#pls hes adorable

[captain-flint]

Tommy 'my priority is Evan' Kinard

[awhoreintheory]

Circus Boy

Directly inspired by @erinwantstowrite 's art!!! post

Request from awesome amazing cool Anon

Over the years, circuses have lost their spark.

Dick would know— he’d literally grown up in one. Back then, the circus was a symphony of effort and artistry. Weeks, sometimes months, were spent perfecting routines. Performances were designed to dazzle, to inspire awe, no matter the country or culture of the audience. The comedy sketches weren’t just filler— they were genuinely funny, capable of drawing laughter even from the most reluctant parent dragged along by an excited child. Every act had a rhythm, a purpose, and above all, passion. The performers took pride in their craft, and the audience responded in kind, feeding off the energy, cheering and clapping until their hands were raw and their throats sore. 

Now? Now they were dull. Predictable routines recycled ad nauseam. Costumes that looked like they were bought in bulk from a clearance rack. Tents and stages slapped together with the barest effort to resemble grandeur. The magic, the joy—the soul of it all—had been replaced with a singular, glaring goal: profit. No one cared if the audience laughed, gasped, or even paid attention, so long as they paid their entrance fees.

But recently, whispers of something different had started making waves in Gotham: a circus gaining a reputation for being... well, different.

Dick’s curiosity was piqued. He hadn’t planned to go, at first. But the memories of his youth, of what the circus used to mean, stirred within him. Before he knew it, he’d wrangled (read: blackmailed) together as much of the family as he could to go see it. Which, wasn’t a whole lot considering quite a few were out of state currently, but it was enough to make him smile.

“Why must I come along? I do not see the point,” Damian groused, arms folded tightly across his chest as the group approached the circus grounds. Despite his protests, he made no move to make a stealthy exit.

“You’re coming because it’ll be good for you,” Dick said, ruffling Damian’s hair just to annoy him. Damian promptly swatted his hand away, glaring daggers at his adoptive brother.

“You don’t even know if it’ll be good,” Tim chimed in, hands shoved into his jacket pockets. “What if this thing is as boring as all the other ones you’ve complained about?”

“Then we’ll all get funnel cake and call it a night,” Stephanie said brightly, making it clear where her true excitement lay. “I’m in it for the food, anyway.”

Dick pouted. “You didn’t have to say the quiet part out loud!” 

“Don’t underestimate funnel cake,” Duke added with a smirk. “It might be the only thing saving this trip if the show’s a flop.”

Dick rolled his eyes, but his grin didn’t waver. “You’re all so cynical. Just... trust me, okay? I have a feeling about this one.”

Sure, a lot of the decorations seemed cheap thus far, but Dick can’t blame them. They’re clearly low budget, with only two shows a week, versus the seven to ten a week Dick was used to. The difference was the genuine passion and excitement in the eyes of the performers. And they were just doing pre-show stunts on the street to rouse excitement! 

Tim hummed thoughtfully. “This place has been gaining rapid popularity,” he said, the subtle edge in his tone making it clear he was already analyzing every detail. Dick saw his fingers twitch as if to take a picture. 

Dick glanced over at him but didn’t comment. He recognized that tone— Tim was in detective mode, quietly piecing together threads no one else could see yet. He did, however, take the opportunity at his siblings' distraction to subtly herd them in the direction of the tents, eager to get a good front-row seat. Damian noticed, but he didn’t do much more than roll his eyes.

Steph, however, rolled her eyes dramatically. At Tim, not Dick. “Can you just enjoy one thing without looking for a criminal conspiracy, Tim?”

Tim matched her with a roll of his own eyes, the two slipping into a bickering match that’d put an old married couple to shame if they weren’t so aggressively gay. Meanwhile, Dick let his attention wander to the stage, studying the equipment with the practiced eye of someone who’d lived this life.

Suspended high above was the trapeze rig, its bars wrapped in worn leather, the steel cables taut and secured to thick iron frames. The safety net below, while a little faded, looked sturdy enough to do its job. Not brand-new, but serviceable.

To one side, a highwire stretched across a dizzying height, its slim cable shimmering faintly under the tent lights. The rigging showed some signs of age— slightly dulled bolts and scuffed counterweights—but nothing that made Dick worry. It would hold, even if the daredevil walking it would need nerves of steel.

A teeterboard sat center stage on the ground, its spring mechanism ready to launch performers into flips and vaults. Nearby, a stack of brightly painted crates and barrels hinted at comedic skits. Clowns would probably tumble over them with exaggerated flair, while a sturdy seesaw-like prop suggested slapstick gags involving plenty of unintentional (and intentional) falls.

The whole setup had a charming scrappiness to it. The equipment could use a little TLC, sure, but Dick had no doubt it would hold up under pressure. He could tell the performers had put their trust in it, and that meant something.

For a moment, Dick felt a flicker of nostalgia. The way the crew moved, the crisp efficiency with which they handled the gear— it reminded him of home, of the way his parents had always treated the stage with reverence, as though it were sacred ground.

“Do you see how high that wire is?” Duke muttered, his voice tinged with a mix of awe and apprehension as he followed Dick’s gaze.

“I see it,” Dick replied softly, his heart tightening. He couldn’t help but wonder who had the guts to walk that cable, let alone pull off any stunts on it. He’d definitely have to stick around and chat them up, maybe have a little friendly competition. 

“Awe, man,” Duke sighed, visibly disappointed. “Guess we weren’t excited enough.”

Turns out “early” wasn’t early enough because the seating area was packed. The whole first three rows were aggressively claimed, forcing the group to settle for seats in the middle of the fourth row.

Steph and Duke promptly excused themselves to grab popcorn—or, more accurately, for Steph to scout for funnel cake. Dick had to respect the consistency.

Damian glanced at Dick, then at Tim with a withering look. “Drake, cease your ramblings. They sour my mood.”

Tim blinked, clearly taken aback. “Wait, just me? Steph was talking way more!”

Steph, who had been halfway out of earshot, whirled around with mock offense. “Excuse me? I wasn’t the one turning this into an episode of ‘True Crime: Circus Edition.’” 

“Yeah, because you’re too busy planning how to steal funnel cake from children,” Tim shot back, crossing his arms. Damian’s eyebrow twitched. Dick wondered why peace was but a mere illusion. 

“Oh, please,” Steph quipped. “You’d be the kid I steal it from, Drake.”

Before Tim could come up with a retort, and Damian became a convicted felon, the lights dimmed, cutting their bickering short. A hush fell over the crowd as the familiar low hum of a drumroll began to build.

The ringmaster strode into the center of the stage, clad in a dazzling coat of crimson and gold that shimmered under the spotlight. If you looked any closer than that, you’d see how tacky and cheap it was. His booming voice carried effortlessly across the tent.

“Ladies and gentlemen! Boys and girls! Welcome to a night of wonder, daring, and delight!” the ringmaster announced, his voice ringing through the tent as the steady drumroll built the tension. “Prepare yourselves for the extraordinary, the astonishing, the absolutely unbelievable! The show begins... now!”

The drumroll reached its peak, and with a dramatic flourish, the spotlight swept upward to reveal the first performer perched high above the stage. A man in a sparkling gold costume waved grandly to the crowd before swinging onto the trapeze. The audience clapped politely as he performed a few rudimentary tricks— basic flips and graceful swings that showcased control but lacked flair.

Two more performers joined him, each clad in similar glittering costumes. They moved with confidence, transitioning through formations and passing between trapezes, but the moves were predictable and lacked the edge Dick was hoping to see. Certainly, nothing that would make this rinky-dink circus as popular as it got so quickly. 

Tim leaned toward Dick, his tone flat. “You dragged us here for this?”

“Underwhelming,” Damian muttered, his expression neutral but his tone sharp.

Dick didn’t respond immediately, though he couldn’t disagree. The tricks were technically fine— safe, practiced, polished— but there was no spark, no passion. No magic. He resigned to going home disappointed and also to the inevitable flaming via siblings. 

But then, just as one of the performers finished an awkward landing on the platform, the ringmaster’s voice boomed again.

“And now, prepare yourselves for the prodigy of the skies, the one and only Amazing Arach-Kid!”

The spotlight shifted upward again, revealing a much smaller figure poised on a separate platform, high above the others. It was a boy— young and wiry, dressed in sleek crimson and black, his face obscured by a half-mask (not dissimilar to their domino masks, actually) that glimmered faintly in the light. For a moment, the crowd was silent, uncertain what to expect.

Without warning, the boy leaped.

The gasp from the audience was audible as the kid— Arach-Kid?— launched himself into a dramatic triple flip, his body twisting gracefully through the air before he caught the trapeze with flawless precision. The crowd erupted into applause, the energy in the tent shifting instantly.

He didn’t stop there. Swinging with a force that sent his trapeze soaring higher than any of the others had dared, he released at the peak of his arc and spun into a double somersault. Instead of catching the next trapeze, he landed neatly in the arms of one of the adult performers, who looked genuinely startled by the boy’s precision. He grinned, waving excitedly at the audience as they roared with applause. 

From there, the routine transformed. Arach-Kid became the centerpiece of the act, seamlessly incorporating daring flips, twists, and transitions between trapezes. He was passed between the adults with perfect timing, their previous mediocrity eclipsed by his sheer skill and energy.

“Whoa,” Duke murmured, leaning forward in his seat. “He’s... good.”

“Who is that kid?” Tim asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

“Better than the rest of them combined,” Damian said bluntly, though his tone carried the faintest hint of approval.

The boy ended his routine with a jaw-dropping quadruple somersault, catching the final trapeze one-handed and hanging upside down with effortless control. Gasps and cheers erupted from the audience, their applause thunderous as he let himself swing for a moment, letting the crowd bask in his daring. Then, with a fluid motion, he swung back, releasing the trapeze bar for one final flourish.

Dick leaned forward, his breath catching as the kid’s body twisted into the unmistakable maneuver— the signature move of the Flying Graysons.

The crowd roared as he executed the technique perfectly, his form flawless, his timing impeccable. He landed with a clean dismount, arms raised triumphantly, and offered the crowd a playful bow before darting off to the wings. Even with the stage empty, shouts and applause echoed for a long time after the boy left. 

For a moment, Dick couldn’t move. His stomach churned as memories of his parents on that same trapeze flooded his mind. No one else knew that move. No one could. His parents had created it, and Dick had learned it from them. It was their legacy— his legacy.

So how, in the name of all that made sense, did this random kid just pull it off perfectly?

The lights shifted again, smoothly transitioning to the next act: a somewhat clumsy but undeniably entertaining tightrope routine. One performer started with a wobbling walk, arms flailing for comedic effect. Another joined, balancing precariously with a broomstick for support. The final performer added a unicycle to the mix, pedaling shakily across the thin wire as the audience laughed and clapped in delight.

It was… objectively funny.

But Dick barely noticed. His good mood had evaporated, replaced by a heavy knot of unease in his chest. At this point, they must have a hive mind with how they immediately filed out of the tent without a single word exchanged. 

“That was—” Tim started, breaking the tense silence.

“Dick,” Steph interrupted, her voice low, “did he just—?”

“That was your move,” Tim finished firmly, his eyes locked on Dick’s.

“It’s not possible,” Duke added, glancing at the now-empty trapeze rig. “Right? It’s your family’s thing. There’s no way some random kid from Gotham knows it.”

“I am more concerned with how he knows it,” Damian said, his voice cutting. His eyes darted to Dick. “This is your domain, Richard. You must have answers.”

Dick didn’t respond right away. He couldn’t. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides, his breathing shallow. In disbelief, he muttered, “I don’t.”

Steph frowned. “Okay, well... what do we do? Do we just ignore the fact that some kid pulled off your impossible secret family move?”

“No,” Dick said sharply, his voice colder than any of them expected. “We don’t ignore it. We find out who he is, how he learned it, and what the hell is going on.”

Tim’s brow furrowed. “Do you think someone’s trying to get your attention? Like, deliberately?”

Dick shook his head, though his face betrayed his uncertainty. “I don’t know. Maybe. I mean, it’s... it’s possible, but...” He exhaled through his nose, frustrated. “I need answers. This isn’t something you just pick up on YouTube.”

The group left the small but packed circus, their earlier excitement replaced by a shared tension. The cool night air did little to clear their heads as they walked in a tight huddle, glancing over their shoulders as if the boy would materialize out of the crowd.

“Something’s not right,” Tim said, breaking the silence.

“Obviously,” Damian muttered.

“I mean it,” Tim snapped. “Moves like that— you don’t just do them. It takes years to learn without a teacher.” He glanced at Dick. “You’re sure no one outside your family knew it? Like, absolutely sure?”

“Positive,” Dick said firmly. “The only people who knew it are gone. Except me.” His voice dropped as he added, “Or at least, they’re supposed to be.”

The group exchanged uneasy looks, about both the situation and Dick’s reaction to it. It takes quite a bit to rattle him, so to see him, well, rattled was weird. Beyond weird. It was downright wrong. 

“Either way,” Duke said cautiously, “we’re going to figure this out. Right?”

“Oh, we will,” Dick said, his voice grim. “We don’t leave things like this unanswered.”

As they disappeared into the Gotham night, paranoia settled over them like a second skin. Whatever was going on, it wasn’t going to stay a mystery for long. 

[timethehobo]

Update scribble for our little guy!

[samstarium]

nb aziraphale icons! all art is from hg-aneh (2/?)

transparents under the cut

[orangeheliophile]

Is my love enough?...

Cw: some cursing, fem!Atreides reader, arranged marriage, one-sided love, angst, bittersweet fluff, Feyd is head over heels for you.

Feyd has always hated physical touch. The kind of intimacy that one would share with their lovers. He felt himself shiver in disgust at the thought of being emotionally intimate with anyone or anything, really.

He never allowed his harpies/concubines to caress him in a soft and domestic way. It made his stomach churn, and he always threatened to slit their throats if their hands lingered for even a second too long.

He never wanted to be hugged by his brother and certainly didn't want any sort of touch coming from his uncle.

Sure, he would play with the slave warriors in the arena, and he let the servants apply paint onto his skin before every match. But he didn't tolerate any of that romantic intimacy.

Feyd-Rautha did not need to be vulnerable with anybody.

That was, until he met you; his arranged wife and daughter of Leto Atreides. You completely fucking bewitched him.

You were the sweetest thing he's ever met. Shy, a bit awkward and with a kindness he's never seen on other people. But you were not a delicate flower. You've been through many things. You were fierce when you wanted to be, yet decided to stay kind.

You had a weirdness to you that you only ever expressed when you were with your family; a weirdness that only ever came out with the people you trust and love. He was, unfortunately, not one of those people.

He only saw glimpses of your personalities, a small crack of light in the many walls you've built to protect yourself. He never knew that he would soon be the one to desperately want to see you. The real, true, and beautiful version of you and not just the quiet, nervous, and grieving version that is shown in the Harkonnen palace.

It made his heart squeeze, and his stomach churn. He absolutely loathed the thought of you being terrified and depressed. Yet it made his heart and stomach drop at the thought of himself being the cause of your miseries.

Yet the tension was still strong between you, and you didn't dare speak a word in fear of upsetting your arranged husband.

Of course, being arranged husband and wife, you had to display little acts of affection to prove that your marriage wasn't weak or easily broken. From time to time, you would hesitantly squeeze his hand and place a small, shaky kiss on his cheek; hoping this would satisfy the public and wouldn't make your arranged husband want to slit your throat.

Feyd-Rautha never thought he would completely melt to such small acts of affection.

Every small kiss, hand brushed against yours, every moment where you would lock eyes-Feyd could feel his heart beating a little faster as his lips would part in a silent hitch of his breath.

Over time, he believed he wouldn't be able to take it anymore; Feyd needed to experience the soft, sweet touch of your hand caressing his face, the honey-like taste of your lips against his and the warmth of your body tangled in his own-

And it wasn't just the physical touch, either. He longed to have silly conversations with you and to hear the music of your laughter dancing like a melody in his ears. He wanted to see your bright, warm smile shining when you saw him; he wanted to learn every habit and detail you had and write gospels about it and put them into the Harkonnen history and culture.

He fucking hated the fact that you both slept in separate bedrooms. The only reason he allowed it was because he valued your privacy; but that didn't mean he wanted to break through those doors and hold you in his embrace until he couldn't anymore.

You were the only thing that would plague his mind every second of the day and entirety of the night. He only cared about you; you and you only.

Feyd-Rautha would dream of you, dreams that would feel that they could make ones heart burst with light and love. He soon dedicated every kill to you; a promise that he would return to you safe and whole no matter if he fought a slave warrior or a soldier.

You were praised and worshiped without even knowing it.

You had him completely wrapped around your beautiful finger, yet it was almost laughable of how you didn't seem to notice-or care, in fact.

You still feared the Harkonnens, even your betrothed husband. And you had every right to, Feyd was not delusional. Yet, that didn't mean he didn't feel his heart being stabbed every time you scurried in the opposite direction whenever you caught a glimpse of him.

Feyd-Rautha believed he was falling completely in love with you, everything about you. Soul, body, mind, and all. He would kill for you. He would kill himself if he even thought of laying a finger on you. Yet you still feared him and were too deep into your sorrows to realize this.

But that was alright, he didn't mind waiting. Even if his mind and heart were practically screaming at him to tell you what he truly felt about you, but sadly, he would have to wait. He hated waiting.

But for you? He would wait an eternity. He would wait and count all the stars and the planets as his love grew for you every moment of the day and night. So that when you finally opened your heart, he could overwhelm you with the infinite love he had for you.

Perhaps Feyd-Rautha's love for you would be enough for the both of you. And that would be alright.

Every waking moment, he feels like he will die if you do not tell him you love him back.

[airenyah]

The four of you have worked together before, but never in the same series, is that correct? How was it when you learned that the four of you would be playing the main characters of the series?

BONUS: everyone's reaction

[hooned]

i'd buy him the world if he asks i'm so serious 🌍

[bluejulius]

eretlout arm wrestle for your dash

a great winning tactic tbh 🤷‍♂️

[wejustvibing]

the lucky conker 🌰

[sophsun1]

#Tommy's face being 🥺 when buck is praising him and admitting he just wanted to get closer to him.

[padmesbox]

Literal baby faced cherub prince Adam Page doing promos

[lesbianphan]

I know I'm late to the party so maybe I missed it, but I feel like so much crazy shit happened we forgot to make fun of Dan again for helping Phil through the whole thing.... just CARRYING him.... STAND UUUUP SIMP!!!!!

[spacebubblehomebase]

SUPERBOYS!!! 🧡

Last time I drew two Batgirls and now you get the Superboys! A duo that I will always lament not getting more of because if you knew me, then you know sibling dynamics are my bread and butter. While my previous drawings were all for tiny stickers, this one was turned into a small print, so it was quite a surprise. XD In any case, I realized that because I draw the Supersons quite often, I hardly draw others, so here's some doodles on the side. Seem familiar? -Bubbly💙

[mint-fixates]

Post-TBOB Billford Thoughts

🔻 Long-winded rambling, run-on sentences, and TBOB Spoilers under the cut 🔻

Billford is so interesting to me because it's so easy to see how things COULD'VE worked in some alternate dimension. There's a world where Bill isn't so broken and doesn't prioritize endless distractions over genuine happiness. There's a world where Stanford was broken enough to join Bill (in fact, I feel it's implied that this was one of the possible futures for Ford that Bill saw when he was summoned).

There were moments after they met where I genuinely believe Ford could've helped Bill, or at least helped him help himself. Bill opening up to Ford as much as he could about destroying his home dimension sticks out to me so much because Bill can't even handle admitting his feelings about the "Second Dimension Incident" to HIMSELF. After that exchange, there is no doubt in my mind that Bill genuinely connected with and cared about Ford, probably more than he had with anyone outside of his long-dead family. And maybe in some other universe that could've been enough to inspire some amount of self-reflection and change.

With how much Ford worshipped Bill, and how desperate for connection and notoriety he was, it's not difficult to imagine him joining Bill. I think that if Bill was honest about his intentions and all potential positive influences in Ford's life (Stanley, Fiddleford) were never a factor or were gone for good, Ford would've happily joined him. Ford always aspired for greatness, but his hero complex really only began after Bill's betrayal was revealed. With the added context of his perspective in TBOB especially, it reads to me as his way of self-aggrandizing his pain, painting his personal vendetta as something purely altruistic both to others and to himself. I find it very telling that Ford refused to burn his research or dismantle the portal entirely after it's true purpose was revealed, deciding instead to destroy Bill. He prioritized his desire for greatness over doing whatever was necessary to protect the world. Bill could have easily twisted that desire into something that aligned with his goals under different circumstances.

But in canon, none of that matters, because there is no way for them to work as partners, or even as friends, ever again. After everything Bill put him and his family through in his desperation to hold onto Ford and his plans, there is no way Ford could ever forgive him. And he shouldn't. Even if the Theraprism worked perfectly and Bill was fully redeemed, I don't think there's anything the Bill we know could do or say that would convince the Ford we know to give him a second chance. Even if there was, Bill doesn't and will never deserve a second chance from Ford.

So when I say I ship Billford I'm not saying "these two as presented in canon could have a relationship again and I'd like it if that happened", I'm saying "I believe there are several 'what-if' scenarios where they could've worked, and those scenarios fascinate me".

[christinafaaaye]

phil better wear that fuckass yeehaw odyssey outfit in texas like i am on my hands and knees BEGGING

[kaliforniahigh]

look at this cutie pie