#(( oh dear lmao ))

[angie-long-legs]

I know that The Conversation You're Not Read For Yet™ is a touchy subject, so we'll sidestep it for now, but you have also in the past thrown a glass bottle at Husk's general direction. He thankfully avoided it, your aim big shit helped with that, but it was irresponsible and rude and potentially dangerous, so I don't think I'm being unreasonable when I say you should probably apologize for that if you haven't already.

- We both know

Oh, they were back. Angel's favourite stranger.

With a heavy groan, his head flopped into his hands, propped up on his elbows as he sat at the bar. "Oh, fa fuck's sake," he grumbled, "This motherfucker..."

With a scathing expression, he turned to face the stranger, more than prepared for this to turn into another verbal spar. "What's this all about, huh?" he quizzed, turning the focus on the one who was questioning him. "Ya makin' a compilation a' all my lowest moments or somethin'? Want me ta apologise fa not sayin' please an' thank ya while I'm at it? Or maybe fa blowin' holes in gangsta's like it was goin' outta style? Baby, I got a list a' sins longer than my dick; if ya want me ta apologise fa all of them, we'll be here all fuckin' night."

Although Angel's words were sharp, his tone was even. He wouldn't have a repeat of last time. This time, he would keep his cool.

"Look, if I even did throw a bottle at him, ain't that between us?" he reasoned, scornful attitude not quite hidden beneath his balanced demeanour. Truthfully, he didn't recall the incident in question, but he was far from calling the stranger a liar. In fact, if the blind rage in which he had found himself following Husk's accusations of fakery was anything to go by, he was surprised that this was the worst of the damage he'd dealt. Throwing things and breaking glass and getting into heated screaming matches were commonplace in his line of work - the stranger could have been describing practically any day of his life - if the target of his anger hadn't been Husk.

Of course, he would never do such a thing to his partner now. But before they had formed such a close bond, the feline was just as much in the firing line of Angel's frequent tantrums as anyone else, especially given Husk's penchant for calling out insincerity.

"What business do you got, stickin' yer nose where it don't belong?" Angel continued, trying but failing to keep his irritation to a steady simmer. "Ya tryna be a third in our relationship? Or a goddamn unlicensed therapist? I've had stalkers with less ta say ta me!"

Taking a glance at the bartender, who was evidently trying not to get involved by keeping his back turned to the confrontation, Angel decided this would be the perfect opportunity to bring him into the mix. Armed with a wicked smile, his plan was in motion. "But, hey, if it'll get ya off my back, let's put this shit ta bed: hey, Husky?" he sang, "Apparently, I threw a bottle at ya. Ringin' any bells?"

@top-shelf-tender

[oraclememehacker]

"I was going to ask what's going on with Zenkichi and Maruki but...I don't want to know."

[sleepyyy]

……..

[justaz]

merlin’s secret being a visual thing. when he is around arthur or gwen or leon or morgana or [insert whatever character here] merlin seems pale and thin, almost like a ghost or an apparition. when the sun lands on him he reflects it like a corpse, he eyes seem dark and dull. he has this ethereal beauty to him, this otherworldly visage that leads many to believe he is of fae blood. he just doesn’t seem to be 100% human. but when he is ONLY with lancelot or gaius (cough or gwaine bc gwaine DEFINITELY knew) merlin is heartachingly human. merlin shines in the sunlight, colors are brighter and more vibrant around him, and his smiles are wide and his laughs are boisterous. he takes on color and leaves everyone wanting to know him. but when other join in or interact with the two, merlin shifts before their eyes so quickly and suddenly that they aren’t sure whether or not what they saw was a trick of the light. the idea still leaves them wanting more and wanting to see the merlin who is just so full of life but that merlin only appears for a small select group of people. merlin who has a guard so high that it has an effect of other’s perception of him.

[meamiiikiii]

my friend and i have this ongoing bit on stream where we are going to shave the king bald...... yeah........

((there are actually two ongoing bits with the king. but i do not think anyone wants me to illustrate the second one. including myself. perhaps i am a coward and that is okay. i will not be elaborating at this time. SAFSADASDAS))

[buggachat]

lovesquare keeping secrets from each other conflict PART TWO LETS GOOOOOOOOOOOO

[clownsuu]

it’s been a while smhhhhhhh

cw knife

Iv been wanting to draw this forgotten au for a long ass time but I kEEP FORGETTING DHDHDJSJKXKS

but yeah I forgot to mention for the longest time that when howdy became a moth, he lost all his memories along with his mouth- and uhhhhhhhhh

Wally didn’t take that well-

[ambiguous-andromeda]

my mood lately

[sparrowchute]

Happy pride month!!!! I provide nothing but doodles im sorry in advance

(I use she/her for both Hofnarr and Gonne, pls be respectful of that in tags/reblogs!!)

[prince-liest]

Shoutout (🔪) to whatever metaphysical force decided that the guy interrupting my set at the gym to ask for my number happened to do it while I was listening to Never Ever Getting Rid Of Me from the Waitress.

I want to say that he was a nice enough dude, but also, replies that did not dissuade this man:

Three sets left.

No, I'm actually not interested in men.

I don't date, actually.

I'm too busy to even really make friends, to be honest.

I don't like to give my number out to strangers.

I don't have Snapchat... I don't really do socials.

Haha, I don't think anyone in my generation really uses Facebook.

Oh, I only really use my work email.

No shade, you're an attractive dude, but I don't date.

Maybe if we see each other around again.

The answer that finally worked:

Sure, just tell me your email and I will write it down.

(This is, not coincidentally, the only answer that worked on the guy that I ignored when he catcalled before he then sat outside my work for two hours waiting for me to come out and then followed me several blocks to my bus stop.) (They do not take "no" for an answer, only a variation of "yes" that you plan to throw away as soon as they leave.)

[kelpermoosee]

C͙a͙n͙ y͙o͙u͙ p͙l͙e͙a͙s͙e͙ d͙r͙a͙w͙ k͙i͙n͙g͙ b͙o͙o͙ a͙n͙d͙ L͙u͙i͙g͙i͙'͙s͙ c͙u͙d͙d͙l͙e͙i͙n͙g͙ o͙n͙ a͙ r͙o͙o͙f͙ t͙o͙p͙ a͙n͙d͙ g͙a͙z͙i͙n͙g͙ u͙p͙ a͙t͙ t͙h͙e͙ n͙i͙g͙h͙t͙ s͙k͙y͙

YES, I CAN INDEED! Thank you for such a cute prompt! (Made everything a little sillier though, they deserve it ★)

[neosatsuma]

Stephen, kicking the door down: "WAIT you've been PROMOTED OMG CONGRATULATIONS!!!"

Jack: "yes sort of :) ! but girl we talked about this like an hour ago"

Stephen: "I didn't understand ❤"

[fallen-flier]

the moon will sing (time traveling tim)

so. i saw this super awesome post by @puppetwoman17 about time traveling tim drake and got obsessed, so here's a small ficlet i wrote about it!

part 2

The thing is, Tim expects it. He’s faintly aware of the blood seeping from his stomach, staining his hands red— hands which are uselessly putting pressure on his wound. If he survives this, he doesn’t even want to think of all the weeks of pure agony and fever, brought on by the wonderful lack of his spleen and the fact that healing from wounds sucked, period.

Death isn’t surprising— he really didn’t think he would live past, what, twenty-five? Thirty? To live until beyond 50 with his lifestyle was, well. It sounded painful, anyways. And you would need to be a deeply paranoid neurotic. Like Bruce. Because as much as he respected his father and looked up to him, if Tim turned out anything like Batman, he’d probably find a bullet through his brain sooner or later.

Half because Tim was reckless and his plans were so convoluted and insane that nobody really knew what was going on either, just to confuse his opponent. The other half was, well. You can guess.

So. He’s bleeding out, the night is uncomfortably cold and the wind bites into his skin, sand grating against his back, and all Tim can think about is how much he hopes Ra’s al-Ghul doesn’t show up like a damned wraith and drag him kicking and screaming to the nearest surgery table and take out his kidneys or something. 

Tim’s also thinking about his family. And the probable inconveniences that come with his death. Like arranging his funeral and all his assets and his Nest and the fact that Tim is a very integral part of the family and Dick will probably fall apart and Bruce will mourn and brood, and, and damn it. Tim should probably revoke his thinking process or something.

—

Tim is twenty three years old when he bleeds to death alone, and nobody finds his body until three weeks later when his family has scoured the Earth and his distress signal rings, rings, but nobody sees it. His predictions about his family come true.

But that isn’t quite relevant, because Tim isn’t aware of such a thing. 

Instead, Tim closes his eyes and falls and jerks up on his bed, clutching his chest as years of memories flood his brain, too much for a mere eleven year old. It feels like his head has been cracked open and molten lava had been poured through, scorching his veins and circulation. It feels like agony of the highest level and Tim is faintly aware of the darkness creeping in, his mind too overwhelmed and overstimulated from years of memories flooding into his brain.

And so for the second time in a few minutes and a lifetime, Tim welcomes unconsciousness with open arms.

The next few hours are spent in pure agony, his body being too weak to move and his limbs too short for him to coordinate. He’s pretty sure that there’s a pool of dried blood underneath him from a nosebleed, but he’s too tired to turn around, so he just uncomfortably shifts away from it. Not for the first time, he thanks his lucky stars that his parents are neglectful, because he doesn’t even know how he would explain all of this. 

Two days later, he musters the strength to stumble out of bed, gulp down the bitter, carbon dioxide-filled water next to him and get to the kitchen. It’s April 1st, twelve years ago, Tim is eleven years old, and his family doesn’t know him yet.

Half of the terrible things that have happened to Dick haven’t happened yet. Jason hasn’t died yet. Duke is still a kid and his parents are healthy. Babs hasn’t been put into a wheelchair by the Joker.

Steph is still living with her father. Damian and Cass are being trained as assassins.

Mrs. Mac is due to come in a few hours. Tim looks at the blood-crusted covers of his bed and his crumpled clothes. 

Oh, shoot. 

So instead of researching or training, Tim spends the next hour trying to get the bedsheets off with his tiny, noodle arms, half stumbling on his feet because he’s way too damn short, and making his way to the bathroom so he can take a shower and get some of the blood off so it doesn’t stain too badly. 

It’s probably a lost cause. Not that his parents will notice or care about a missing bedsheet, but it feels wasteful to just throw it away to hide evidence of his unintentional time travel.

Two and a half hours later, Tim stumbles out of the laundry room, his bedsheets and pillow finally in the washer. He collapses on the nearest chair and scans the room for his father’s computer. 

He lets out a shaky breath. His family is generally unscarred. Jason is Robin again. Jason. The boy who Tim had held with a certain degree of, well, disdain. Thinking about it kind of makes him want to punch is past self in the face, or cringe in the way that you can only do when you think of something embarrassing you used to do. Like victim-blaming your older brother for getting beat to death while trying to find his mother. 

It wasn’t the only way he looked at Jason, but he had always thought of him as too reckless. Maybe he really did deserve the beating. Well, not that he believed that young teenagers should be beat up by young adults in Robin cosplay, but at least Tim wasn’t exactly traumatized by the experience. Better him than some other poor civilian kid Bruce could’ve adopted.

And Tim did get his revenge. By getting Jason on his private parts. But whatever. Revenge was revenge, and Tim was better than the whole crime lord setup his older brother had. In practice, anyways. 

Chewing on the ballpoint pen, he writes down the first thing on his list (in code, of course) since coming back in time.

prevent jason’s death 

Well. Now that he had a comprehensive list, Tim was down and ready to plan. 

—

A hour later, Mrs. Mac appears, none the wiser to what happened to him. Tim greets her as she walks in, and she smiles and greets him back, putting lunch in the fridge. She notices nothing wrong about how he stays sitting on the chair in the living room, and Tim says nothing about it. When she leaves, he pulls the piece of paper out of his book and the pen from his hair, scratching down some extra points.

Hmm. Maybe the Court of Owls should go early. Or perhaps that would create too much change?

Dick would have a better time in the future if they were gone, though. Tim frowns, dragging his pen back and forth in a short line on the table. 

He still needed to factor in the fact that he was an unknown to the family. The thing is, Tim loves their dysfunctional, broken family and he knows Bruce and Dick loved him back. But to be honest, it would be easier to change events if he wasn’t being scrutinized by Bruce every day. And it wasn’t like Tim had any shortage of money, with his parents still alive and his family fortune enough to cover whole lifetimes, so he wasn’t worried about his own safety.

It would be nice to go to college too. Maybe Stanford. He was smart enough to make it, and the location was close to the vigiliante community that if he so wanted to, he could probably join and watch his family from the outskirts. Last time around, Tim just couldn’t leave Gotham. Being a vigiliante was his life— he couldn’t even justify it as a temporary thing anymore. Their family had gone through so much tragedy and Gotham was still filled with crime and Tim had an obligation to keep her safe. It just… he couldn’t escape his mantle because he loved it, and Tim had a difficult time letting things go once he loved them. 

But if Tim could change things from the start, he didn’t need to be pulled back into the life. (He couldn’t have it, even if he loved it, because it was never his in the first place.) He could start anew, be a vigiliante when he was in college and far away from the family he hopefully would’ve fixed by then.

Well then. First things first, he needed to remove a factor from Jason’s death so he wouldn’t die in the first place.

—

Mrs. Mac comes by and cooks him lunch, and they eat in silence. Typically, Tim would fill the silence with chattering, glad to have someone to talk to in the empty manor.  But Tim’s mind is whirring, drawing up and discarding plans. By the time Mrs. Mac stands up and tells him she’s going to leave now, Tim has thought of three contingencies and twelve more future events he needs to address.

He mhms when Mrs. Mac prompts him to, and eventually she leaves out the front door, leaving him alone with his thoughts. It’s spring break and Tim doesn’t actually have anything to do because he’s in middle school now, so he mulls over the Jason problem for a few more hours.

It comes to him when he’s microwaving the leftovers from lunch, and Tim is pretty sure he’s a genius, or something. Sheila Haywood worked at a refugee camp in Ethiopia handling medical supplies, but she was embezzling funds from the organization she was working for. It wouldn’t be difficult for Tim to trace it and report her. By the time Jason began tracking her down, she would most likely be in prison, just for a few years and everything would hopefully blow over and the Joker wouldn’t blackmail her because she had no use to him in prison. 

It was cold, perhaps. But her life wouldn’t be over with a few years in prison, and Jason would be alive. Nothing more than they deserved.

Jason, alive. Then Damian, Cass, and Steph. He would see to his family, whole and happy. Then perhaps, in the future, when he was older and safely out of Bruce’s adoption zone, Tim could perhaps work with them. Laugh about how he never expected the Wayne family to be vigilantes, just to throw them off his trail. 

Tim allows himself this one selfish thought, because he has nothing else but the shattered remains of a future that will never come to be, and a family he left behind but still exists.

a/n:

i wrote this in two hours under an inspired haze of time travel and tim, two of my favorite things

tim is a super unreliable narrator if you haven't already noticed lmao

also if i get any characterization wrong feel free to leave some discourse or ping me on the head

but like please be gentle cause y'know constructive crit, not bashing

thanks for reading! :D

[askmistaketalesurgesans]

NOT WELL KNOWN AUs SEMI-FINALS (1)

@caretaleandotherstuff

@marshmall

[solargeist]

the funniest thing abt uh possibly being autistic is not actually dealing with it, and instead just giving it to minecraft characters 🤔

[volivolition]

part of that "raising a kid au" i was working on, this is almost definitely not how skill checks work and i don't even know if i'll include this, but for now i think it's. so funny kjkgj