#specifically Thomas

[frownyalfred]

Thomas Wayne, wringing his hands: “You know, I’m from Gotham — born and raised, Alfred. But Martha — she’s from Gotham. Do you know what I mean?”

Alfred Pennyworth, freshly hired with 0% of an idea what that actually means: “Certainly, sir.”

[abisalli]

A Robin lineup of sorts :) (sorry for no Carrie, Maps or Matthew... I was tired)

[lexus-k4]

Dp x DC prompt/idea

What if: we combined 'little shit Danny' who looks like one of the bat kids, and Bruce running oon little to only 8 hours within the last 4 days.

Batman going home from patrol, having had only 8 hours if sleep withing the last 4 almost 5 days because of patrol, Work, galas and business meetings back to back.

Also batman, running into Danny sitting on a roof eating a sub sandwich.

Batman: what are you doing here. Your meant to be at home. Your benched remember. *heavy sigh* whatever I'll just take you back myself.

Danny: huh? Wait-what? No side, I think your mistaking me-

Batman: up we go. Home time. Then I'm gonna make sure your going to bed then me or else penny one is gonna have my head.

- - - -

Danny in the Batcave with a de cowl'd batman, revealing Bruce Wayne's face. Danny still eating his sandwich as Batman aka Bruce lectures him about properly watching your health and injuries especially with a missing spleen, which told Danny that whoever Bruce/Batman thought he was, was missing a spleed.

Danny quickly sensing a message to his sister jazz letting her know he's sorta been kidnapped by a new Fruitloop and activates his tracker.

Jazz: OMW

Also jazz- sprinting to Danny's location across roofs with a creep stick in hand and her eyes slowly starting to glow because of her liminality.

Tim walking down into the Batcave not long later but then pausing eyes directly on Danny as they have a stare off.

Tim: uhhh. B?

B looking at Danny thinking he spoke: hmm?

Tim: B...

B slightly confused: how are you talking. Your mouth isn't moving?

Danny still chewing on his sandwich lifting his hand and pointing to Tim behind Bruce.

Que Bruce looking back and forth between Tim and Danny, eyes squinted as he tries to clear his bleary eyes.

B: but. Your sat here. But your also stood there... What?

Tim: B. That's not me...

B looking at Danny: then who's this?

Tim: HOW AM I MEANT TO KNOW?!

Danny: Hi. I'm the kid you kidnapped, most likely thinking I was your son. But I'm not. And now I know that Batman is Bruce Wayne. Which honeatly. Did not see that coming. I owe Wes sooo much money... Oh god, I can't let Wes know. I'mma be broke. More than I already am...

Then you have Tim and Bruce stood there confused out of their minds as they slowly realise what's happened. Then Tim leave to go get Alfred leaving Bruce and Danny still in the cave.

Not long later jazz shows up running down one of the long entrances/exits for the vehicles holding the creep stick panting, out of breath, and then running up to Bruce about to swing.

B: Babs? Is that you? But. Your walking... Your legs are better. Oh I'm so happy. It's amazing. Your better again. Your dad must be so happy.

Also B- going up to a stunned frozen jazz and hugging her.

Jazz: huh?

Danny: I think he's either concussed or just mentally unwell. Or both. Who knows.

B: your standing again. It's amazing. It's-

Tim who just came down stairs with Alfred: B... What did you do now...

B turning around with a slight smile: TIM! It's Barbra. She's walking again! It's amazing!

Tim: B... That's not Barbra...

B: what? But...

Alfred with the most disappointed look known to man kind: Master Bruce. Miss Barbra is still in the library helping the other still on patrols.

B:... Then who...

Alfred : master Bruce. I'd advise you go to bed before you make more mistakes, you have already exposed your identity. Now, if you do notgo to bed within the next 10 minutes I will personally prevent you from patrolling. I have already been lenient these last 5 days.

B: but-

Alfred: NOW.

B: yup. Bed. Going. Got it.

The following minutes are filled with silence as Bruce hurries to get out of his costume and up the elevator all while Alfred follows him with his gaze alone.

Jazz: huh?

Danny grinning: turns out Batman is Bruce Wayne.

Jazz looking frazzled, confused and still holding her creep stick as if she's gonna swing: wha...

Alfred:my apologies. It appears master Bruce isn't in the best state of mind due to a lack of sleep. Would you like some tea? How may I address you two?.

Jazz: I uhh... Yeah. Tea...

Danny: I'm Danny. This is my sister, Jazz.

Alfred: very well, master Danny, miss Jazz. I will bring some tea shortyl, I hope master Tim is able to get you comfortable while you wait.

Tim: sure thing Alfie.

Following this you get Tim leading Danny and Jazz to a sitting area in the cave, then Alfred coming down with a tray of tea, and decaf coffee for Tim.

Tim proceeds to explain to the two that they were mistaken as him and a family friend who is similar to a sibling due to similar appearances.

Later on Dick, Jason and Steph walk into the cave before freezing realizing that there are civilians and they've take off their masks. They proceed to try and replace them before Tim stops them and tells them Bruce had already messed up.

Tim, Danny and Jazz explain what happened which leads them to bursting in laughter.

- - - -

Jason: wait. I get how Danny got in here. But, how did you get in here?

Jazz: oh... Well, Danny keeps a tracker on his phone in case of emergency that let's me know where he is when he activates it.

Jason: okay, fair. But that still doesn't explain how you got in here, because the exits are all blocked off or unaccesible because they're through the manor.

Jazz: oh, I just followed his tracker, realized he was somewhere that isn't available on foot so I just started phasing through the wall till I got in that tunnel.

Jason: you what?

Jazz: I phased through the wall.

Danny: Jazz... I think your for getting something...

Jazz: what?

Danny: normal people don't phase through walls...

Jazz: what do you- oh. Oh, fuck.

Danny: yeah.

Dick: well... That's cool. We've got metals in here. Duke's gonna be happy. He should be coming down in a few hours to start patrol too.

Duke: nope, already here. I noticed no one had come upstairs yet other than Bruce and got curious.

Steph: HOLY SHIT! Don't sneak up on us like that!

Duke: are you guys really metas? What can you do? I can control light and shadows.

Steph: hey don't just ig-

Jazz: well. Yeah I guess we count as metas, because that category is broad anyway. I can phase through stuff, have increase strength, and emotionally affected fire hair, glowing eyes and fangs, and mild pyro-kinesis.

Duke: swe-heet. What about you dude?

Danny: oh well, strength, fly, invisibility, intagibility/phase through shit, glowing,ice powers... And yeah. That's the basics, yeahthere is more but that other stuff. ... I'm less meta more half human though. So..

Duke: cool~

Dick: hey, why do you guys call it phasing and not density shifting. Isn't that the same?

Jazz: well not exactly. Density shifting is the act of being able to manipulate your density to a molecular level so that you can pass through the molecules of another object. However, it can be blocked with a night dense material.

Danny: whereas phasing is essentially the act of going momentarily intangible while maintaining your density, or more accurately control ably not just momentarily.

Steph: ... Yeah that's too much words for me.

Dick: basically, density shifting -you can still be touched and blocked by some stuff and change how physical you are on the tiny scale. Phasing- you ignore laws of science to not be able to be touched and ignore how thick something is. Right?

Danny: yeah.

Jazz: pretty much yeah.

Steph: sweet.

[staud]

CARDINAL BENITEZ as tumblr mobile theme banners for @aceleonkennedy

[krockon]

Loves: if we're going to show the Chow's - Bo and Grace - some love for their characters in Sinners, please do your best to learn and tag the actors names.

Bo Chow is Southeast Asian, Bay Area native Yao. His public name is just one word; simple to remember. ETA: His given name is Thomas Pang Yao.

Grace Chow is Shanghai native Li Jun Li. She lived in Columbia, and Spanish is her second language.

Considering their performances as southern Asian American go-betweens of the Black community and the White establishment (Grace worked at the good store on the Whites only side of the road, Bo ran the Black grocery store across the road) everything from the accents to Grace's escalating horror/hysteria to Bo's chilling nonchalance deserves the recognition it's getting.

BUT. Please learn and use the actors' names.

[orbch]

c!thomas: somehow this feels like third wheeling…

[awhoreintheory]

Circus Boy

Directly inspired by @erinwantstowrite 's art!!! post

Request from awesome amazing cool Anon

Over the years, circuses have lost their spark.

Dick would know— he’d literally grown up in one. Back then, the circus was a symphony of effort and artistry. Weeks, sometimes months, were spent perfecting routines. Performances were designed to dazzle, to inspire awe, no matter the country or culture of the audience. The comedy sketches weren’t just filler— they were genuinely funny, capable of drawing laughter even from the most reluctant parent dragged along by an excited child. Every act had a rhythm, a purpose, and above all, passion. The performers took pride in their craft, and the audience responded in kind, feeding off the energy, cheering and clapping until their hands were raw and their throats sore. 

Now? Now they were dull. Predictable routines recycled ad nauseam. Costumes that looked like they were bought in bulk from a clearance rack. Tents and stages slapped together with the barest effort to resemble grandeur. The magic, the joy—the soul of it all—had been replaced with a singular, glaring goal: profit. No one cared if the audience laughed, gasped, or even paid attention, so long as they paid their entrance fees.

But recently, whispers of something different had started making waves in Gotham: a circus gaining a reputation for being... well, different.

Dick’s curiosity was piqued. He hadn’t planned to go, at first. But the memories of his youth, of what the circus used to mean, stirred within him. Before he knew it, he’d wrangled (read: blackmailed) together as much of the family as he could to go see it. Which, wasn’t a whole lot considering quite a few were out of state currently, but it was enough to make him smile.

“Why must I come along? I do not see the point,” Damian groused, arms folded tightly across his chest as the group approached the circus grounds. Despite his protests, he made no move to make a stealthy exit.

“You’re coming because it’ll be good for you,” Dick said, ruffling Damian’s hair just to annoy him. Damian promptly swatted his hand away, glaring daggers at his adoptive brother.

“You don’t even know if it’ll be good,” Tim chimed in, hands shoved into his jacket pockets. “What if this thing is as boring as all the other ones you’ve complained about?”

“Then we’ll all get funnel cake and call it a night,” Stephanie said brightly, making it clear where her true excitement lay. “I’m in it for the food, anyway.”

Dick pouted. “You didn’t have to say the quiet part out loud!” 

“Don’t underestimate funnel cake,” Duke added with a smirk. “It might be the only thing saving this trip if the show’s a flop.”

Dick rolled his eyes, but his grin didn’t waver. “You’re all so cynical. Just... trust me, okay? I have a feeling about this one.”

Sure, a lot of the decorations seemed cheap thus far, but Dick can’t blame them. They’re clearly low budget, with only two shows a week, versus the seven to ten a week Dick was used to. The difference was the genuine passion and excitement in the eyes of the performers. And they were just doing pre-show stunts on the street to rouse excitement! 

Tim hummed thoughtfully. “This place has been gaining rapid popularity,” he said, the subtle edge in his tone making it clear he was already analyzing every detail. Dick saw his fingers twitch as if to take a picture. 

Dick glanced over at him but didn’t comment. He recognized that tone— Tim was in detective mode, quietly piecing together threads no one else could see yet. He did, however, take the opportunity at his siblings' distraction to subtly herd them in the direction of the tents, eager to get a good front-row seat. Damian noticed, but he didn’t do much more than roll his eyes.

Steph, however, rolled her eyes dramatically. At Tim, not Dick. “Can you just enjoy one thing without looking for a criminal conspiracy, Tim?”

Tim matched her with a roll of his own eyes, the two slipping into a bickering match that’d put an old married couple to shame if they weren’t so aggressively gay. Meanwhile, Dick let his attention wander to the stage, studying the equipment with the practiced eye of someone who’d lived this life.

Suspended high above was the trapeze rig, its bars wrapped in worn leather, the steel cables taut and secured to thick iron frames. The safety net below, while a little faded, looked sturdy enough to do its job. Not brand-new, but serviceable.

To one side, a highwire stretched across a dizzying height, its slim cable shimmering faintly under the tent lights. The rigging showed some signs of age— slightly dulled bolts and scuffed counterweights—but nothing that made Dick worry. It would hold, even if the daredevil walking it would need nerves of steel.

A teeterboard sat center stage on the ground, its spring mechanism ready to launch performers into flips and vaults. Nearby, a stack of brightly painted crates and barrels hinted at comedic skits. Clowns would probably tumble over them with exaggerated flair, while a sturdy seesaw-like prop suggested slapstick gags involving plenty of unintentional (and intentional) falls.

The whole setup had a charming scrappiness to it. The equipment could use a little TLC, sure, but Dick had no doubt it would hold up under pressure. He could tell the performers had put their trust in it, and that meant something.

For a moment, Dick felt a flicker of nostalgia. The way the crew moved, the crisp efficiency with which they handled the gear— it reminded him of home, of the way his parents had always treated the stage with reverence, as though it were sacred ground.

“Do you see how high that wire is?” Duke muttered, his voice tinged with a mix of awe and apprehension as he followed Dick’s gaze.

“I see it,” Dick replied softly, his heart tightening. He couldn’t help but wonder who had the guts to walk that cable, let alone pull off any stunts on it. He’d definitely have to stick around and chat them up, maybe have a little friendly competition. 

“Awe, man,” Duke sighed, visibly disappointed. “Guess we weren’t excited enough.”

Turns out “early” wasn’t early enough because the seating area was packed. The whole first three rows were aggressively claimed, forcing the group to settle for seats in the middle of the fourth row.

Steph and Duke promptly excused themselves to grab popcorn—or, more accurately, for Steph to scout for funnel cake. Dick had to respect the consistency.

Damian glanced at Dick, then at Tim with a withering look. “Drake, cease your ramblings. They sour my mood.”

Tim blinked, clearly taken aback. “Wait, just me? Steph was talking way more!”

Steph, who had been halfway out of earshot, whirled around with mock offense. “Excuse me? I wasn’t the one turning this into an episode of ‘True Crime: Circus Edition.’” 

“Yeah, because you’re too busy planning how to steal funnel cake from children,” Tim shot back, crossing his arms. Damian’s eyebrow twitched. Dick wondered why peace was but a mere illusion. 

“Oh, please,” Steph quipped. “You’d be the kid I steal it from, Drake.”

Before Tim could come up with a retort, and Damian became a convicted felon, the lights dimmed, cutting their bickering short. A hush fell over the crowd as the familiar low hum of a drumroll began to build.

The ringmaster strode into the center of the stage, clad in a dazzling coat of crimson and gold that shimmered under the spotlight. If you looked any closer than that, you’d see how tacky and cheap it was. His booming voice carried effortlessly across the tent.

“Ladies and gentlemen! Boys and girls! Welcome to a night of wonder, daring, and delight!” the ringmaster announced, his voice ringing through the tent as the steady drumroll built the tension. “Prepare yourselves for the extraordinary, the astonishing, the absolutely unbelievable! The show begins... now!”

The drumroll reached its peak, and with a dramatic flourish, the spotlight swept upward to reveal the first performer perched high above the stage. A man in a sparkling gold costume waved grandly to the crowd before swinging onto the trapeze. The audience clapped politely as he performed a few rudimentary tricks— basic flips and graceful swings that showcased control but lacked flair.

Two more performers joined him, each clad in similar glittering costumes. They moved with confidence, transitioning through formations and passing between trapezes, but the moves were predictable and lacked the edge Dick was hoping to see. Certainly, nothing that would make this rinky-dink circus as popular as it got so quickly. 

Tim leaned toward Dick, his tone flat. “You dragged us here for this?”

“Underwhelming,” Damian muttered, his expression neutral but his tone sharp.

Dick didn’t respond immediately, though he couldn’t disagree. The tricks were technically fine— safe, practiced, polished— but there was no spark, no passion. No magic. He resigned to going home disappointed and also to the inevitable flaming via siblings. 

But then, just as one of the performers finished an awkward landing on the platform, the ringmaster’s voice boomed again.

“And now, prepare yourselves for the prodigy of the skies, the one and only Amazing Arach-Kid!”

The spotlight shifted upward again, revealing a much smaller figure poised on a separate platform, high above the others. It was a boy— young and wiry, dressed in sleek crimson and black, his face obscured by a half-mask (not dissimilar to their domino masks, actually) that glimmered faintly in the light. For a moment, the crowd was silent, uncertain what to expect.

Without warning, the boy leaped.

The gasp from the audience was audible as the kid— Arach-Kid?— launched himself into a dramatic triple flip, his body twisting gracefully through the air before he caught the trapeze with flawless precision. The crowd erupted into applause, the energy in the tent shifting instantly.

He didn’t stop there. Swinging with a force that sent his trapeze soaring higher than any of the others had dared, he released at the peak of his arc and spun into a double somersault. Instead of catching the next trapeze, he landed neatly in the arms of one of the adult performers, who looked genuinely startled by the boy’s precision. He grinned, waving excitedly at the audience as they roared with applause. 

From there, the routine transformed. Arach-Kid became the centerpiece of the act, seamlessly incorporating daring flips, twists, and transitions between trapezes. He was passed between the adults with perfect timing, their previous mediocrity eclipsed by his sheer skill and energy.

“Whoa,” Duke murmured, leaning forward in his seat. “He’s... good.”

“Who is that kid?” Tim asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

“Better than the rest of them combined,” Damian said bluntly, though his tone carried the faintest hint of approval.

The boy ended his routine with a jaw-dropping quadruple somersault, catching the final trapeze one-handed and hanging upside down with effortless control. Gasps and cheers erupted from the audience, their applause thunderous as he let himself swing for a moment, letting the crowd bask in his daring. Then, with a fluid motion, he swung back, releasing the trapeze bar for one final flourish.

Dick leaned forward, his breath catching as the kid’s body twisted into the unmistakable maneuver— the signature move of the Flying Graysons.

The crowd roared as he executed the technique perfectly, his form flawless, his timing impeccable. He landed with a clean dismount, arms raised triumphantly, and offered the crowd a playful bow before darting off to the wings. Even with the stage empty, shouts and applause echoed for a long time after the boy left. 

For a moment, Dick couldn’t move. His stomach churned as memories of his parents on that same trapeze flooded his mind. No one else knew that move. No one could. His parents had created it, and Dick had learned it from them. It was their legacy— his legacy.

So how, in the name of all that made sense, did this random kid just pull it off perfectly?

The lights shifted again, smoothly transitioning to the next act: a somewhat clumsy but undeniably entertaining tightrope routine. One performer started with a wobbling walk, arms flailing for comedic effect. Another joined, balancing precariously with a broomstick for support. The final performer added a unicycle to the mix, pedaling shakily across the thin wire as the audience laughed and clapped in delight.

It was… objectively funny.

But Dick barely noticed. His good mood had evaporated, replaced by a heavy knot of unease in his chest. At this point, they must have a hive mind with how they immediately filed out of the tent without a single word exchanged. 

“That was—” Tim started, breaking the tense silence.

“Dick,” Steph interrupted, her voice low, “did he just—?”

“That was your move,” Tim finished firmly, his eyes locked on Dick’s.

“It’s not possible,” Duke added, glancing at the now-empty trapeze rig. “Right? It’s your family’s thing. There’s no way some random kid from Gotham knows it.”

“I am more concerned with how he knows it,” Damian said, his voice cutting. His eyes darted to Dick. “This is your domain, Richard. You must have answers.”

Dick didn’t respond right away. He couldn’t. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides, his breathing shallow. In disbelief, he muttered, “I don’t.”

Steph frowned. “Okay, well... what do we do? Do we just ignore the fact that some kid pulled off your impossible secret family move?”

“No,” Dick said sharply, his voice colder than any of them expected. “We don’t ignore it. We find out who he is, how he learned it, and what the hell is going on.”

Tim’s brow furrowed. “Do you think someone’s trying to get your attention? Like, deliberately?”

Dick shook his head, though his face betrayed his uncertainty. “I don’t know. Maybe. I mean, it’s... it’s possible, but...” He exhaled through his nose, frustrated. “I need answers. This isn’t something you just pick up on YouTube.”

The group left the small but packed circus, their earlier excitement replaced by a shared tension. The cool night air did little to clear their heads as they walked in a tight huddle, glancing over their shoulders as if the boy would materialize out of the crowd.

“Something’s not right,” Tim said, breaking the silence.

“Obviously,” Damian muttered.

“I mean it,” Tim snapped. “Moves like that— you don’t just do them. It takes years to learn without a teacher.” He glanced at Dick. “You’re sure no one outside your family knew it? Like, absolutely sure?”

“Positive,” Dick said firmly. “The only people who knew it are gone. Except me.” His voice dropped as he added, “Or at least, they’re supposed to be.”

The group exchanged uneasy looks, about both the situation and Dick’s reaction to it. It takes quite a bit to rattle him, so to see him, well, rattled was weird. Beyond weird. It was downright wrong. 

“Either way,” Duke said cautiously, “we’re going to figure this out. Right?”

“Oh, we will,” Dick said, his voice grim. “We don’t leave things like this unanswered.”

As they disappeared into the Gotham night, paranoia settled over them like a second skin. Whatever was going on, it wasn’t going to stay a mystery for long. 

[sparkoflena]

As somebody who has written Batfamily fanfiction (mostly for myself but I have like two things public), Bruce Wayne's relationship with his kids will always be the hardest part.

Yeah, I could fanon it. But I do try my hardest to be at least vaguely canon-compliant in terms of characterizations/relationships.

BUT the history of Bruce Wayne as a father changes depending on the author you read, which Robin is Robin-ing at the time, and what trauma Bruce happens to be going through. Is he going to be deeply supportive of his kids and attend their events and be both awkward and proud? Is he going to hit his kids? Who knows, certainly not DC writers.

(I'm of the opinion that Bruce Lost-His-Parents-At-A-Young-Age & Adopted-Kids-Like-Him-To-Build-A-Family-He-Didn't-Have-As-A-Child Wayne ABSOLUTELY should be a Good Parent[TM], albeit a bit Overprotective Dad. But there are only a handful of authors who follow this depiction)

[ducktu]

Duke: WOW, how can you even say that about my people-

Jason: Hold on, being black doesn't have anything to do with it-

Duke: BLACK? MY PEOPLE ARE BAT VIGILANTES, WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU?, CAN YOU ONLY SEE RACE?

Jason: *screams*

[cocomoraine]

i have been thinking (never a good sign), of the very few scenes we see of vincent benitez in the movie, the only time we see his hair somewhat fixed, neatly tucked to the sides, combed and everything, was during the scene where he visited the turtles, and thomas asks him to go back inside due to curfew.

i am obsessed , like, what was the reason all of a sudden, vincent felt like to arrange his hair (not in any voting session did this hairstyle made another appearance). did he fix his hair because he wanted to appear nice to the turtles (🥹), or because some part of him had an inkling that this is going to be the night where he'll finally get to talk to the deacano (HELP).

[randomfandomss]

Through Thomas’s Eyes

Inspired by the fic Divine Revelations of Love by Piersanti.

Read it here

[windybluebelles]

Duke: Awe look at us, it’s just you, me, and the literal manifestation of your childhood innocence.

Jason: 😐

JayBin: 😋

I need more fics where JayBin is a literal tiny ghost that Jason can see all the time, the others can see him every so often but they think he’s a hallucination, and Duke can see him due to his powers

Honestly any au where Duke can see ghosts is a win in my book.

[is-it-bussin-hannibal]

I'm running out of space on my ipad so,,,, here

[reading-stains]

I wonder how many more times I’m going to see this fandom justify Bruce finding out his kids “are his” biologically because they’re just Too Similar to him before it does more than kick me. Like, I get it, case idea where it culminates on the Batman finding another long lost child, fine, whatever, it already exists with Damian but okay, do it again. I’d read it.

But this stuff about “there’s no way” that they aren’t biologically his is bullshit. Like, I almost never think about being adopted, but it’s moments like this that I have to. I’m like my mother because she’s my mom. Not because we get a DNA test that says we’re like each other.

Because really, in moments like this, it makes me ask. What’s so wrong with adopted kids being like their parents just because they’re their parents? Why can’t love be enough to shape us? Why do we always round back to blood? What’s so much better about that?

So anyway, I’m wondering how much more I’m going to read people being thoughtless. I love Batman being a dad because he chooses to love, not because there’s any sense of duty to it. It makes love be even more special.

Adopted families are families, people. You don’t need anything other than love to prove it.

[szftzy]

WARNING!! RANT INCOMING!!

hey there, my friend!

you saw the title, you proceeded to continue reading. I am not responsible if you get mad or sensitive over what I have to say, with all my due respect of course.

Respectfully, can we stop mischaracterizing batfamily?

And now, hear me out! hear me out. I am not here to break and enter your home just to quiz you on when dick grayson farted on 2003.

I genuinely do not care however you may interpret them.

Be cringe, be free.

But that doesn’t exactly apply when it caters to some form of bigotry or racism.

Lets be real, why the fuck are we normalizing mischaracterizing Damian wayne as some kind of barbarian? C’mon guys. Lets use our context clues. Im sure half the fandom and most of the people who write batfam fics know that he is middle eastern. You know, I know and we all know.

So why do we repeatedly play into the racist older comics, that have long been changed??

Now if this applies to you, I’m not mad. I’m just dissapointed.

Damian was a 12 year old arabian prince who was suddenly overnight living with this random ass poor (side note: poor to his standards) man that hes never heard of before?? AND in new jersey??and he has to just get used to it?? I’d crash out too. And not to mention, he has more character than being this angry little ball of doom and despair that terrorizes everyone, because thats not what he is. At all

Some of you villainize him as if he is not this depressed child that has been through hell and back. And ive even seen people say “__ tamed him!!” and etc etc and even some cases of him being treated as some animal, hence why i said barbaric stereotypes. And not to mention his mothers side of the family.. my god.

This fandom practically hates Talia, and its sickening to see LMAO. I know you all got lied to about the interpretation of Talia sa’ing bruce. But its long been changed and deemed an unethical characterization of her.

(On a side note, I’m middle eastern. Which may explain to you why I am so irritated by this.)

But seriously, please cut this bullshit. It ruins my day and it shouldn’t have to be how a majority of this fandom views a traumatized kid. Please take some time out your day, and read the comics. Trust, you will be enlightened.

Now I would love to go on and on about the other batfamily members (As an example reducing duke to this plain old side character, cassandra and stephanie being majorly overlooked, etc..) but I’d take all day.

Anyways, this may have been insufferable. I’m usually pretty chill on this platform, but I had to revive myself from my grave just to inform you all of what i think even tho you probably couldn’t give a shit. I hope this educated you or informed you in some way..

[bruhstation]

“Do you know why humans often say the phrase "It’s a small world"?"

From the studio that brought you Love Train, Senja/Bruhstation presents:

🚧🚂 CASA TIDMOUTH ‘85: SUMMER PHANTASM OF THE RAILWAY 🚂🚧

Your name is Edward. Two years ago, you were thrown into the island of Sodor without your memories or your sense of self intact. The years working as a driver for the NWR 2 have shaped you into a highly reliable, amicable, and strong man of perseverance. The only thing that remains of your long forgotten past is your insatiable thirst for knowledge, and the only thing that you have obtained is a set of golden eyes that you’ve been keeping a secret from your two friends.

When terror lurks among the rails, you are thrust into a journey to send the wraith that’s been using people’s bodies for sustenance back to where he belongs, knowing full well that you might not be equipped to confront what lies beyond the fog.

Unfortunately, the people you’ve been shielding from the horrors only known to you will be caught in the crossfire. Still, you’ll do anything to keep the island safe, no?

This game features:

Fully voiced cast

Original soundtrack

Six different endings

30+ hours of gameplay

Gallery of CGs and character files

Secrets... perchance?

With the subject matter that this story brings, this visual novel is not recommended to:

Those who are sensitive to sudden sounds, flashes of light, or intense imagery

Those with health conditions such as epilepsy or heart problems

Those who are sensitive to portrayals of possession, dereality, bullying, and ableism

Those who actively seek momentary happiness in an otherwise bleak world 

Those who take pleasure in destroying themselves and their loved ones

Those who are elitist about a specific season or media of a certain talking train franchise 

Wishlist on steam | itch.io link

Development log:

I’m sorry.