#ahh whatever

[pokedash55]

I found this meme on Pinterest and the brainrott took over

OG pic:

[a-horse-eating-radish]

On the topic of whether or not Lucio is is racist (great start I know) I personally don't really think he is? Cause, okay yeah, he definitely doesn't treat most of the poc in the game very well buuuut I'd argue that's just a coincidence. I feel like it's better to describe him as classist. His favorite person of the group Nadia, the highest ranking of the group so. While he doesn't treat her well I'd really just blame that in the fact he's a terrible self centered person. He likes when people show him with gifts and attention so he assumed that's what she'd like to. He doesn't put enough effort into finding out what she likes because he doesn't really like her, if that makes sense? Like, he likes the idea of being with her, the way it looks or something. I don't know, just a thought. He doesn't hate Portia or Julian (though I wouldn't say he likes Portia) because they are/were employed by the court so they aren't just you're common randos. And then there's Asra and Muriel. Man he hates those two lol. He probably doesn't like the idea of someone of lower class being better at something than he is (magic for Asra, and probably strength for Muriel?) and especially if they don't want to help him, so he doesn't like them.

[annax-and-a-lot-more]

wanting to interact under character fanart as a character but getting scared that artist will obliterate me using a nuke gun

[rhysska]

autistic!Tim, freshly 18 years old, trying to do the whole public persona, big speech thing after getting officially inducted as CEO for wayne enterprises.

Full disclosure this is just Tim having a meltdown.

Everything feels like it's been dialled up to 110%, sweat is dripping through the impermeable barrier that the ten layers of deodorant were meant to be, the tuxedo is scratching and biting at Tim's skin and he is just barely keeping this in control. It's all locked up in a jar that must absolutely in no circumstances bother him. He's been through worse as Robin, as Red Robin, he's trained to ignore distractions. But, all the same, the chandelier is piercing it's way into his eyes, single handedly banging at his head.

With a deep breath, Tim attempts to recount the speech he had down pat the night before and finds he can't. The words fall short, decaying with each second that passes. Sweat drips down the back of his neck, doing nothing to cool down the hot lightheadedness.

Trembling, Tim begins to make his way to the bathrooms, desperate to at least wipe off some sweat. Heat rests on his shoulder as he reaches for the door, looking up he's met with the concerned eyes of an angel. Or, more accurately Bernard Dowd. The blonde puts an arm around him and says something that Tim hears but doesn't comprehend. Sure he said, "Are you okay?" but what does that mean? How does Tim respond to that?

Tears jerk out, only serving to add to the ringing swirl of light-heavy-hurt-ache. Prying open his eyes he hadn't even realised he'd screwed shut, revealed he was in the corner of an extravagant bathroom. Thankfully with ambient lighting that was just dark enough it didn't bore a hole directly through Tim's skull. The blonde - no his blonde boy is still talking, trying desperately to get through to Tim, the words ring and echo in his head but make no effort to stick.

Bernard shouldn't be here, he should be out enjoying the party, making good use of the champagne, judging the food. Not here, watching as Tim bawls over nothing.

"I'm sorry," Tim babbles, he was ruining everything, "'m sorry."

The pretty face in front of him departs after muttering something along the lines of there being nothing to be sorry about (A blatant lie, Tim was being pathetic - he isn't meant to act so childish, throwing a tantrum over nothing).

Coldness breaks through some of the mist, as a cool glass is placed against his lips. The temperature takes his mind into reality for him long enough to hear a command to drink. So, drink he does, starting with a sip. A singular sip awakens him, he feels as if he hasn't drunk in years, as if he's crawling over the desert like a lost traveller. Like an omen to the traveller, a voice registers in his head.

"C'mon, In, two, three, four, you're doing so well," following the instructions, Tim struggles to take a shaky breath in, "hold, two three four. Out, two, three, four. Doesn't that feel better." A shaky nod

"Let's go again," the process repeats until Tim notices where the guidance is coming from. Once more, the mist dissipates. And again, the shaking is reduced, he chokes out one last sob.

Watery blue locks with shining brown, with a trembling sigh, Tim rests his head on Bernard's chest, the blonde boy's arms following suit.

"We can stay here as long as you need, we can leave if you want," hastily, Tim shakes his head. He needs to do this.

"I love you. So much," is all Tim responds.

[hraeesvelgr]

anyone else wish they were law in times like these cause i do

[perilegs]

i think it's unfair that anxiety can cause an upset stomach. why are you doing all that.

[jamiehashands]

Ellis

[depresivni4ngel]

I guess in another life i get the good things i wanted to happen in this one