#But… as much as I love my dad

[homkamiro]

Lil Pootis but I was inspired by a really old USSR film "Wolf and Calf" which made me really emotional

[chloesimaginationthings]

FNAF Into the pit? More like into the daddy issues

[egophiliac]

queen of diamonds, upright + reversed 💎

I've redone this like eighty times, I have to just be done with it now and stop staring at all my mistakes oh no 🫠

[soldrawss]

Watching and Dreaming doodles cause im 🥺🥰

[jullovve]

me after four days of ten-hour shifts be like

[dooblebrain]

Hello, Gordon!

I get it man, sometimes you look at the void too long and become a little murdery it happens

[wisasslocs]

What makes Chilchuck my favorite character is how Ryoko Kui subverts our expectations (like she did with all the characters) with him the most.

He’s supposed to be the emotionally distant character that acts like he doesn’t care about his friends but in almost every episode he’s the FIRST to ask if everyone is ok, the one that worries about everyone and puts them first before himself (example was the box trap and him going out last). He even cares so much about people of his species that he CREATED A UNION just to teach other half-foots that they deserve equal treatment among their parties.

The same with him not being a fighter. I’ve never seen a character go ‘oh I dont fight’ and still finds ways to be an asset to his party members during times of battle. Almost all those characters that are like that are the most useless and their entire arc is about them becoming assets to their team. Chilchuck isn’t like that. He’s still useful and knows how to make his strengths benefit his teammates.

He might not be the strongest, or the fastest but he’s smart and so goddamn useful even if he cant defeat the monster on his own. He’s a team player and he’s lucky that everyone in his party is also a team player because my god each of them work so flawlessly together the best sports team is shaking in their boots.

He’s emotionally distant yet his actions always speak louder than his words. I relate so much because I can never voice my emotions but I will go out of my way in making sure the people I love are ok with my actions.

I’m so normal about this divorced, middle-aged man.

[purrvaire]

they're so in love im gonna throw up real quick

[phantasm-echo]

Happy (slightly late) Father’s Day‼️‼️‼️

I bring you all Rex and tiny domino twins from @moxiebustion ‘s Ramik’ade AU because I can’t get enough of them and ueueuueueueueueue I love them so so much

[vanmarkus]

9-1-1 • S1E01 || S7E09 ↳ “Has it really been that long?”

[stil-lindigo]

prodigal son.

a sort of epilogue for God of War Ragnarok, since I miss these two so much.

support me on patreon

[egophiliac]

I have SO many thoughts about everything and they are in no kind of order yet, so here's just some quick little bits in the meantime!

I am not normal about any of these characters!

[soldrawss]

@funneylizzie got me in that Casey Jones Jr brainrot and I haven't known peace since

[bruciemilf]

More thoughts about cigarette mom! Thomas and Bruce HERE WE GO—

I just. I love mean dad Thomas, man.

Not mean in a way that makes Bruce feel small and worthless and insignificant, no, —

Mean in the sense of refusing to sugar coat and coddle because this is Gotham, and he can’t.

“Bruce I am NOT buying you that dumbass squeesh-mellow bullSHIT. Cause it’s 300 bucks, that’s why! We’re rich, not STUPID. You want it so bad, how about getting a JOB.”

Bruce is 5 years old and 4 feet of nothing and every inch his mother, which is why he could swallow the universe whole, Alfred thinks,

“I’m too CUTE for a job!”

“Well, babe, you can either be cute, or you can be broke. When you choose, let me know.”

Bruce’s first job was being Martha’s model for paintings, bringing Thomas his Budlights after long nights at the hospital, and taste tasting for Alfred.

I feel like baby Bruce was such a brat and Alfred is trained for inhuman composure. It’s kinda like watching a baby kitten try to use claws they don’t have. “Are you ready to count to 10 now?”

Thomas, not even looking up from his newspaper, “Bruce! Boy, you better listen to Al if you wanna keep your teeth, you hear me?!”

Baby Bruce called the CPS on Thomas MULTIPLE times but it’s always been for like. Dad smoked in the house again even if mommy said not to and it bothers my dolls.

[milkcioccolato]

Redraw of my minicomic "Good Master"

This is still one of my favorite comics I’ve ever done (most of my faves are about Mace and Maul together, coincidence? I think not!)

Here is the original post!

[shanastoryteller]

The day his deal comes due, Sam goes missing.

Dean tells himself it’s nothing, that he’s gotten caught up in some research, some last ditch, hail mary nonsense and that he’s just turned his phone off and everything’s fine, that he wouldn’t do something stupid, that he wouldn’t break his promise.

He tells himself that for the first two minutes after he cracks his eyes open and sees the empty bed across from him, and the first time his call goes straight to voicemail, and not much after that. Sam’s broken his promises over things significantly less important to him than his brother’s life.

Dean is dressed and in the Impala five minutes later, heart thudding wildly in his chest. He calls Bobby, Ellen, everyone he can think of, but none of them have heard from Sam, none of them have eyes on him. Sam was with him last night, even if he boosted a car, there’s only so far he can get.

He keeps calling, keep searching, desperate to stop whatever he’s trying to do, to find him, to see his brother one last time before he’s dragged to hell. To make sure Sam is going to be okay after he’s dragged to hell. But the hours tick down, the sun sets, and he can’t find a trace of him. He’s so exhausted and heart sick that when he goes to call Sam again it takes him a long time to read the number on his phone, eyes swimming, the time not making any sense.

1:03

That’s not possible.

That’s not –

His phone rings, blocking out the time with Bobby’s name across the screen, and he answers it but his throat is too thick to say anything.

“Dean?” Bobby says tentatively. “Are you – I got an email from Sam. It just said, I mean, did–“

“What did it say, Bobby?” he asks, even though he’s sure he knows.

Bobby sucks in a breath at his voice, because he knows just as well as Dean that he should be screaming in hell right now, not answering his phone. “To take care of you.”

Dean drops the phone, hears Bobby still talking as he grips the wheel and presses his forehead against the back of his hands. This is what he’d been afraid of. This is why he hadn’t wanted to mess with the deal in first place. This is the one thing he’d begged Sam not to do.

It's easy to find a crossroad.

The demon is laughing at him when it shows up, wicked grin in a pretty face. “That didn’t take you long, boy.”

It’s a different demon than the one he delt with, obviously, but Dean figures they all know the same shit, since demons are a bunch of gossips. “This wasn’t the deal. My brother lives and I die.”

“You traded your soul for your brother’s life,” she corrects, so amused by all this that all he wants to do is kill her, to exorcise her, to make her scream. “Just like your father traded his for yours. There’s no reason Sammy can’t make his own trade. Man, but is your family fucked up. Maybe if you’d just settled down like little Sammy wanted, you wouldn’t all be bargaining for each other’s lives like haggling at a flea market.”

“Untrade it,” he snaps. “My soul for him alive, come on, no year, no waiting, you bring him back and take me to hell right now.”

She laughs in his face. “You don’t have anything to bargain with, boy.”

“My soul,” he repeats, “That’s what this is about, isn’t?”

“Oh, it’s what it’s all about,” she says. “But Sammy’s a clever boy. You know that, don’t you? He didn’t trade his soul for your life, he didn’t have to. You didn’t die. No, he traded it for your soul. Sorry, honey, but your credits been declined.”

At first he doesn’t understand. Sam traded his soul for Dean’s, exactly, so there’s no reason he can’t trade it right back. Then he gets it.

She sees the exact moment it clicks, the moment despair and horror sweep across his face too quickly for him to stop them. “That’s right. Little brother owns your soul now. For some reason he didn’t think you’d take proper care of it. You have it because that’s where he wants it, but no one will be making any deals with you, Dean Winchester. You can’t sell a soul you don’t own.”

“You can’t,” he has to clear his throat, “you can’t just come in and change things at the eleventh hour-”

“Eleventh hour?” she interrupts. “Sammy made his deal eleven months ago.”

His mouth is so dry he can’t speak.

“Isn’t it funny?” she asks, head cocked to the side. “All this time, the deal he’s been trying to get out of wasn’t yours, but his own. Maybe the two of you might have even managed it, except you just wouldn’t help, would you? Insisting that he not research, that he not look for a way out, and he spent so much time trying to convince you, coaxing you to talk about your feelings when he knew you were safe, all he because he thought it would make you feel better when he was gone, because he couldn’t tell you the truth and talk about how scared he was, so talking about your fear was as close as he could get.”

Dean’s going to be sick. “Don’t – please, please, I’ll give you anything-”

“You don’t have anything,” she says, gleeful. “You want to know why I agreed? The thing that made it just too delicious to refuse? Sammy’s down there, just starting in on an eternity of torture, and all he has to do get out of it is give up your soul. It’s his, after all, and he can put the original deal back in place any time he chooses. Just one moment of weakness on his end and his beloved big brother will be on the rack instead.” She sighs happily. “It’s almost as good as anything we’re doing to him down there, the knowledge that if he slips up for even a moment then it would all be for nothing. I couldn’t have found a way to twist the knife deeper if I tried.”

There’s vomit crawling its way up his throat and he has to swallow it down before he can speak. “I can’t – I’ll do whatever you want, please, there has to be something.”

She leans forward, cruelty and delight shining in her eyes. “The only thing you can do is what you’ve been telling your precious baby brother to do for the past year. Accept it. Move on. Live a good life so his sacrifice isn’t in vain.”

God. How can she – how can Sammy expect him to –

He’s doubling over, finally upchucking what little he’s ate today, and he’s dry heaving on the dirt when he hears the fading sound of her laughter.

This can’t be real. This has to be Hell, he has to be in it right now. He has to be.