#anyway heres Content

[chloesimaginationthings]

This could be a kart if FLAF wasn't fucking around..

[hinamie]

9 / 266

[amnestyliketaz]

in honor of the nimona movie (it’s so good i’m gonna scream and cry for the next million years) i must share my favorite nimona art ever

drawn by ND stevenson ofc and posted on twitter a few years ago i believe

do i even have to SAY anything? the shark, it’s not rocket surgery, baby nimona, the DOMESTICITY of it all im gonna explode

UPDATE!!!! GAY DADS AU THREAD https://twitter.com/gingerhazing/status/1676058949504892928?s=46

[pseudophan]

anthony is dead: the funeral roast (paid content)

[nova-pop]

In light of recent events: snooji <3

[knightmareross]

*drops here*

[nookisms]

The Riddler: Riddle me thi- Is that a fcking kid.

Dick Grayson, a non-native English speaker: What does fcking mean?

The Riddler: Fck- I mean sht- I mean it's a grown up word, ask your dad about it

[A Few Years Later]

The Riddler: Riddle me th- Is that another fcking kid

Jason Todd, raised in Crime Alley his entire life: Who the hll you calling a fcking kid? I'll beat your *ss motherfcker, you and me right now.

The Riddler: Wow you are. Something.

[A Few Years After That]

The Riddler: Riddle me- Where the fck are you getting these children?

Tim Drake, raised in high society but also not raised at all: That's a naughty word sir.

The Riddler: At least you're polite

[A Few More Years Later]

The Riddler: Riddle m- WHY THE FCK DOES THIS ONE HAVE A SWORD!?

Damian Wayne, above silly things like Vulgar Language: I Was Expecting A Battle Of Wits, But You Appear To Be Unarmed.

The Riddler: WHY DOES HE TALK LIKE THAT???

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

What if instead of threatening to take Ford's eyes, Bill just took Fiddleford's?

Tate still remembered the night his father's sight was taken from him.

"What have you done to me, Stanford?"

He felt the storm coming even before the first lightning struck. From the very moment he opened his eyes that morning until the very moment he lay back down to bed, he could feel a vicious tension brewing in the otherwise serene household.

Storms were very uncommon at Tate's house, and on the rare occasions they did arrive, they never stayed for long.

Yet, after a quiet breakfast full of anxious, unmet glances and clattering cutlery that rang far too loudly in the silence of the table, he knew that this storm was going to be unlike any other storm he'd witnessed before.

A prickling, disquieting static seemed to have made itself at home underneath his skin, that day. It had made every hair on his body stand on end, and an odd stinging sensation to dance across his spine and tongue; an uncomfortable urge to duck and take cover low on the ground nearly overwhelming his every sense. It was like waiting for the shattering thunderclap to sound after the sky turned white with a blinding flash of light. He knew what was coming, and the anticipation was unbearable.

His mother and father had acted as though nothing was wrong; as though they didn't feel the looming presence of the darkening clouds growing like a murky gray forest on the ceiling.

He hadn't been able to fathom at the time how adults could seem so all-knowing, and yet simultaneously be so utterly clueless about the very obvious happenings that surrounded them. Now, though, he just found it strange how adults often tend to assume children don't feel the stifling weight that they hung around themselves; as if children didn't breathe the same bitter choked air as their parents did. It wasn't even as though they did a very good job at pretending; his parents always were terrible liars.

When the lightning finally struck, it set the house ablaze.

He heard the thunder from his room, and felt the crackling heat crawl up the stairs and seep through the gap beneath his door. He'd laid in his bed, hand clasped nervously across his chest and looking up at his room's cloudy, weeping ceiling as a cacophonic explosion of noises came bursting from the living room downstairs. The fight had erupted with such unprecedented force that in Tate's young mind, he'd felt genuine fear of the house collapsing atop them all from the sheer force of the yelling.

The smell of burnt tongues gently wafted through the air, and Tate briefly wondered if it hurt his parents when they scorched their mouths with such scalding words just as much as it hurt for him to hear it.

It was a big fight; a terrible, big fight; so loud, and so very angry, and helpless, and desperate, and betrayed, and sad.

The back and forth screeching seemed endless, and eventually the screaming words began to muddle and merge into one another until they hardly even sounded human anymore. Suddenly there were animals wailing in the living room downstairs, and Tate could do nothing but listen helplessly and grip his interlocked fingers tighter; hoping that if he stayed still enough, then the growling beasts that were shattering plates downstairs wouldn't come upstairs.

But then,

then,

something changed.

The shift was all too sudden; too abrupt; too quick even for the usually sharp witted child to catch on, and before he knew it, the screams of anger suddenly shifted into one of pure, unadulterated horror.

"Fiddleford, your eyes- good lord, your eyes! Let me look at them!" "Don't touch me! I- I must call Stanford, he's done something to me. Him and that demon, they've cursed me." "For Heaven's sake! Please, forget about that damned Stanford of yours for one moment and listen to yourself! My husband's gone mad, mad!"

And suddenly his parents were human again.

Tate was restless in his bed as his heart seemed to beat bruises against his ribs, his sweaty fingers digging crescent shaped grooves into his skin as fear enclosed its frigid claws around his throat in a vice-like grip. He couldn't breathe.

The storm was over, and it should have reassured him, and yet he was anything but.

Curiosity and fear had been what forced him to kick the sheets off himself and creep his way down the rickety wooden steps. He had to know what happened, he had to know what damage the storm had caused, he had to know.

His steps were far from quiet, and the creaking of the floorboards beneath his feet hardly did him any favors, but no one answered the calls of the squeaking wood. No one came peeking out from the living room to stop the obviously sneaking presence that was tip toeing through the halls; No one called out to check on their little child; all was silent, and calm, except for his mother's soft sobbing coming from the kitchen.

When Tate eventually found his father, he saw

devastation.

The storm had been merciless. It had left nothing behind but a shuddering husk of a man. His father was shaking like a leaf, shoulders tense and back hunched over as though bowed by an incredible burden. The telephone receiver was held in his hand like a lifeline; as if it was the only thing in the world that was keeping him tethered to sanity, and somehow, Tate didn't doubt that it was.

Curled up on the floor in the dark, muttering and trembling, he dared say his father looked... small.

It almost felt surreal to see his father in such a state, like witnessing a God collapse, or a star's light dim to nothingness. His father had always been a solid, permanent pillar sho seemed able to hold up the whole world on his shoulders, and still stand tall and proud despite the weight.

And yet, the crumbling remains of a once impermeable monolith now lay scattered across the hallway floor and splattered across the walls.

The sight had scared him.

At the time, Tate hadn't known what had happened. Even to this day, he still wasn't too sure he understood what exactly had taken place in that living room for his father to have so sudddenly gone from seeing to blind in the matter of seconds.

His mother had tried, in vain, to explain it to him later, to try and make him understand when he was eventually old enough to hear the gruesome tale; but still, he struggled to fully wrap his head around it.

"It was as though his eyes just sunk into his skull," his mother had recounted to him with a haunted look in her eyes. "They suddenly just vanished into the empty sockets of his face, like someone pulled them out from inside his head. There was no blood, no resistance, no tearing. It was as if his eyes were simply plucked out of sight by some invisible hand."

There had been blood on the walls when he had found father back then, a long trail of gorey wet red smeared all across the lovely yellow wallpaper. He realized only now, recalling the memory, that the blood back then had not been from his father's eyes, but from the deep gouges he had dug into his face with his nails, his searching fingers desperately looking for eyes that weren't there beneath his empty eyelids.

"What have you done to me, Stanford?"

Tate had never heard his father's voice sound so raw, so afraid. It was so unlike the familiar comforting drawl he'd grown to love and recognize, it almost sounded alien, coming from his father.

"I can't see, Stanford, I can't- my eyes, they're gone. Why are they gone? What have you done?" "Answer me, damnit, what have you done?"

His father never got his answer, because whoever was on the other side of the line soon hung up, and his father was suddenly left blind and alone.

[bunnieswithknives]

How much can you fit under your skin?

For @warning-heckboop's AU :3

[aballadforbarbatos]

diavolo makes a pact with you

well, you never know

once upon a time, he brought it up to lucifer and barbatos

they shot him down immediately

receiving a lecture is bad enough but imagine receiving one from BOTH lucifer and barbatos

rip

he takes it like a champ tho. he’s way better than me cause i hate getting told off

years pass

the devil’s pudding event happens. diavolo almost learns his lesson that day.

like he says he has but there’s a lot of times where that memory crosses his mind and he sits there like huh. wish that could happen again

YOU learnt the lesson though, so it’ll NEVER happen again

if he brings it up on his birthday there’s a good chance you will look at him with disdain

he’s catching up on paperwork when something crosses his mind

maybe you’d be more into it if you had a pact with him?

the lecture he got from his two closest friends though was pretty awful though

but…

what if it was in secret?

what if, and he’s just throwing out ideas here, he gave lucifer a ton of work and made barbatos go on holiday and summoned you to his castle?

hypothetically.

you know, a will-never-happen scenario.

barbatos appears at his door soon after that.

“hey, barbatos. what did you need?”

“oh… nothing. i just got a bad feeling, that’s all.”

oops

another year goes by and the idea pops into his head again, about the same time as he sees you cuddling up with mammon

Right.

diavolo’s situation and this isn’t even remotely the same, because you don’t need a pact to cuddle and mammon is your first so he’s on a separate level altogether, but he chooses to ignore these details

it’s barbatos’ birthday. he gets sent off. hearing complaints, diavolo threatens him with two weeks

lucifer weirdly gets hit with a ton of work randomly. damn that’s crazy huh. do your best!!!

and you are summoned to the castle. you also get a bad feeling.

he tries to convince you that having a pact with him is a good idea

(some people are normal about this; i am not and wouldn’t need convincing personally)

you refuse.

if you bring this up to lucifer if he asks about your visit he is so screwed

ah, but maybe he could make you his unwilling partner in crime…?

pulls a lucifer and forces it on you. suddenly you have a big fancy mark around your neck.

he’s pretty proud of it. you cover your face with your hands and go oh my god.

it feels like it could be exasperation but he would really prefer for it to not be that

lucifer asks what diavolo wanted you for and you weakly say it was for new clothes. new clothes that conveniently hide your collarbone

all of this is unraveled when someone (mammon) walks in on you getting dressed and screams bloody murder about the weird MARK on your neck

pacts are permanent and so is diavolo getting lectured

[araguaneys]

their entire cocktail conversation about spencer ended me

[rjshope]

Happy birthday, Namjoon (12.09.1994)✨

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

Abandonment Issues, Prologue (part 1)

Abandonment Issues comic, prologue: pages 1-5

I was going to finish th prologue and then post it all at once but it’s taking way longer than expected so uh. Shrug

(part 2: here!)

[turtleblogatlast]

Something about this kind of swimming getup for characters always immediately gives me transmasc vibes. Blue swim trunks and a tank top? Sorry man my brain already connected the dots. The vibes are there, and they’re not leaving.

[cosmokyrin]

my contribution to the RWBYtwt selfie trend rn LMAO

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Artwork powered by Free and Open-Source Software (FOSS): Linux Mint MATE 21.1 and Krita 5.1.5

[0palnova]

Hugo tw 😨‼️

NURU THE BELOVED 😍❤️❤️❤️