#no pressure but think about it

[batcavescolony]

I need a 911 time travel fic (I don't care about the logistics we had coma dream and ghosts I want time travel) just so s1 Buck and Chimney can be told that they're now family, that Chimney marries Bucks sister and they have kid(s) together. I think that would break them, also over all s1 118 seeing the family that they're gonna have, Imagine it.

[armysethos]

I am not immune to fish men !!!!!

[akiiame-blog]

Super Mario is supposed to be this powerful figure to the Mushroom Kingdom, this beacon of hope with little to no weaknesses. With everything on his shoulders, he has to keep going.

Or else he'd let them all down.

[guardianspirits13]

Doodles while I binge the FMA live action movies. Will never get over them btw

[cholvoq]

that fucking fish that I hate

[sin-simps]

-bangs pots and pans- come get y’all Sebastian angst/silly

[crismakesstuff]

“What if I become him and I don’t even know it?”

[funkle420]

no talk me i angy cant stop thinking about my girlfriend who's been kidnapped by a crazy powerful ancient magician

[stark-lord]

DEAD BOY DETECTIVES (2024)

1.06 - The Case of the Creeping Forest

for @nix-nihili

[archiepelago]

alternate surface au inspired by a few ive seen around on tumblr :3

[ceadogart]

sketches and fun stuff i shamefully admit he is extremely fun to draw

[effira]

pressure trading cards idk

[feligayzed]

some shit about how to be loved is to be changed

[theimpurelily]

My new ship just launched and one of them doesn't even have a fucking name

For real tho, this un-named Wan Jian Disciple is such a snarky bitch. I love him.

Kudos to @grubus for making such enjoyable OCs

[starry-bi-sky]

Unpleasant Revelations - DPxDC Ficlet Idea for the Stillborn Au

"Have you met my youngest, Damian, Mr. Masters?"

Its only from twenty years of long, hard experience and practice that Vlad doesn't increase the room temperature from 'borderline uncomfortably cool' to 'unbearably hot' the moment Bruce Wayne pulls his youngest and "only" biological son out in front of him.

He puts only in quotations because twelve year old Damian Wayne looks scarily, uncannily like one Daniel Brown. Jack and Maddie's foster son, second victim of their foolishness, and only other halfa in existence. Second only to him.

It's nauseating how similar they look. From the scowl and terrible glare on the young boy's face, to his brown skin -- which was only a few shades lighter than Daniel's, the shape of his nose, and even the strange winged edge of his eyebrow. Something that Vlad has long since come to find endearing on the child he considered a son of his own. The only difference was that Damian had dark, sharp green eyes.

Daniel's eyes were blue. The same glacier shade as his father's, who stood behind Damian with a proud, oafish smile on his visage.

It was infuriating how similar they look. Vlad might not have rapidly swung the room temperature from one extreme to the other, but he can't stop himself from letting the fury burning within his core from slipping out and raising the temperature up a few degrees.

Because it really only meant one thing.

Damian Wayne and Daniel Brown were related.

Damian Wayne and Daniel Brown were brothers.

Standing in front of him, it was clear as day. He can already picture a phantom image of Daniel standing beside Damian, the same scowl written on his face, the same glare carved into his eyes. The only difference being the dark, exhausted circles beneath them that seemed to be permanently painted onto his skin. The only thing missing being the permanent loneliness and vigilance permeating his being like a scar.

This, if revealed, would be enough to ruin Bruce Wayne's reputation. Or, at the very least, darken it quite a bit. The great philanthropist Bruce Wayne with another secret blood child? One related to his youngest? One that had been put into foster care? Seemingly thrown away?

It would be a firestorm.

One that Vlad is not keen on starting.

It would ruin Bruce Wayne's reputation, yes. But it would hurt Daniel in the process -- the harassment he would face alone might just be enough to break that fragile child completely. That was just not something he could allow. Or, even worse, bring him into his biological father's care and custody -- something Vlad was even less willing to allow.

It's not out of kindness to Wayne that Vlad will keep mum about this.

His grip on his champagne flute tightens, just a bit. He's still aware enough of the world around him to not let it shatter in his hands. His plastered, pleasant smile tightens around the corners, and he forces his focus to slide from Damian to Wayne.

"The resemblance is uncanny, Mister Wayne." He says, slanting his smile to the side slyly. Although he's not talking about the resemblance between Wayne and his son. Rage simmers beneath his skin, burning coal and embers in the core of his chest, nestled between his lungs, as he meets the man's eyes.

Wayne swaggles his head proudly, his ditzy smile widening as he squeezes his son's shoulder affectionately. Bastard, Vlad wants to spit.

He breathes in through his nose, and exhales out through his mouth. The champagne in his hand cools, and stops its unusual bubbling.

The Damian boy scoffs under his breath, his mouth still coiled upward into a scowl. With the revelation of his blood relation to Daniel evident, Vlad's not sure if he should find it endearing or not.

He is not Daniel, so he decides that it's just simply irritating. He decides to ignore it.

"And you said he was your only biological son?" He asks, voice lilting and head tilting. He knows its a suspicious question at worst, insulting at best. But considering Wayne's past proclivities, he can hardly call it an unexpected question.

Damian puffs in great offense, face twisting angrily. It reminds him of Daniel when Vlad insisted that he was wrong about something or other, and for a moment his heart swells, fond.

But this is not his child, and so the feeling quickly crashes and burns, simmering back into rage. This was not Daniel -- this was his replacement. A replacement that Wayne was free to keep.

Wayne chuckles, idiotically, as if he'd said some funny joke. Vlad's other hand, the one gripping his cane -- something he's required ever since he was dispatched from the hospital all those lonely years ago -- tightens instead. He grinds his teeth -- him and Jack Fenton would get along like a house on fire, he hates it.

"I can understand why you'd ask that, Mister Masters," Wayne says, squeezing Damian's shoulder again, "but yes, Damian is my only biological son. Although that doesn't mean I don't love my other children any less."

Bastard.

For all his posturing and flouncing about caring for his city and his children, Vlad never would have thought the Prince of Gotham capable of abandoning one of them.

But, well.

They all have their dark secrets.

And what one man throws away, another man picks up. If Bruce Wayne didn't want the treasure child that was Daniel Brown, then Vlad Masters was more than happy to take him instead.

"I see."

[edenfenixblogs]

It would be so easy to ghost most of my old friends that I’m still loosely in contact with since 10/7. They never reach out to me. I’m always the one making contact. I know it makes them uncomfortable when I bring up literally anything that’s affecting me. And yet I can’t bring myself to do it. I just…can’t. I don’t have the energy to confront any of them about how deeply they’ve failed me as friends or how deeply they’ve failed themselves as people who supposedly care about marginalized people.

But I also can’t bring myself to sever ties.

And I think I’ve figured out why. I refuse to be the one to take an emotional risk. There is a plate glass wall up between them and me now. We can see each other, but we can’t get close. Not anymore. But there is a door in the glass. On my side, I have a hammer. On their side, there is a hammer and a key. My only options are smashing that wall with my hammer or doing nothing. They have the same options, but they also have the option to open the door.

I feel like I’m surrounded by lots of other rooms where other friends got to make the same choice. Some opened the door. Most smashed the glass. But either way, I know where they stood.

The only group that hasn’t made a choice is still behind glass with the door locked. But the door is also made of glass.

So I’ve chosen to stand at the door. Glaring at them. I breathe on the window and write messages on the steam like “hi!” And “I saw a great movie today, have you seen it?” And “woohoo! Three hostages are released!”

Most of the time they pretend not to see the messages. Sometimes, if it’s not too visibly about being Jewish, they’ll write a message in their own breath. A small smiley face or a one word reply. But they’re very careful not to meet my gaze. If they did, they’d notice when I pointedly shifted it to the hammer and key lying side by side.

I know they want me to walk through the shards of glass or the doors that other, better friends have opened. They want me to give up and forget about them so that I don’t make them uncomfortable enough to make a choice.

But I’m not going anywhere. At the end of the day, the wall shouldn’t be there. If they want to be my friend, they’d need to open the door. If being friends with me is too much of a hassle for them, they need to nut up and break the glass.

Either way, I’m not absolving them of the responsibility of making that choice.

Their silence, like mine, is the third choice. But I do not consent to letting them make it a comfortable silence. I will pointedly be as direct in my silence as possible.

Some of them have been somewhat supportive. But not to anyone but me. Not where anybody outside our circle can see. It’s exhausting. But I have my nose pressed to the glass.