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Tim working with the league of assassins after Jason and Damian left it must have been so wild. like going to school and having your older siblings’ teacher. i just imagine Tim desperately trying to get this team up over and done with so he can get the fuck out of dodge while also desperately filing away all the little insane tidbits of information regarding both Damian and Jason’s reputations within that organisation.

Tim: hey, where’d that big crack in the side of that building come from?

Ra’s, tired: your brothers.

Tim: …what?

Ra’s: i was away at the time, i do not know the details. all i know is an elephant was somehow involved and Talia sent them both to Gotham post-haste after the incident.

Tim:

-

League Servant: *tells Tim to fuck off using secret bat-hand-signals*

Tim: what the- what the fuck?

League Servant, now slightly fearful: u-uh… i used to serve Jason Todd… he told me that gesture meant ‘respectful greetings’

Tim:

Tim, wishing he was dead: *does the signal back*

-

Tim: so this was Damian’s old quarters?

League Servant: yes sir, we keep it just as he left it on his mother’s orders.

Tim:

Tim: there’s bloodstains on the ceiling

League Servant: no. that is ketchup. he and Jason Todd got into a fight.

Tim: i am learning so much…

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Why would you kill him like this…

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Coraline x Monster High Watch the speedpaint here!

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Lois's thoughts on Jon?

Jon was a monster.

But he hadn’t always been. Once, he had been her little boy—her sweet little boy, the one who used to cry when he accidentally stepped on an ant. The one who clung to her leg when thunderstorms rattled the farmhouse windows. The one who would giggle, bright and unburdened, as he raced through the fields of Smallville, his tiny hands outstretched like he could catch the sun itself.

Now, he came home every night happy, beaming, bloody recounting his sins like they were schoolyard adventures. "Mom, you should’ve seen it!"he’d chirp between bites of dinner, eyes alight with something that wasn’t quite Jon anymore. "Dami and I, we—" Clark would listen, nodding along, pride gleaming in his too-perfect smile. And Lois would sit there, silently choking on her food, choking on the memory of the child she’d lost.

She should’ve killed Clark when she had the chance. She should have believed Luther. She shoulder have ran the first time he looked at Jon with something other than indifference. But she hadn’t. She’d trusted him. She’d believed in him. And now her son—her son, the one who used to whisper "I love you, Mommy" into her shoulder when she tucked him in was gone.

In his place was this thing. This grinning, gore-splattered shadow wearing her baby’s face. It wasn’t Jon’s fault.

It was his.

Clark had taken her son. Stolen him, piece by piece, warped him into something sharp and cruel and left her with a stranger who laughed at screams and called her "Mom" like he still remembered what the word meant.

Lois didn’t hate Jon. She could never hate her son. She hated the monster that wore his skin. And she hated herself for not being able to save him.

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Part 2 bc why not?

konner!clonebaby AU

Storms.

Storms had always been way too painful. The relentless hammer of rain, the thunder that shook the bones of the earth. Every strike of light and thunder fresh torment. The air itself grew heavy, suffocating, pressing in like a weight against his skin. Kryptonians were too sensitive, the curse of super senses. Konner had learned that lesson on his own. Well, not on his own. He was still with Lex. He remembered his first storm. Back when he was still with Lex—well belonged to was probably the right word for it. Lex had watched, cold and unmoving, as Konner collapsed under the onslaught, knees hitting the floor as his lungs seized. The noise was unbearable, a deafening roar that shattered his senses, and all he could do was press his hands over his ears and beg for it to stop. Lex had scoffed. Called him weak. Left him there, shaking and gasping, like his suffering was nothing.

And then he met Tim. Tim, who had never turned away from him. Tim, who hadn’t expected him to just endure it. Tim, who had built something for him—special headphones, carefully crafted to mute the worst of the storm’s fury. Tim, who had held him through the worst of it, whispered reassurances.

Tim, who was gone.

Konner hadn’t worn the headphones since that day. He didn’t deserve them. Not after failing him. Not after letting him die. But Jane.. Their Jane, their bright, beautiful girl. She had them. He made sure of that. Her first storm had been hell. She’d wailed in his arms, tiny body trembling, her cries tearing through him sharper than any thunder ever could. He’d held her as close to him as he could, cradling her against his chest, trying to muffle the noise with his own body. As if he could ever be enough. And then, with shaking hands and a bit of desperation, he’d slipped Tim’s headphones over her ears. She quietly after that. Finally, finally sleeping through the storm. Every storm since she still shook. Still cried. But she wore them in a way that was Tim’s gift to her. While Konner held her like the sky was falling. If he just held on tight enough, he could keep her safe.

He couldn’t. Tim would’ve known what to do. Tim would’ve fixed it. He always had some brilliant solution, some impossible way to make the pain stop. But Tim wasn’t here. He’d never be here again. All Konner had left was Jane. Their daughter. The last piece of Tim he’d ever get.

God, he hoped she took after him. Because Konner was a failure. And Tim had been everything.

Was I listening?

Konner stared blankly as the casket was lowered into its deep, dark resting place. Konner watched as his friend, his closest friend, was lost to time. Konner felt numb as he sat staring at the grave for gods know how long. The world felt too loud as he stared at the grave, listening, hoping, praying he'd hear a heartbeat, movement, something but there was nothing. Tim was dead and no matter how much he listened now, that wouldn't change. “I'm sorry,” Konner whispered, hoping Tim would hear him; he knew he wouldn't. Konner couldn't ask Tim to listen, to forgive him. He had promised to be there, that he'd always be there, that he'd listen for him. Apparently! He was a fucking dirty rotten liar. Apparently! He couldn't hear his best fucking friend being tortured and killed. He replayed the last moments he’d seen Tim alive in his mind, over and over, like a broken record. Tim’s laugh, his smile, his everything. The way he’d always try to tell Kon he wouldn't need him, that he'd be fine. But he hadn’t been fine. He hadn’t been fine at all. And Konner hadn’t been there. He hadn’t heard the screams, the pleas, the silence that followed. He hadn’t heard anything. Was he even listening..? “I'm so sorry.”

In the next few days, Tim's belongings were cleaned out and moved to the Wayne estates. Konner helped. Of course, he would help; he had to help. While moving everything, Konner took a few items, one of Tim's skateboards he now had hanging on his wall, a few of his hoodies Tim had stolen, the fabric still smelling like Tim, and finally, the one thing he probably shouldn't have taken. Something he had no right to take. Not really when he had failed him. Konner took Tim's necklace. Each one a piece of him, a piece Konner had no right to claim. But he took them anyway, selfishly, desperately, clinging to the fragments of his friend like they could somehow fill the void. The necklace was more like a collar. It felt cold against his skin, a constant reminder of his failure. Tim had trusted him with so much, and Konner had let him down in the worst possible way. He wore it like a brand, a mark of his shame. He stitched Tim’s symbol into his jacket, a permanent reminder of the life he held closest to him, the one he couldn’t save. It was a tribute, yes, but also a punishment. Every time he looked at it, every time he felt the weight of the necklace against his chest, he remembered. He remembered the laughter, the adventures, the quiet moments. He remembered the promise he’d made. And he remembered how he’d broken it.

After his death, nights were the worst. Konner seldom slept. Alone in his room, the silence was deafening. He’d lie there, staring at the ceiling, the necklace clutched in his hand, as he’d beg for sleep to take him. But when it did, the dreams came. Tim’s face, pale, lifeless, staring at him. Angry, sad, hurt, contorting in pain... Konner would wake up gasping, his sheets soaked with sweat, his heart pounding in his chest. He’d reach for the necklace, for anything that still smelled like Tim, for Tim but he’d never be there. Tim was dead.

Sometimes, he’d find himself standing at Tim’s grave again, just thinking. He’d stare at the headstone, at the name carved into it, and he’d wonder if Tim could see him. If he could hear him. If he knew how sorry Konner was. But deep down, he knew the truth. Tim was gone. And no amount of apologies, no amount of tears, no amount of pain would ever bring him back.

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Let me give ya’ll a little angst

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Soup! :3

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Was I listening?

Konner stared blankly as the casket was lowered into its deep, dark resting place. Konner watched as his friend, his closest friend, was lost to time. Konner felt numb as he sat staring at the grave for gods know how long. The world felt too loud as he stared at the grave, listening, hoping, praying he'd hear a heartbeat, movement, something but there was nothing. Tim was dead and no matter how much he listened now, that wouldn't change. “I'm sorry,” Konner whispered, hoping Tim would hear him; he knew he wouldn't. Konner couldn't ask Tim to listen, to forgive him. He had promised to be there, that he'd always be there, that he'd listen for him. Apparently! He was a fucking dirty rotten liar. Apparently! He couldn't hear his best fucking friend being tortured and killed. He replayed the last moments he’d seen Tim alive in his mind, over and over, like a broken record. Tim’s laugh, his smile, his everything. The way he’d always try to tell Kon he wouldn't need him, that he'd be fine. But he hadn’t been fine. He hadn’t been fine at all. And Konner hadn’t been there. He hadn’t heard the screams, the pleas, the silence that followed. He hadn’t heard anything. Was he even listening..? “I'm so sorry.”

In the next few days, Tim's belongings were cleaned out and moved to the Wayne estates. Konner helped. Of course, he would help; he had to help. While moving everything, Konner took a few items, one of Tim's skateboards he now had hanging on his wall, a few of his hoodies Tim had stolen, the fabric still smelling like Tim, and finally, the one thing he probably shouldn't have taken. Something he had no right to take. Not really when he had failed him. Konner took Tim's necklace. Each one a piece of him, a piece Konner had no right to claim. But he took them anyway, selfishly, desperately, clinging to the fragments of his friend like they could somehow fill the void. The necklace was more like a collar. It felt cold against his skin, a constant reminder of his failure. Tim had trusted him with so much, and Konner had let him down in the worst possible way. He wore it like a brand, a mark of his shame. He stitched Tim’s symbol into his jacket, a permanent reminder of the life he held closest to him, the one he couldn’t save. It was a tribute, yes, but also a punishment. Every time he looked at it, every time he felt the weight of the necklace against his chest, he remembered. He remembered the laughter, the adventures, the quiet moments. He remembered the promise he’d made. And he remembered how he’d broken it.

After his death, nights were the worst. Konner seldom slept. Alone in his room, the silence was deafening. He’d lie there, staring at the ceiling, the necklace clutched in his hand, as he’d beg for sleep to take him. But when it did, the dreams came. Tim’s face, pale, lifeless, staring at him. Angry, sad, hurt, contorting in pain... Konner would wake up gasping, his sheets soaked with sweat, his heart pounding in his chest. He’d reach for the necklace, for anything that still smelled like Tim, for Tim but he’d never be there. Tim was dead.

Sometimes, he’d find himself standing at Tim’s grave again, just thinking. He’d stare at the headstone, at the name carved into it, and he’d wonder if Tim could see him. If he could hear him. If he knew how sorry Konner was. But deep down, he knew the truth. Tim was gone. And no amount of apologies, no amount of tears, no amount of pain would ever bring him back.

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Oh! So, one of the very first lessons that my high school theater teacher taught was that if something makes you uncomfortable, you are more than welcome to leave the room. Now, I already knew this. I always do my best to quietly situations that make me uncomfortable. I've done this for as long as I can remember as long as I could get away with it. Apparently, it's not common knowledge, and I learned that when I was in my junior year. All this to say, I'm here to remind you all that if a situation or a person or something makes you uncomfortable, you can walk away. Others with you may be upset, but your comfort should matter to yourself above the feelings of the people around you

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I actually have the salon on of these. I used to (sometimes still do) throw it like s football at people and watch it hit like a homing missile.

10/10 would recommend fish

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Me right now

Ugh… headache. Head splitting migraine, even.

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a severely underrated and underused pre-reveal-Red-Hood-plot is the one where Dick finds out that he’s Jason first, and out of desperation to make up for past failings at being a big brother and wanting to reconnect with Jason, he decides to keep it from the rest of the family and use it as a way for them to bond. clearly this could be funny for like a thousand different reasons, but the first way this could turn out that i can think of is obviously Bruce watching Nightwing and Red Hood getting closer and closer and instead of automatically coming to the realisation that it’s Dick getting to know and hanging out with his little brother, he immediately assumes that Nightwing and Red Hood are dating.

i’m torn between Jason finding this hysterical while Dick is horrified about it (Jason doesn’t have to deal with the sexual jokes from the family and talks about safety within villain/hero relationships) and both of them deciding it’s a prime opportunity to pull the greatest prank on Bruce possible (both of them leaning into the relationship thing publicly and then Jason casually taking off his helmet to give Dick a cheek-kiss and Bruce a fucking heart attack), but mostly i just think it would be funny if Dick got stressed about his web of lies and decided to rant to a friend, idk who probably Wally, and he gets to have this conversation:

Dick, pacing back and forth: i don’t know what to do, i mean my dad thinks i’m fucking my brother!

Wally, incredulous: …what the fuck did you do to make Bruce think you’re fucking Tim???

Dick, horrified: OH MY GOD NO? I MEANT JASON!

Wally: HE THINKS YOU’RE FUCKING A CORPSE!?

Dick: OK NO- I SHOULD HAVE EXPLAINED BETTER WAIT A SECOND-

Wally: *distressed noises*

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Babiessss

Big fan of drawing Jason looking his age. And big fan of Jason in Loa. And Big fan of baby Damian. And big fan of Talia. I'm a simple person.

Damian has super lashes bc have you ever seen an arab boy??? bruh longest lashes ever

Also hc that Jason tans easily- both Damian and Jason lost color in Gotham

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hey folks if you have an android phone: google shadow installed a "security app".

I had to go and delete it myself this morning.

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The Ocean, Me, MS Paint, 2022

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I must draw what I must draw🦅🦅🦅

Told you I was gonna draw it @twinklefwinkle 😭👐😭👐😭👐‼️‼️‼️