The Video Starts With The View Of An Open Fridge Door, And Something Shapeless Even Within The Frame

I can't unsee this

silly comic about Shinsous love life

Up and coming metal artist Eddie Munson covers his favorite song by queer pop icon Steve Harrington, who he's lowkey obsessed with, even if he loses a bit of cred for liking a few basic bitch songs.

Steve Harrington-- VERY aware of Corroded Coffin's extremely sexy frontman, all thanks to his little brother Dustin dragging him to a shitty bar in their hometown to listen to screaming songs about dragons and wizards-- who in turn covers one of Eddie's songs and posts it to his socials.

Cue Eddie and Dustin having simultaneous aneurysms when Steve slides into Eddie's DMs and gets a response in milliseconds.

I hc Dick will be non-verbal for a bit when Bruce first adopts him

Fanfic so good you gotta stop and scroll on social media to not get overwhelmed

Content warning for death, blood and description of injuries

Another slice to my throat. More stains running down my armour, rivers feeding the nutrients I no longer need into the ground. You stand frozen, gaze blank. You always do when we die. Blue already lies, eyes vacant and staring, neck angled horribly wrong. I can’t see Yellow’s face. Their back took the worst of their injuries, as they tripped and did not get back up.

My knees crumble, throat gasping out one last time. I didn’t see Green go down, I heard them like I can hear myself. Their cry cut off, because their brain was targeted. Not their throat. My brain is still stuck trying to make broken vocal cords work.

I blink for what should be the last time.

It won’t be.

“Everyone understand?” Purple looks around at us, all jostling in the belly of the plane, trying to break the tension before our last mission. “We only get one shot at this. We’re counting on you.” They look directly at you as they say that, before turning to where the doors will open.

I don’t know why we don’t get one shot. I don’t know why the gods keep rewinding the clock. You’re the only one that initiates change, so you have to know. I think you’re the only other one who does. The fifth try, you took out a guard I hadn’t spotted. They killed me last time. The seventeenth, you found another way in, after the previous one kept leading to traps and dead ends.

I don’t know why I’m granted so many second chances, and I know I’m alone in remembering what came before. I tried to mention it to Green once. It distracted them, got them killed earlier. I stopped talking after that try. I didn’t want to mess anything else up.

We’re getting close, we have to be. I don’t know what try we’re on, but you get better, stronger every time. Sometimes there’s a stupid mistake from one of us, or a weirdly placed guard, but generally, we’re improving.

Out the airplane, land on the roof, take the fire escape to the fourth floor even though it goes down to the third because there’s too many guards on the third, sneak through the vents, avoid the alarms, climb into the lift shaft and into one of the lifts, ride it down to the basement.

Yes, I can feel it. The death by gravity as I was pushed down the empty shaft. Bones crunching, not able to move my legs. Internal bleeding got me that time. A shot through the window of a corridor, so quick I didn’t have time to be surprised. The phantom pains following me into the next try, aches where my body expects to still find snaps.

This try, we get all the way down the final hall to the vault before the tripwire catches you out. We can still make it, we’ve made it past this point before. Footsteps rumble like thunder above as we dash towards the vault door, weapons and equipment flickering through your hands as you search for something we can use. The vault door creeks as it begins to swing slowly, a ticking clock for our team. Blue makes it in, sliding their backpack off immediately to search for the lock picks they will now need. Yellow whoops as they make it in, keeping an eye on Blue while taunting the guards and hurrying us up. The vault door gets closer to shut. Green makes it in, preparing to take up cover fire through a narrowing field of vision. You’re right behind, squeezing through the shrinking gap. The vault clicks as it closes, Purple slamming into it unable to stop their momentum, and me skidding to a halt beside them.

There’s a small glass window through the vault door, and you walk right up to it, staring at us while you try to slam anything into the door. Looking for a trigger to open the metal lock. Running to get Blue or the others to help, but they shake their heads, already moving on. You return to the window, and I smile back. It’s ok. You might be able to make it this time. This could be the one. You could do it.

The door we came through shatters open as guards pour in. We ready our weapons for a fight, turning away from you, who has gone so still. You never stop moving, not unless one of us is dead, but you can’t do that now. You can make it, you can complete our mission and save the world. We signed onto that, weeks of training and trusting each other before we committed to our shot. Helping people, or die trying.

The stench of blood taints the air as Purple and I engage, holding back the guards to give you as much time as we can. Every second gives you more of a chance to make it. Please, you have to make it. You can do this. Dodging a knife and twisting away from the action, I see you, still frozen on the other side of the glass. A jolt in my back, my breath catching and your blank express do the rest.

I blink.

“Everyone understand?” Purple looks around at us, jostling each other. I smile at you, because you are already moving, already checking weapons and ammunition and equipment again. You could have made it that time.

It’s happened quite a bit. Your chance for freedom, for success, very clearly in reach. But then Yellow will get taken out as a warning that we’ve been spotted. Green succumbs to previous injuries. Blue can’t break the locks in time. Purple gets caught in a triggered trap. I stay behind to buy more time. It resets every time. And although it hurts, and the hollow pain in my stomach has me checking the wound really did disappear like they do everytime, I will smile at you. Because you are going to get us through this. You’re going to make sure one of these times, everybody lives. Every death, every injury, is nothing compared to losing any of us.

It may be selfish, and painful, and at times threatens hellish hopelessness, but whenever it gets too much, whenever the danger gets too close, I know you will save us. You will stay with us, and I know you will keep doing so until one try, we all make it out ok. And I would rather that ending than any other.

Player keeps reloading trying to save every ally in a mission, one of their allies remembers every attempt.

what if someone started a kitchen fire and then got yelled at by everyone else over twitter?

MHA tweets- special edition 😤

Bruce truly hates magic with every pump and beat of his heart.

What kinda curse is Slang, anyway?

“This is the best day of my life.”

“Bro really thought he ate with that.” Bruce physically feels a full body shiver, charged with nausea and cringe. “This is level 10 cringe. Can’t have shit in Gotham.”

Dick is his earth bound angel, but he laughs like a demon at him, holding onto Jason for support, pledging his eternal loyalty to Zatana and her pettiness.

—

“Hey, old bat, hook me up with an adrenaline shot.”

What he wants to say is Jay, do not try and fight with 6 bullets in your stomach.

What comes out instead, through Bruce’s grit teeth and intense, fierce glaring, “Not you trying to go back to your corpse era. See how I only took 2 shots? Very demure. Very mindful.”

Jason passes out from blood loss, but mostly laughter.

—

“Chat, is this real?”

Stephanie barely bites back a full belly cackle. “I think he just asked us if we copied.”

“I wish I was Jason, 15.”

—

“This is not a slay environment. Killing is flop behavior.” He keeps his eyes shut and buries his face in his hands. Trying to convince Damian not to stab someone doesn’t seem to work.

Damian gives him a pat like he’s a pitiful cat. “I’ll only stab the non lethal areas.”

“God, I wish that were me.”

I JUST HAD TO DRAW THIS

Bruce has to spend a day working an important mission with the league at the watchtower but the kids are bored so he tells them as long as they don’t disrupt the JL’s work they can hang around the watchtower and then get takeout on the way home. they succeed in keeping themselves to themselves but don’t quite manage not being disrupting. this is because Tim convinced them to do a tiktok trend.

*the league, pouring over case files in serene silence*

*heard faintly from three rooms away*

Tim, Damian, and Jason: we listen and we don’t judge,

Jason: my original plan for terrorising B after coming back to Gotham was to start leaving him a bunch of creepy voicemails Taken-style, and the only reason i scrapped it was because i just genuinely couldn’t remember Bruce’s phone number.

*Bruce lifts his head, squinting slightly*

The kids: we listen and we don’t judge,

Tim: when i was nine my camera broke because a rogue that Batman was fighting threw the car i left it in off a bridge and i was so mad at Batman that i sold photos i’d taken of Bruce Wayne wearing a thong on his private beach to the Gotham Gazette to buy a new one

*the rest of the league also lift their heads, staring at Bruce uncomfortably. Bruce shifts in his seat*

Jason: THAT WAS YOU?

Tim: YOU’RE JUDGING WE SAID NO JUDGING-

Damian: i feel like we should be able to judge OCCASIONALLY.

*the league, eyeing each other*

Clark: they wont… post that video online, right?

Bruce, sighing: to the family groupchat, probably.

*heard again from across the watchtower*

The kids: we listen and we don’t judge,

Jason: back in the league Damian’s hamster died and we told him it was natural causes but it’s actually because i set it loose during a meeting and Ra’s freaked out and stepped on it.

Jason: OK DRAWING A SWORD MEANS JUDGEMENT DAMIAN PUT IT BACK-

Diana: should you be… checking on them?

Bruce, dead inside: what am i supposed to do about it?

Ollie: aren’t you in charge of them?

Bruce, completely seriously: i’m not in charge of anything anymore.

The kids: we listen and we don’t judge,

Damian: when I was a child I was forced to kill 183 people and I dream of their faces every night

Tim: Damian I don’t think you understand the game.

Bruce, getting up: I’m going to go-

The rest of the league, simultaneously:

Clark: see if the kids are-

Diana: we can handle this-

Barry: you got this buddy-

Ollie: yeah go- go take a break-