#if anyone wants to check it out

[kami-kun1003]

?? take this i guess

please read the tags </3

[papillonprisme]

Made a sub blog specifically for art posting (maybe graphics too sometimes). Not going to talk much there, so hopefully I can keep it organized :’D

The account -> @tigaikan

[ecoamerica]

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

[spindlewoed]

Look, listen. The smoker on the balcony is obsessed with beauty and the fine arts while Cindy the skull is a contemporary artist all about activism and I need them to interact so badly because they would have THEE most heated art debate of the century. Cindy would eat him alive but that's not the point their back and forth would be legendary you don't even know. Lesbian on gay man violence.

[faeriekit]

The Foster Mother

Now on ao3 and VHS release

There was, supposedly, someone waiting for him in the green sitting room.

“…Why?” Tim asked. Most of the usual suspects had already come by to give their “condolences”—former Drakes Industries investors, curious about the newly orphaned heir; fellow socialites, once again flocking in to give and receive sympathies for their “close friends, the Drakes”; gawkers come to see what they could scavenge off of a dead family’s home, never mind that their child was alive.

“She claims to know you, Master Tim,” Alfred offered, kettle in his hand. He spent a moment deciding between different two canisters of tea; a sign of possibly difficult future conversation. “Her interest in your father's estate seemed quite…minimal.”

…Alright.

Tim was still in his formalwear. Dissolving Drake Industries would take at least another year, and plenty of future hours cementing the future home of certain resources in their dissolution, but the outfit probably was more appropriate for whatever oncoming conversation that was about to ensue than his planned change into Dick’s old hoodie and board shorts.

Okay. Tim steeled himself. The self-determination…mostly worked. Whatever. He trudged up into the green sitting room from the kitchen with his usual introduction ready on his tongue.

And then Tim walked into the room.

And then Jazzy was there.

*

Tim had been three, and Miss Jasmine had been his had been his third nanny. He’d outgrown the wetnurse early on, and his second nanny had been dismissed, so although Miss Jasmine was the third nanny, she was first nanny Tim could consciously remember.

She’d had red hair. She’d been very gentle with him.

She got him up in the morning and put him to bed at night; for the first time, there had been someone who sat with him until he was asleep, reading all sorts of books his parents had left to engage him with as an early genius. Then, when those were over and done as promised to his parents, they got unauthorized books from the library: silly books with made-up words, dinosaur books, books about teddy bears and adventures around the world.

Tim hadn’t been allowed to travel the world. Tim hadn’t been allowed a teddy bear. His parents had thought it would encourage undue attachment.

(It had been the same reason he’d never been given a pacifier.)

Miss Jazz had given him a knitted bunny. She’d said her dad had made it especially for him.

The toy’s name was Bunny and Tim remembered him being very soft.

She didn’t smile all the time, but smiles were rewards that were easy to earn. He finished his meal and she smiled. He finished an educational puzzle and she smiled. He was quiet all through her phone call and she smiled, and answered all his questions once she was done.

Jazzy had been the first person in his life who was there all the time. She’d kissed his forehead after the bath and kissed his scraped knees; she’d carried him in his arms when he was tired and sometimes even when he wasn’t. His parents had wanted him to be independent, proactive, and not clingy, but Jazzy had been someone who he could run to from his bed when he’d had nightmares and someone he could cuddle on her lap with when he’d cried.

She was gone when he was seven. He didn’t remember why. His parents had probably never told him, but still; he'd assumed he'd have found out why eventually.

Jazzy looked the same right now as she looked in Tim’s memories, although she was likely no longer a college student at a nannying gig. Her red hair was pulled into a high bun, her dress modest and conservative from her neck to her ankles. There was a backpack beside her foot. She was sitting, one leg crossed over the other, on the high-backed loveseat in the green sitting room.

She looked up when he came in.

Tim. Stopped in his tracks.

It didn’t matter. Jazzy—Miss Jasmine stood up as soon as she saw him, eyes alight with worry. Foggy memories were swimming to the forefront of Tim’s brain. He couldn’t move.

“Tim?” Ja—Miss Jasmine asked, teal eyes raking over his frame. Tim froze where he was. He didn’t move, wide-eyed and terrified for no reason at all when Miss Jasmine got closer to him, at a distance that was more appropriate for a conversation.

She stood there. Watching him. It felt like his mother had just come home from her trips with Dad, and a ghost of old terror wafted through him as he waited for her to decide he’d done something wrong. Her voice got softer. Her eyes got softer. Why was Tim feeling so wrong-footed?? It was only a former staff person!

“Tim?” her voice was so gentle. “I don’t know if you remember me. I’m—“

“M’s Jazz,” Tim croaked. Which. Wasn’t the level of formality he’d been going for, but better than Jazzy. He wasn’t a toddler anymore.

Miss Jasmine was so tall—honestly, was she taller than Bruce? She’d seemed insurmountable as a child; he hadn’t expected her height to truly be so statuesque as an adult.

(Or. Well. Almost an adult.)

She didn’t quite kneel down, but she did stoop lower, as if Tim was small and he needed to be on equal footing in order to have a serious conversation.

He could see all her freckles. Tim swallowed. It was too familiar. Everything about her was too familiar.

“You’re so big now,” Jazzy whispered, looking at his hair, his suit, his polished shoes. He didn’t feel it. “Oh, you’ve grown up so well.”

Thanks, Tim almost said. Something stopped him—something thick in his throat, to impassable to break through.

“I—“ he tried. He coughed. “Why…you… You’re here?”

Jazzy threw him an incredulous look, and then an incredibly wry one. “Well,” she drawled a little too primly, in the way that Alfred occasionally made obvious statements, “I’d think it obvious that when one’s parents have passed away, that those who care about you might come to check and see if you’re alright.”

Which. That didn’t make sense. Jazzy hadn’t come back for any other reason; she hadn’t come back for his mother’s funeral, nor when his father was injured publicly by a villain. Why start now?

“And,” Jazz added, seeing his visual confusion and distrust, “Your parents can’t exactly threaten me with a kidnapping charge for visiting you when they’re dead.” Pause. “Which I am sorry about. My condolences.”

Which. Whiplash. What a statement.

“Uh,” said Tim, who was rapidly losing control over the situation.

Jazzy stood again, and went back to her seat; she didn’t set herself down, though, as she only stooped to grab her backpack. “I am sorry for being unable to visit, although I really wanted to; you were at a very vulnerable age and had already moved into a class a year above you, and your parents should have been less hasty about replacing your main caretaker. The assassination attempts were unwarranted, but they did drive the point home that attempting contact was perhaps discouraged.”

“What,” said Tim. “Assassin what.”

“They were ninjas,” Jazzy offered, as if that was an answer. “Except the last one, which was a former marine. The point is that I do care about you, and wanted to ask if you had any idea where you’re going now that your parents are no longer…available guardians.”

Tim’s mouth opened. It closed.

Jazzy waited patiently.

“…How have you been?” Tim tried, resorting to a part of the script they hadn’t gone through yet.

Jazzy’s laugh was tired, but no less real. It was nothing like listening to his parents titter politely; he didn’t think Jazzy would even know how to fake a laugh. “Well, my brother told me that my former bosses had died, which was somewhat stressful. Otherwise, I’m pretty happy: I live with my brother and worked with him for the last few years. I was going to pursue medicine, but…well. The assassination attempts made it hard to interview for scholarships. I suppose that I could return to that now,” Jazzy mused, attention now elsewhere. She pulled the backpack off the floor and up into her grip. She opened it, and flipped through its contents. “How are you doing? I know that Wayne Manor fosters, but your parents were always rather…hands off. I thought the difference in levels of attention might be overwhelming.”

It was. Tim should be surprised how clearly she sees through him—

—But Jazzy used to watch him stim for almost a full hour after school, twisting Bunny’s arms back and forth until he could calm down. Seeing other people all day had been too much for him. Coming home from his parents’ parties had been similarly stressful.

She’d never been mad at him for it. She held him while he talked and stimmed and talked and talked and talked, and brushed his hair sometimes, or if it was very late and he was very young, helped him brush his teeth through all the medieval execution facts he could name.

“It is a lot to get used to,” Tim agreed quietly. He didn’t want to be ungrateful. He didn’t want to let on anyone about his plan to leave.

He had an out. The papers had already been filed; there was an actor waiting to play his uncle for a custody battle, ready for the fight.

Tim was ready to up and go. It was no hardship to leave all the good things here; anything beat making Bruce stick his fingers into Tim any deeper than they already were, compromising the dynamic they’d already established.

It was for the best.

“I can imagine,” Jazzy sympathized easily. “And I wanted to offer—well. I know there’s probably a lot of choices available to you, but my brother and I recently moved back to Gotham proper for the time being. He’s teaching astronomy courses at the university and I’m filing paperwork for Arkham patients. It’s not so privileged a home, but it’s quieter, and more central in town.”

…Tim’s heart skipped.

He. He couldn’t stop staring. Jazzy stared back at him, quiet and sure. Sure of what, Tim had no idea, but…

Why? Why would she want Tim? There was no way she would be able to get to his trust fund without his help, and he for sure knew better than to enable her ability to leech from him. The last time she’d known him, Tim had been a snot-nosed kid who cried all the time and couldn’t be normal for twenty consecutive minutes. His parents couldn’t even stand to be on the same hemisphere as him as a child. What appeal did this have for her?? What could having a teenager with severe baggage living in her house do for her?

And it’s not like there was any chance she knew he was Robin!

“Oh,” Jazzy suddenly interrupted. “I brought these for you, by the way. Your parents had tossed them out at various points; I’ve washed them since, of course.”

She handed him the backpack by the handle.

…Tim peeked inside.

On top was Bunny, still a washed-out faded sort of pink. He looked as fresh as he had the day when Tim’s parents had ”cleaned out” Tim’s nursery—in other words, a faded, a little gray, and slightly discolored from an old spaghetti stain. His button eyes were big and blue.

And beneath him were books that hadn’t passed his father’s muster as appropriately masculine reading material: The Velveteen Rabbit, with the cover a little scarred from a fierce attack of wet wipes. There’s A Monster at the End of This Book, with a goofy-looking Muppet on the cover, gold spine beat up beyond belief. Art Tim’s teacher at the time must have laminated and sent home; Tim’s dorky, crayon cat proved he would never make it as an artist, but attached to it was a photograph of a grinning boy with a bowl cut and a missing tooth.

Tim stared. There’d been purple marker on his hands and face. His grin looked…really bad, actually, like as if he was baring his teeth because he didn’t know how to smile. There was no formal grace there. Nothing to show the neighbors, nothing worth framing to put into the line of sight of the investors in the office.

Jazzy had kept it and brought it home with her. Jazzy had fished it out of the trash, and brought it with her to give back to him in Gotham.

It was crinkled like it’d been folded, over and over again. Further down in the bag was a crumpled certificate dedicated to “Timmy Drake, for: knowing a lot about octopi”, and a baby blanket Tim didn’t even remember. It had rocket ships on it. It looked as if someone had cut into it with scissors, although it had been obviously and brightly mended with red embroidery floss later on.

Jazzy had only been his nanny until Tim was seven. She had simply been gone one night, and Mom and Dad had been home for ten nights after without help before giving in and hiring Mrs. McIlvane and Mrs. Edith. Ms. Edith had never been so…permissive…with Tim as Jazzy had been.

Tim swallowed. He carefully put everything back into the backpack, unsure if he even wanted to keep it or not. It wasn’t like he could leave it here; he’d be gone, ideally, before the week was out. There was no point in taking it with him if he only planned to live with a stranger until he was eighteen.

“J…” Tim tried. He cut himself off before he could get too informal without prompting. “Miss Jasmine—“

“Just Jazz,” Jazzy corrected politely.

“—Why are you here?” Tim asked, ignoring how she’d technically already answered. He didn’t believe her. “What made my parents fire you?”

Jazzy’s expression turned…soft. Tim couldn’t look at her. Something horrible was welling with it, and he didn’t know how to cope.

“I’m here because I care about you,” Jazz repeated, and knelt beside him. She looked up into his face, and took his hand. Tim didn’t know why. He was practically an adult—he didn’t need this!

“And I was fired because your Mother overheard you calling me ‘Mommy’ on accident when you were tired. I suppose she was insulted, although I’d never know why; it’s not like she was ever home to bond with you in the first place.”

Tim’s throat closed. He missed his mom. He missed waiting up for his parents’ flight home, seeing their headlights outside the window, and knowing they’d bring home gifts from overseas. He missed using Mom’s perfume, and knowing he’d used more of the bottle sitting on her dressed than she ever had, but that it still smelled like her. He missed hearing his Dad telling all sorts of adventure stories and promises through the phone to be home for the holidays, even if Tim knew there was every chance he’d find some other way to spend the time back in Gotham.

And there was some small child in him who missed Jazzy, who hugged him and walked him to the library and made him soup from a can instead of fancy dinners and, who’d never needed to be waited for in the first place.

Tim looked at Jazzy’s round, freckled face.

He swallowed.

Tim moved out before the end of the week, as expected.

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 194

Bart is frozen. He’s terrified- his heart is beating faster in his chest than it’s ever done before yet he couldn’t even start to force himself to run, his body practically vibrating in place as he shook. 

There was a familiar feeling in the air, one he’d never thought he’d ever feel again once he’d slipped back in time. He couldn’t breathe, everything felt like it was falling away except for that horrifying fiery aura- 

“Kid, are you okay?” There was a hand on his shoulder, light as a feather (he’d learned that from gramps!) yet grounding. 

He finally managed to suck in a breath, however wheezy, and looked up to answer, the words dying in his throat before they even began. 

“Kid? Holy shit-” Bart didn’t hear anything else as his poor brain fizzled and he fainted. 

Danny blinks down at the barely-teenager who seemed to just have some sort of attack before fainting practically in his arms. He’d say diabetes or something, but he has no way to be sure and is maybe panicking himself. 

“Wow Mum, wha’ you do?” a toddler Dan- he knew what he did but honestly his baby lisp was adorable- snarked from next to him, chewing on his kid leash. Which he wasn’t getting out of until he could both stop floating whenever he saw the stars (yes he knew he used to do the same thing, shush) and walk out into traffic. 

[fangirlwithasweettooth]

No I’m not absolutely freaking out about a fic of mine getting 1k notes in a week what are you talking about I’m totally normal about this (no but seriously I’m !!!!!!! like what the heck I wasn’t expecting people to love it as much as I loved writing it but here we are 🥺)

[yukipri]

💙❤️Happy Valentine's Day!❤️💙

This year, decided to do a set!

"Spice" - Alpha-17 x Obi-Wan

"Sugar" - Fordo x Obi-Wan

Do you prefer your romance to be Sweet❤️ or Spicy💙?

~~

PLEASE DO NOT REUPLOAD, EDIT, TRANSLATE, OR OTHERWISE USE MY ART. To share, please reblog! Reblogs and comments greatly appreciated!!!

❀ You can see the rest of my art through the Masterpost pinned to the top of my blog!

[kikker-oma]

[suntails]

⚔️🍎

[boxedwinedean]

inspired by @ihategreghouse ‘s wonderful iceberg! go check it out

house md iceberg !

[blackberry-s0da]

New oc I’ve been cooking for a while and still need to study. Dami

[freyadragonlord]

The Mr Villain's Day Off anime is beautiful and it's honestly a great adaptation, but I need anime-only fans to know that in the manga, the "Mr Villain can't sleep" arc from ep.6 ended like this:

LOOK AT THEM!!

THIS IS THE MOST FHDSFGSDHFGSHDHD THING EVER!!!!

[tsams-confessions]

I'm relatively new to the show fandom, but a few days ago I read that the artists who make the thumbnails for the videos on the channels are not paid with real money but with discord nitro, the moderator rank on the official server of discord and on twitch channels, participation in gameplays and even allowing them to make decisions in the stories of the shows. Will that be real? I don't want to believe it is because I understand that every artist should receive monetary payment for their work but maybe just I don't understand how that world works.

.

[popdrop]

I STILL CAN'T GET OVER HOW IN THE BEGINNING, CALE PUSHED EVERYONE AWAY. You may say it's because of how "dangerous" and "trouble packed" their journey will be in the story later on— BUT. I JUST CANT HELP BUT FEEL LIKE MAYBE , JUST MAYBE. He didn't want them to be affected by his "curse" (side effect of WS) whether he knew about it or not. Just consider the fact that he KNOWS what will happen to them and how they'll be fighting for a better world and it'd be MUCH better if he's not there. Just in case he worsens whatever will happen.

He's such an unreliable narrator <3 the Worst Kind Ever.

[valiant-portabella-pirkko]

okay they seriously outdid themselves with the new SAB weapon set this year. just LOOK at these things!! my hands are going to die a noble death collecting them... but it will be worth it.

[ilivelikeimtrying]

Okay, okay here me out:

Vampire AU and this as Ambrosius and Ballister

Like, I don't even know what it might uphold. Maybe Ambrosius is lonely after leaving his screwed up snobbish family to love his one life and works at an animals sanctuary (the opposite of what his family wanted for him), and so one day he meets a little bat he thinks needs help and takes it home to nurse if back to health, and when he lets it go the little guy comes back every night to keep him company and he thinks he's made a friend.

This bat is, of course, Ballister, who, after being treated so kindly by this stranger, can't help but visit him every other night despite his ward (Nimona) warning him otherwise, but he's become friends with this handsome and lonely man, and wants to keep him company.

Also he gets free fruit and is treated like a little king when he's there so he doesn't want to give that up so soon.

I imagine they would bump (literally) into each other one night, Ballister in his human form, and while helping him up Ballister would realise that the man who bumped into him was his man! But Ambrosius doesn't know who he is at all, and yet finds this stranger so alluring that he stays and walks with him in the night.

Ambrosius doesn't see the stranger after that, but has noticed that his little friend Bat has been visiting much more frequently (as Ballister has found himself to be even more infatuated with the man), and leaves his balcony window open for him to get in when he wasn't home yet.

Then Ambrosius mentions to his little friend Bat that he thinks he wants to start dating, which Ballister is very much against because that would mean that some stranger was going to be cutting into his time with Ambrosius (this is when he realizes how much like Nimona he was acting).