#they almost got the point

[verdart]

Okay I am like neckdeep in Fizzmodeus I love them so much, they are so good for eachother and I feel like everyone deserves a relationship like that... but Blitzfizz. It has a kick a very strong kick and I cant ignore it anymore.

I want them to get together so bad sometimes I love their dynamic as friends. But Blitzø feels like even after 15 years all it took for him to go back to his crushing teenage self took 5 fucking minutes. Its as if those 15 years didnt matter and he was back into his old rhythm. It was natural for him to fall back into...

To think that he also thought he wasn't good enough for fizz (implied with the bd scene) and seeing that now he is in this amazing relationship with someone who was there for him, he cant help be happy for them but there is this subtle whisper of "cant move on" that I just adoreeeee

[chloesimaginationthings]

I ADORE your design for Charlie. It’s so adorable!!!!!!

I’m so glad y’all loved her design!!

[bet-on-me-13]

Steph's Year of Recovery

So! Danny noticed that a new face had made it's way into town. Two new faces actually, an older lady known as Dr Leslie, and a girl about his age called Steph.

He first met them when he was at the hospital for one of his parents. They had stood too close to an explosion again, and he met them while he was in the waiting Area.

Dr Leslie was a strict but obviously caring older woman, who seemed to be the one taking care of Steph as a kind of maternal figure, or maybe more like an Aunt. She greeted him simply and then walked away to talk with the Secretary, leaving him to talk to Steph.

Steph was a blond girl in a Wheelchair, and he could see bandages piking out of her clothes as he talked to her. She explained that she had been in an Accident a few weeks ago that left her wheelchair bound for a while, and that she had come to Amity for their surprisingly good Medical Centers.

He and Steph got along really well, and by the end of it he asked her for her Number so they could continue talking later. They stayed in touch, and when she was finally permitted to leave the Hospital, he introduced her to his friends. They all got along like a House on Fire, both figuratively and in one memorable case very literally (Vlad had pissed them off okay!)

Eventually Steph recovered enough that she moved from a Wheelchair to Crutches, and their shenanigans got even more chaotic (Vlad hadn't even pissed them off, this time was just for fun)

The only thing Danny could complain about was the fact that Steph was hiding something from them.

She said that she had been in an Accident a while ago, which was why they had come to Amity in the first place. But Danny knew it was more than that.

He could sense lingering traces of Death coming from her after all.

...

Steph honestly loved her current life.

Sure she had lost everything, her home, her health, her friends, her life, but she had gained new things too! Like Danny and the Gang! They were honestly some of the best friends she had ever had, and for some reason they just clicked with her instantly.

Danny was interesting and funny, Sam was vegan and a badass, Tucker was smart and witty, they all fit with her personality perfectly! It almost felt like she bad been friends with them for years. (She ignored the way her heart skipped a beat when she saw them)

But she still couldn't shake the sense that they were hiding something from her.

She knew it had something to do with the Ghost Problem in the town. And wasn't that a kicker, there was a whole Supernatural Ghost Outbreak in this Town and nobody knew about it. Dr Leslie had said that Amity was off the map enough to hide from Bruce, but she hadn't mentioned it was hidden from the Justice League itself!

Danny, Sam, and Tucker definitely knew more about it than they let on however. Whenever a Ghost Attack would happen, at least one of them would rush off with some practiced excuse and return after the Ghost Attack was over all dirty. She could guess what was going on, and she really didn't like it.

(This had killed her, she had died doing what they were doing, she didn't want to lose them)

Eventually she had to confront them, coincidentally on the same day they decided to confront her.

"Are you Vigilantes?" / "Did you die?"

"..."

"What?" / "What?"

[snowyfrostshadows]

So.

We went from this for Starclan Cats:

To.

This:

Biggest downgrade of my life.

[heartorbit]

WHEEEEEE

[killjoy-prince]

House M.D. but it's when House says Wilson's name

[wigglebox]

Destiel Pride - Day 5; Cursed or not

[faeriekit]

Health and Hybrids (XXVIII)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters  for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

🖤Chapter navigation can be found here🖤 Click to browse previous updates.

💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts 💚 (now featuring mediocre mouseover translations, only available on a computer)

Where we last left off... Danny has another hashtag breakdown! Man, we've got a lot of these, huh? It's YJ's fault this time; whoopsie doodles! ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Trigger warnings for this story:  body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) |  my nonexistent attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

“Danny,” Diana says from the door.

Danny looks up from his place in the book. It’s definitely aimed at younger kids, but it’s a pretty wordy picture book; there are a couple paragraphs he can’t quite parse, but he’s making pretty good progress on the words he can’t recognize.

It’s a story about a cat who misses its mother. Danny tries not to relate to it too much.

“Hm?” he asks, flipping the front flap of the dust cover over his current pages to mark his place. The book goes back onto the nightstand, beside his space shuttle; Danny uses the railing beside his bed to support himself stepping up and out of his wheelchair, leaning on the railing until he can figure out…wait, where’d he leave his old people walker?

“This walk is long. You will want your chair.”

Well, then. Couldn’t she have said that before Danny did all that pulling? Danny falls back into his chair, kinda peeved. “Fine.”

Diana smiles. She doesn’t have to wear the mask around him anymore— Danny’s pretty sure that his injuries have been declared as clotted, or sealed, or whatever at this rate. They for sure swabbed his ectoplasm and came to some kind of conclusion, anyway, which means he only looks gross, but isn’t, like…actively leaking fluids.

On the one hand, gross! But, well, you know. Nothing for it but bandaids and time.

And her face looks nice. Danny hadn’t known what she’d looked like, before. She smiles when she sees him. Her light eyes crinkle, and her lips turn up… She’s nice. Danny’s sure that she’s only there to be in charge of him in case he gets scary, but she’s in charge of him and she’s nice. She doesn’t have to be nice; lots of people have been in charge of him and been mean about it. There was that one guy who kept holding him—with the taser—

(Time slips away from him, a little. When he gets back to the world in front of him, Diana is carefully looking at his face, the back of her hand stroking the back of his.)

Danny’s in his chair. He’s not…there. He’s in his chair, on a big space station (????) with a bunch of really colorful fighters on it, and Diana is touching his hand (that’s so much weaker and slower than it used to be) and he’s not hungry and he’s only scared because of memories. He’s safe. He’s not being pinned down by the neck so that they can strap down his wrists and hips to the table—they’re not shocking him—he can move his fingers, he’s not stuck in his core—

His core throbs. Danny bites into his bisected lip, and tries not to cry.

“Are you alright?” Diana asks, voice gentled. The soft touch of her hand doesn’t stop. “We can wait. There is no—“

Danny shakes his head, and takes his hand away so he could wipe at his eyes. It’s fine. Bad memories are everywhere: in the walls, in the floor, in the ceiling, in the hands of people taking care of him. That’s not… There’s nothing Danny can do about that. That just. Takes time.

…He think he might have that time. Now. He thought he would die for good in that five by five box, waiting for something that would finally end him instead of just keeping him in a cycle of injuries he never fully healed from.

But now he’s not. He’s here.

He wants to keep going.

“Alright,” Diana says, slow and careful. “Hold on.”

Danny doesn’t hold on—or, well, you know, he engages his core muscles and all that, but he doesn’t cling to his arm rests or to the frame of his chair because he knows that Diana is really, really strong, but she also really, really doesn’t want to hurt him.

She rolls him out of the medical wing and into the space station proper. Danny feels like he’s been here before, but he doesn’t remember it super well. Maybe it was when he was sick or something? Either way, a lot of different people wave at him as they go by—or just straight up stare, if they’re rude—and Danny generally just watches people rush by, carrying all kinds of equipment, and a potted plant, and a…starfish in a jar…?

Oh, the starfish waves at him???? Danny waves back because?? What??

Danny rolls to a stop at a smooth, cylindrical elevator. It looks like a giant test tube.

…Oh boy. Danny takes a deep breath, and holds it. Reflexively. Sure, this elevator probably isn’t like being dunked into water to see if his body absorbs ambient oxygen from the atmosphere or if his biology is truly not oxygen-based, but the memory is. Bad.

They go upwards. Nothing happens but Diana’s pushed button.

Danny exhales.

They get off at a section of the base Danny’s never been to, and it's essentially just a long, somewhat narrow hallway. The walls are actually painted a creamy off-white here, and there’s…like…decorative panels towards the base of his wheels trailing down the hallway? An orange ceiling, too?

Huh??

The rooms are numbered, but they’re not plain steel like in other areas downstairs; some of them have stickers, or drawings, or marker written straight onto the door itself. They look...cozy...? Danny thinks so, anyway, compared to the rest of the ultra high tech space base.

They roll to a stop in front of a door. It’s got a number on it, same as all the others, but there’s a box cutout taped to the front of it. The—

—The print is of the same style of space shuttle Danny keeps next to his bed, inked onto glorious cardboard medium.

Danny stares.

“Gegrapa,” Diana urges, so gentle. Too bad that, uh, Danny doesn’t know that one. He looks at her. She mimes touching the door— Oh. Got it.

Danny leans forward just enough to touch the door with his fingertips.

The door says something in a robotic voice, but the synthesizer is too mangled for Danny to make out the words. The door slides open horizontally into the wall, instead of the way the other doors open like portals or from below, and it’s kind of cool?

Inside is a bedroom. Danny stares.

…No, it’s actually a bedroom. Not a medical wing, not a cot, not a repurposed conference room or—it’s actually got a bed in it. Like. A real one. There’s a wooden headboard and it’s got a mattress on it that’s thicker than a VCR.

There’s constellation sheets on a bed big enough to curl up on.

There’s a nightstand, a small desk on the far wall—there’s a little lip where the bedroom dips into a tiny sitting room, a small television on a table and a small table and chair. It’s kind of…it’s kind of like a little hotel suite.

Danny’s mouth goes dry.

He doesn’t move, and Diana doesn’t wheel him in. “It’s okay,” Diana says, and—Danny almost flinches when she touches his hair, but it’s only Diana, who’s never hit him, and they’re fine. He’s…safe. It’s safe. He’s safe here. “Do you want to go in?”

Danny doesn’t move. His hands don’t touch the wheels. They’re shaking; he puts his hands in his lap and he tries to breathe. “…What?” he asks hoarsely.

“A rum for my Danny,” Diana murmurs, quietly. Danny’s heart throbs at the possessive. “You are healthier now. You do not need doctors every hour, but only sum hours. You cuðe spenda more time here, all ana.”

Words go by so fast even at Diana's smooth, unhurried pace— and Danny licks dry, split lips. He looks around the room—and the room is small, sure, but they're in space. Space will always be a premium. Even in this small room, though, the furniture is sparse and placed distant from each other…distant enough that Danny can wheel around freely in his chair.

There’s a Moon clock display hung on the wall over the doorway, and Danny can faintly see the outline of what he assumes is the current lunar phase as seen from Earth.

Having the lamp isn’t exactly the same as glow-in-the-dark-stars, and thank goodness for that. If it had been, Danny might have cried.

(Or, he realizes, something burning in his eyes that isn’t ectoplasm, maybe he is crying.)

“...Me?” Danny asks, terrified to know the answer. Is this room for him?? Is he getting a room here? Is he supposed to stay here? On the moon?! Is he supposed to stay with everyone here, in a tiny room, where there’s nowhere to go and nowhere to escape?

…It’s a bedroom. It’s already so much more than the stupid guys in white ever gave him.

“Yes,” Diana says, and lets go of his hair. “Use it, or do not. Sitta here, or sitta in the medical bay, but now you have two choices.”

Okay. So Danny has choices. He swallows his feelings—they taste a lot like snot—and rolls himself inside to inspect the room.

There’s another little fridge inside the sitting area. It’s not right next to the bed like it is beside Danny’s cot, but it is the same style of fridge. When Danny pops the door open, it has the same styles of snacks. Fig Einsteins. Peanut butter squeezies and applesauce squeezies and yogurt squeezies. Protein shakes in bottles. Pedialight. Hummus packs.

Danny might still need someone to open the snack packs for him. That’s kind of a high dexterity food, if he thinks about it.

“If you wish to sitta here, we will visit you all you like. There is a belle at your bed,” Diana says, and walks in with all her purple scrubs and tied-up hair to point to a little button on his nightstand. It’s red. It’s got a little smiley face sticker next to it, and Danny thinks he recognizes the style from one of his nurse’s bestickered name tags. Belle is probably a direct cognate for bell. He’ll be able to get everyone to come up here if he needs help.

…Okay, that’s kind of nice. To have personal space. He hasn’t had that since… Danny’s eyes squint as he thinks; he rubs an eye. Wait, when had he been squatting under a conference table? Was that a real memory??

Diana is very tall, even in the little space, but when she ducks her head, the gesture makes her a little smaller, a little more manageable for Danny’s lower-than-usual-gaze. Now that he can see her expression, she looks soft, and even uncertain, even though she looks stone and strong on the television when she goes out to fight. “Do you like it?” she asks.

Danny fidgets.

He—does. He likes it a lot. The room doesn’t have any windows, but if Danny moved all his things in here, got used to being able to come and go, and people coming in and out…this space could be just another space. It’s quieter than the medical ward. More peaceful.

…The room is utterly devoid of other people.

(Danny thinks of The Box. Danny thinks of being in The Box.)

(Danny doesn’t like remembering The Box.)

“I am scared,” Danny admits to his twitching thumbs, his fingers itching for a fidget toy or one of his physical therapy tools. Diana’s face immediately drops.

“Why are you scared?”

I’ll be alone Danny wants to say, but he doesn’t know the word for alone and he struggled with phrasing. “No…people here.”

“That is triewe. You would have more dīegolnes here,” Diana agrees, and straightens out of her crouch. “Is that good, or bad?”

It isn’t good and it isn’t bad…? Danny isn’t sure how to phrase it. It’s neither. Being alone is just scary.

“You not hurt me,” Danny tries, knowing he’s missing some connecting word in the middle. He ignores how Diana comes back to kneel beside him, because if he looks at her, he won’t say anything. “Do not.”

“No,” Diana says, from beside and below him, gentle, careful. “We do not.”

No. They don’t. Danny swallows. “Bad…hurt me.” He doesn’t know the word for Earth or planet or even downstairs, so he just meekly points downwards.

Diana stills. It’s like watching Vlad’s Maddie cat spot a bird to hunt down. Danny tries not to feel pinned. “On eorþegearde?” she asks, still light, still gentle. Danny can hear a shadow of steel, though, and he counts himself lucky that she’s never treated him like an enemy. Danny quickly nods. His eyes squeeze shut.

“Who?” Diana asks feather-light.

Danny doesn’t want to tell them what he is. Admitting the name of the agency hunting him itself would be given in.

…But maybe if he doesn’t say the name…and they...and they promised they'd help hide him...

He wants to be right. Danny wants to be right that they're nice, and that they want to help him. Danny wants to be right that they want to protect him. As long as he never, nevernotevernever tells them he's a ghost...

Maybe someone will help him. This time.

“Bad,” Danny repeats, because he genuinely has no idea how to translate?? “Wants…hurts me? For…” WHAT WORDS DOES HE KNOW? Danny gives up and just draws a y-shaped autopsy incision on his chest. It goes down from his collarbones to his belly button.

Diana watches. Her eyes are sharp.

“Do you feel safe with the staff dunstæger in medical?” Diana is quick on the ball with the question and Danny nods quickly—he’s never alone there, and no one’s ever hurt him, and people whose job it is to help people are always coming in and out, and Medical helps them too.

“Good,” Danny whispers. “Talk…talks to me.”

“Ealne weg,” Diana affirms firmly. Whatever that means. “We will cepa you safe.”

You safe and we is all Danny needs to hear. He could probably cry by himself, but Danny wants the comfort anyway; Diana lets Danny take her hands into his, and he lets tears fall into someone else’s grip instead of his own.

*

Bruce is halfway to the monitor room before he feels himself be picked up from underneath the armpits.

Usually finding himself at inappropriate heights involves horseplay from Clark. No one else would be so bold as to actually put their hands on him within the professional setting of the Watchtower—and Bruce has worked very, very hard on maintaining a reputation that keeps the handsier of his fellows at bay.

The culprit is not Clark this time. Bruce finds himself looking downward at Diana’s tearstained face, fury and resignation warring in her expression.

Bruce is careful not to sigh. “Wonder Woman. What is the matter?”

“Someone,” Diana grits out, voice carefully modulated to cut out her own pain, “Hurt my charge.”

On the one hand, the situation with their patient is exactly as Bruce had expected. The circumstance is tragic. The circumstance was predictable.

On the other, Diana's new upset means that Bruce now has more information to work with than ever before.

Bruce can work with this.

“Tell me everything.” Bruce’s voice is just as firm—even held midair like a cat. “I will help you in every way I can.”

[cry-ptidd]

The Hellsing family and its leaders

[greywoe]

"The she-wolf laid into the squires with a tourney sword, scattering them all. The crannogman was bruised and bloodied, so she took him back to her lair to clean his cuts and bind them up with linen."

[front-facing-pokemon]

[chongoblog]

I think this is my favorite polka, and to accommodate for that, I added a lot of fun stuff

[camellia-thea]

i know we talk a lot about the isolation of chronic illness and disability, but i really don't think ablebodied folk get it.

i have made one new friend in person since graduating highschool in 2020. she is my housemate's girlfriend. she stays over frequently, and the only reason we are friends is because she stays over and we have shared university papers. i would not have had the opportunity to befriend her otherwise. that is in the space of three years.

i don't go out much. i cannot guarantee that i will leave my house within any given week. technically i have class i need to go to twice a week for an hour, but those moments aren't time for friends, they're time for classwork and i don't interact with people in a social capacity there.

i simply do not get the opportunity to meet people.

i cannot go out with friends and meet new people that way, because my social circle is already so small, and i don't have the energy to go out half the time anyway. when i do, i suffer for it later.

i don't meet people on campus because i'm immuno-compromised, and ableds seem to have forgotten that we are still in a pandemic.

i don't go to clubs or go out for the sake of going out because i can't. i've grown agoraphobic, because i am so worried that something health related will happen and i'll get stuck somewhere alone. i hate leaving the house because of the guarantee of an anxiety attack which leaves my body more likely to flare. it's a vicious cycle of isolation.

i am not the only one who has experienced this -- i can still leave the house, i can still go and visit friends with assistance. i struggle, but at the end of the day, it's still an option. there are others who are completely isolated.

the worst of it is that people leave. people get tired of the 'i can't come, i'm sorry', of the 'hey, i'm sick, can we postpone?'. even people who you love and hold dearly will stop trying. and it's awful. you have to sit and watch these people who you love walk away because they can't deal with your disability. i don't have words to describe how much that hurts.

it really is impossible for ablebodied people to understand, because for the majority of us, this isn't temporary. this is just how we have to live. and your social circle can only really get smaller.

[catgrandpa]

I started this post with the intention of asking for fic recs where Bruce gets his kids early, but then I ended up just writing some ficlets

_(:3 」∠)_

I still really just want recs I swear but I wrote these anyway and am incapable of doing more with them so here

☆彡

Dick Grayson is 8 years old when he watches his parents die. Bruce is 24 years old when he sees a young boy’s life fall to pieces. He’s far too young to be a single father. But he sees too much of himself in the child, and he knows in his heart that he won’t be able to walk away from him.

He talks to Alfred about his fears of only furthering Dick’s trauma by failing him as a guardian. It takes some time, but Alfred is able to convince Bruce to find a therapist and take some discreet parenting classes. He’s still Batman, and I don’t think he’s capable of Gentle Parenting™ but he does do better. Plus, Dick is young enough to learn to read Bruce before the teenage hormones kick in so they manage to communicate much more effectively with each other.

☆彡

Bruce meets Catherine Todd by chance because there was a cool park Dick wanted to stop at. She’s trying to deal with her hungry and fussy 3 year old step son, but she’s young and stressed out and hungry herself and she just doesn’t know what to do. Bruce offers to take them out for lunch. He asks Dick to take Jason to the play area in the corner while they talk.

She breaks down and tells him of her struggles with addiction. She does her best to keep Jason fed, but it’s so hard. Feeding him means she goes hungry most of the time because she can’t quit using. Jason wouldn’t survive if she had to go through withdrawals with him.

He’s not even her kid! Not really. Her husband is just an abusive deadbeat so she doesn’t have a choice. She does love him, but she never wanted kids, and she can’t just let a child die when she can do something.

Bruce fills their fridge and cabinets to the brim (he offers to do much more for them but that’s all she will budge on. She has too much pride to accept outright charity, but she will do what she can to keep her kid safe) and he makes it clear to her that he is willing to take care of Jason for however long is necessary when she decides to take the first step to get clean.

Two months later, Willis gets arrested and Catherine shows up at Wayne Manor and tells Bruce she signed up for inpatient, but she thinks it would be best for Jason and for herself if Bruce would be willing to take permanent custody. She stays in Jason’s life, just not as a mother figure.

☆彡

A year or so later, Bruce gifts Alfred with a vacation as an early birthday present. Things have been hectic with the sudden acquisition of two sons, and Alfred has done so much, he deserves a break. Bruce promises he’ll be able to handle two kids on his own.

Turns out, he was mostly right, but only just barely. The kids are fine, the manor not so much. He ends up hiring a few services to help out with general housekeeping. A couple of those workers also happen to be regular hires for the Drakes.

Bruce overhears them talking about how sad it is that those awful people treat their toddler more like a doll than a child. He learns that not only do they leave for long periods at a time while not hiring a proper nanny to watch over their son, just expecting the help to take care of him, but they also lock him away on his own whenever it’s ’not fashionable’ to have a 2 year old around.

Alfred comes back to the manor on August 15th, just in time to celebrate his and Master Jason’s birthdays together. He opens the door and dodged around a very excited 4 year old jumping up and down in the entry hall.

“ALFIE! ALFIE! BOOSE GOT ME A BABY BWOTHER FOR MY BIRFDAY! LOOK! LOOK! HIMS NAME IS TIMMY AND HE’S THE BESTEST!”

Alfred leans over to peak behind the boy, and sees a very quiet, very small child standing behind him.

“Oh, dear.”

☆彡

The day Bruce got the call from Talia telling him she was pregnant with his child was one of the best days of Bruce’s life. The day she called to tell him she miscarried was one of the worst.

The only blessing was that he didn’t need to explain it to his kids. Talia was going to move in once she was in her second trimester, and they planned to reveal her pregnancy together.

He got the call two weeks before her flight out. He begged her to come anyway, he loved her, they could still be a family. She refused.

Six and a half months later, he walks into his bedroom to find Talia standing by the window with a squirming bundle in her arms. With equal measures steel and sorrow in her eyes she tells Bruce she is sorry for what she put him through, but it was the only way to keep their son safe. He gathers them both in his arms and holds them tight as she explains.

Her father had planned to raise an heir to be the Demon Head. He would be kept a secret from Batman until the very end. But when Talia gave the final push to birth their son, he came out quiet. She panicked for a moment until her midwife quietly leaned down to listen to the baby’s breathing and then looked up with a soft smile, she bundled up the small thing and handed Talia her baby. Big beautiful green eyes blinked up at her. The midwife leaned closer to Talia and whispered, “Sadly, your son was stillborn. I’m deeply sorry for your loss, but surely The Great Head of the Demon would be willing to allow you some time away from your duties while you recover.” Talia allowed the woman to cover her beautiful cooing baby gently with soft linen and silk and carry him from the room. Later that night she left her home with her son and boarded the first flight to Gotham.

Tears gather on Bruce’s lashes and he tells her everything will be alright because now they can finally be together as a family. Once more, she refuses. She tells him Damian and his boys are far too precious for her to bring the danger of the league of assassins to their door. Bruce closes his eyes in sorrow, but nods his acceptance. He asks her to at least stay the night together. They fall asleep wrapped in each other’s arms with their baby boy safely bundled between them. Talia is gone when he wakes.

☆彡

It’s been one week since Talia left and, while still beyond upset, Bruce feels like he’s starting to have a decent handle on things. He is sitting with his boys at the breakfast table, Dick and Jason to his left, Tim to his right, Damian in his arms, and Alfred across from him. They’re finally able to have a relaxing breakfast. No babies crying, no food fights, no arguing, just the sounds of eating and gentle chatter.

He feels a small hand grab his right sleeve and give a gentle tug.

“Boo?” Tim asks, quietly. Bruce feels his heart warm at his son finally feeling like he can speak up without permission.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Why isn’t Big Sister sitting with us?”

Alfred is the only person in the room other than Tim to not startle at the sudden appearance of a 5 year old girl standing next to Bruce at the dining table. He simply sighs, stands up, and grabs another place setting for her at the table.

[cozylittleartblog]

bug doodles so i can say i drew something

[unknownarmageddon]

swimming pools at night

killer belongs to rahafwabas cross belongs to jael peñaloza rental suits au belongs to me and @psycho-chair