#i love him and i love that.

[sciderman]

I would say you’re more of a Mr peanut butter type yeah

doggy doggy what now?

[paintedcrows]

Did anyone tell Ford (bonus doodles: Family Movie Night, 70s Classics)

[notaplaceofhonour]

okay okay I know the point of this is “White people need to put as much effort into learning how to pronounce Black people’s names as they do foreign European names” and 100% I totally agree, absolutely good point

but this tweet becomes hilarious in the context of this clip:

anyways, absolutely put effort into learning how people pronounce their names. just don’t feel bad if it takes you some time to get it right 😅

(also in case you didn’t watch the video it’s “N-SHOO-tee” not “SHOO-tee”)

[kochei0]

I turn to Ares.

Thanks to Tyler Miles Lockett who allowed me to draw inspiration from his ARES piece for page 2! Look at his etsy page it's SICK

⚔️ If you want to read some queer retelling of arturian legends have a look at my webtoon

[abreathlessplace]

"i wonder if we ever think of each other at the same time."

[nataliescatorccio]

#you tell 'em girl

[gh0sthoodie]

Happy pride month maybe I’ll start watching Doctor Who again

[dysfunctionalnerd]

he found a poster for a phineas and ferb theme party and just. decided to go. oh my god 😭

[batbrainrot]

he's just a little guy

The Boy Wonder (2024) #2 by Juni Ba

[saturnsconstellation]

Men use “I’m just a man” to cheat on their wives. Odysseus uses “I’m just a man” to kill, slay and torture people to get back to HIS wife. They are not the same.

[kensatou]

those!!! are!!! his!!!! tits!!! be gentle 👉👈

[kavaleyre]

• The Hanged Man •

“Compared to what Falin went through? This is nothing.”

[cryptocism]

It would have taken another immortal to keep up with him.

so i haven't read the books but i did read the Devil's Minion chapter and this part made me laugh out loud:

[ingravinoveritas]

"We've all got to be fighting that fight every day."

Happy Pride, everyone...

[beepboopappreciation]

Is this anything

[ideas-ideasideasideas]

Batman gives each of his Robins a different code to use when they’re in trouble and need immediate extraction. He promises that when they call, he’ll drop everything just to get to them, come hell or high water.

Jason, during his time with the League, shares his code with Damian, to be used “only in the direst of circumstances, when you have exhausted all other options.” He doesn’t know if Bruce will answer, given how fractured their relationship was before he died, but it is better than nothing. Every tool counts when they live such dangerous lives.

Damian uses it exactly once, and Bruce, who still feels the loss of his son like a yawning chasm in his chest, responds to it even though he knows it can’t be Jason because Jason’s dead. What he finds, instead of Jason, is a boy in League garbs, drenched in blood from the tips of his midnight-black hair to his too-small feet, with a face that Bruce sees himself and Talia in, requesting asylum from a grandfather who wishes to possess his body. Bruce doesn’t question how this boy who is so clearly his son knew the code. Talia al Ghul is resourceful and places family above all; the code is not beyond her abilities to discover, and she is not above using Bruce’s desperate love for his dead son to ensure that hers does not meet the same fate.

Bruce takes Damian in, because of course he does, and since Jason is dead he allows Damian to keep using the code. After all, it’s not like Jason is alive to use it, right? If someone uses the code, there’s no one it could be but Damian, right?

The next time the code is used, Bruce traces the location to Gotham even though Damian was supposed to be in Bludhaven visiting Dick. But whatever happened that resulted in Damian being in Gotham can wait, because he has already failed one son and he will not fail another, his son is in trouble and he needs to get to him, he needs to—

What he finds, instead of Damian, is a boy (just eighteen, too young, but also too old, but also he will always be a boy to him) in League garbs, drenched in blood from the tips of his midnight-black hair to his too-large feet (when had he gotten so big), wearing the face of his dead son.

(Who, maybe, just maybe, may no longer be so dead.)