocking woman that turned away from him, when he was beaten. A sight he caught on the corner of his eyes, through pain and shock.

So, maybe Jason catches her reflection in the window, when he tries to smoke in his apartment - he doesn't like to do it, the feeling of smoke suffocates him, but that act helps him to pretend once that he has some control over his life and trauma - and she turns away from him again, disappointed, shaking her golden curls. Or maybe once Red Hood gets taken as a hostage by the sheer chance, ambushed or anything vaguely similar to what he had already experienced, he phantomly hears the click of the lighter, and his mother's long, drawled sigh followed by the impatient tapping of her heels against the concrete floor.

Just maybe.

But it is not like anyone else would ever know, right?

[moderndayamymarch]

one of my favorite things about the deathly hallows book is the revelation that snape and petunia knew each other. like if you asked someone in 1997, “hey which two characters from harry potter have longstanding childhood beef with each other”. I’m not sure anyone would’ve answered “harry’s bitchy muggle aunt and the mean potions teacher”. but it also makes total sense. like they are the two biggest haters.

[eddiesgmcsierra1500denali]

the thing frequently cited as eddie’s Mistake in s5 is “quitting his job without talking to chris” which i really struggle to understand because on one level i don’t think a parent is obligated to talk to their 10 year old child about a career decision and i also don’t think a 10 year old child can be expected to provide reasonable insight on the best approach to their own trauma. and on another level i think this implies that if eddie had talked to chris then he would have Known he didn’t Have to quit his job and could have never been miserable at dispatch … but like. eddie was not fit for active duty. he was right to quit his job! there was a reason bobby didn’t let him come back. his Mistake was using christopher’s supposed needs as his motivation and as an easy excuse to continue repressing his trauma and burgeoning anxieties and to continue marching forward without closely examining what he was trying to get away from. there is a world in which eddie quitting firefighting and being miserable at dispatch for the rest of his days COULD have been the answer and a genuine sacrifice he chose to make as a parent, but that’s not what he was doing—he was convincing himself he was making a genuine sacrifice when what he was actually doing was trying to keep a lid on all the boxes holding his issues.

i also struggle with the idea that the mistake eddie is making Now is “moving to el paso without talking to chris” for similar reasons. like, i don’t think a 14 year old is equipped to make decisions like that, even if they’re for his own sake, or for dealing with his own trauma. there is a world in which eddie packs up and moves to el paso because genuinely, it is better for chris, it’s where chris is thriving, and he’d be well within his right to do so even if it theoretically blocks chris from returning to life in LA—it’s not a mistake for eddie to make the unequivocal decision about where they live lol. the actual problem is that he’s once again using chris thriving in a different environment as an excuse to repress the fact that the reason he’s taking this drastic decision he doesn’t want to take is because he doesn’t trust himself. probably chris IS having a good time in texas. but eddie doesn’t want to think about the wounds that lead him to believe he can’t give chris what he needs, or that lead him to actually hurt chris, so instead he is making another ingenuine sacrifice to avoid feeling things he thinks he doesn’t deserve to feel, or shouldn’t be feeling. of course we know that LA is his home and staying in el paso isn’t going to end up being the right decision, but it’s not the wrong decision because they shouldn’t move away ever or should never be sad ever and eddie should know that, it’s the wrong decision because he’s not being honest with himself about why he’s making it… which was also the case in s5.

[thenamesapollo]

lady of many, many, many, many faces.

made that drawing after making this ☝️ height shart right here.

thought to myself how absurd it was that nightmare has so many designs to himself alone.

I don't think I know other characters that have this many drastic changes done to them just in the span of their plotline. like y'know, sometimes characters do change from certain events, maybe get injuries, different clothes or haircut, or go through arcs that change their personality.

but nightmare here literally changes to entirely different characters as the plot goes on, design wise and personality wise.

and it's super fitting for him, cuz he's the one character that puts the theme of identity on the forefront. he spends his entire life searching for what it means to be 'nightmare', so he goes through a thousand different identities to find the one that truly defines him. but at his core, he's still the same nightmare he's ever been.

even after becoming king and becoming everything he thinks he ever wanted to be (rich, powerful, ect.), he's still unhappy with himself because he spent all this time rejecting his actual true self in favor of being somebody that wasn't (and could never be) him.

what truly defines nightmare is that he is bound to no limitation on what he could be, but still choses to put those limitations on himself.

what truly defines nightmare is nothing, and being nothing scares him to death, so he would rather be everybody else but himself, not once considering that maybe he could've changed that nothing into anything he wants, but fear just blinds him that much.

the irony of it all is that all he truly wanted at the end of the day was to be his own person, to be someone outside of sans's shadow, but only ended up jumping from sans's shadow to mettaton's. the only way he found to not be a clone of sans was to become a clone of someone else.

damn... maybe the true nightmare was the friends we made along the way.

[sylvancastor]

Jaecaerys continues to be the only person with any sort of common sense. Obviously I'm not excusing what he says about people from the lower classes, but he makes a good point about his legitimacy being endangered by clear proof Targaryen bastards can claim dragons. Which is why the book makes SO much more sense bc the entire dragonseed idea is his idea, not Mysaria/Rhaenyra's. We can't know for sure bc of how F&B is written, but with it being Jace's idea it's implied at the very least that he's weighed the benefits versus the consequences to his own legitimacy and their dire need to win the war and decided in favor of having the dragonseeds claim dragons. Taking that idea from him though and having it basically be Mysaria's is a complete insult to him and a politically damaging decision he didn't agree to. And not only does he have to deal with that but also in this version he has to be the one consistently wrangling Rhaenyra's council because she's literally NEVER there. I sympathize more with Jacaerys every week bc I'm frustrated, so I can't imagine being him.