#you know who he’s looking at
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
bignostalgias · 10 months ago
Note
5F and Fool with Hiccup pretty pls???????
Tumblr media Tumblr media
expression meme
657 notes · View notes
tuttle-did-it · 6 months ago
Text
David Tennant for Prime Minister, please.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
edit- Since this is getting so much attention, edited to include descriptions of screenshots.
This woman has lost her fucking mind.
Jo, are you okay?
21K notes · View notes
artkaninchenbau · 11 months ago
Text
Tumblr media
Crocodile finds a strange stray cat an 11-year old Nico Robin (AU where they met 13 years earlier. Robin's been on the run from the World Government for 3 years. Crocodile's 27 and has not set up base in Alabasta yet)
It seems like I have become possessed. By some sort of demon.
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Bonus:
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
29K notes · View notes
egophiliac · 3 months ago
Text
Tumblr media
buckle up lads we're going BACK INTO THE BOOK
Tumblr media
#art#twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland spoilers#lost in the book with nightmare before christmas#hajimari no halloween#(the origin of halloween huh) (oooh)#why yes i did wake up way too early to watch the stream and will have no memory of drawing this later#anyway THE MAGIC BOOK IS BACK TO EAT US ONCE AGAIN!!!!#this does make things make a lot more sense if it doesn't have to. y'know. actually take place in the established world#like how jack and sally are apparently just gonna be THERE as themselves WHY NOT#i'm certainly not complaining mind you#scully looks like he's gonna be super adorable and i love him already#spooky scary skeleman who just goes :O a lot and is excited for halloween#he seems like he might actually be more of a fusion of jack and sally? or maybe i'm just reading too much into it#still getting jazzy vibes off of him though. is not scully j graves an incredible jazz musician name.#does this open up the possibility that the last time we went into the book there was a sexy anime boy stitch just offscreen the whole time#...maybe some things are best left uncontemplated#god everyone in this event looks fantastic i'm so glad i saved up some keys after all#a little sad that there's no lilia but you know what the fact that a halloweentown malleus exists is still pretty dang good#and sebek's hat is SO tall#the biggest hat for the loudest boy#i hope oogie is here too i need him and jamil to meet#i need jamil to be faced with a guy who's just a bunch of bugs standing on each other's shoulders in a trenchcoat#i am not coherent right now i just needed to get this out before i go pass out again
4K notes · View notes
onesidedradiostatic · 10 months ago
Text
stayed gone but you're the sinners watching/listening
(AKA I spend an unnecessary amount of time editing)
7K notes · View notes
sparrowlucero · 1 month ago
Text
Tumblr media
dr who is (apparently) redesigning this turtle from the classic series to be just a green human elf lady instead and twitter is eating it up because "no one would take the show seriously otherwise" and "the audience isn't able to empathize with something that doesn't look human". another fascinating data point in the psychology of doctor who fans.
2K notes · View notes
pricetagged · 24 days ago
Text
Here's a young (maybe 19-early 20s) Simon struggling with his emotions, working as a butcher's apprentice, and fixating on the pretty student waitress at the café next door (':
Content: plus size f-presenting reader; allusions to domestic abuse (Simon's past); fat-shaming (not Simon); little bit of violence, unedited. (Link to Ao3)
Tumblr media
He's not sure that it counts as desire. Interest. It crawls over him, makes him feel aggressive, makes him want to dig his teeth in and shake and snarl.
It's hunger.
And he knows hunger. Knows it like he knows the cigarette burns on the back of his hand. Knows it like he knows his old man's a waste of space and that he has to defend his mum and protect Tommy and- and-
He's the man of the house, only the house is rotten. Woodloused frames, crumbling bricks. Gutted. Empty shelves hidden behind broken doors. Chipped plaster, electricity cutting off. Squeaky steps that always clued them in when the old man was on a rager (not that it helped, creaking out a warning but giving no clue where to run. The percussion leading to a gallows' jig; the heavy step before the hit).
But the old man's gone now. And Simon is left trying to fill in the boots he doesn’t know how to wear. All growth spurt and gangly limbs and anger. So much anger at the old bastard. Tear-soaked anger at his mum sometimes (buried deep behind the shame that he feels when he thinks of her black and blue. Anger and shame, bitter roots that he chews at to soothe the clench of in his jaw and the grind of his teeth). And then he sees you through the window. Through the peeling CHRISTMAS SPECIAL sign highlighting ham joints and turkey and pigs in blankets.
You're so soft.
You look like you’ve lived a life well-fed and well-loved. Something round and sweet and helpless, like the puppies he and Tommy had seen dumped in the park while they snuck cigarettes and swigged from cheap supermarket cider.
And that brings him back to the hunger. He's an awkward creature, shuffling to the café where you work part-time. He's more feeling than man, all rage and appetite stuffed into a skin suit. You sense it too, nerves tugging at the tilt of your smile as you approach the scavenger that swept in to sit at the cheap plastic tables in this greasy spoon. He sits awkwardly, too, hunched over the table like his stomach is gnawing at him. Big hands snapping the disposable plastic coffee stirrers and shredding the napkins. That first day, he just stares at you. Sneers a little when you flutter over to take his order.
You slosh the tea a little when you serve it.
He sees the burn bloom, watches as you suck at the sting with plump cheeks and a rosy little mouth, and he just wants to dig in and scratch hard to see you do that again.
It becomes a habit, watching you. He finds out bits and pieces listening as he rends and chops and saws through muscle and bone, stinking of sweat and iron. You're here as a student. You're living in student digs (good, best that you avoid the up-and-downs and rough streets that would fit a student budget), and you're a real sweetheart. Old Sal who has been running the café for the past 30 years leans a heavy elbow on the display counter as he chats with the boss.
"She's lovely, taken to it like a fish to water," his raspy, smoke-charred voice is cheery as he waits for the bacon and sausages to be weighed and wrapped. "Only asked for Thursdays and Fridays off since she has afternoon classes then. Otherwise, I almost have to round her out of the shop, doing more afternoons and weekends than my own kid."
You're hardworking too, then. He wonders if it's because you're hungry too, needing something to do with your time, living on pot noodles and supermarket ready-meals like he'd heard some students do. It's strange how that thought sits uncomfortably, makes him want to hunch over you and bring you his scraps.
That week, he decides to talk to you. Only the words get caught, don't come out quite right as he stares at the way your jumper clings to the soft curves under your faded apron. When you turn around, bustling to other customers, he can't help but stare at the line of your skirt. It's real pretty, decent, sitting just above your knees but Christ, he wishes that it would roll up a little higher. That it would catch on the corner of a table or hitch up as you raise your arms and swish past with a tray full of fry-ups. He almost gets lucky as you bend over to mop up a spill just across the room. Your thighs widen as they press against the table, tights stretching thin and sheer and he just can't tear his eyes away-
(The hunger in his stomach turns hot and biting, makes his cheeks flush and his mouth dry-)
But it's ruined. Fly in the soup, hair in the dish, as you catch him and your eyebrows pinch together as you look away. There's something guarded, bitter, in your lovely eyes, and the dryness in his mouth turns wet and sour. You seem to take pains to avoid him, swapping out with Sal's son so that you can work the counter instead of the floor.
"'m Simon," he grunts as he goes to settle the bill. "Work at the butcher's across the street."
You clearly didn’t expect an introduction, shoulders relaxing and hesitant smile blooming as you give your name in return.
"Yeah, I know. Sal mentioned you a few times. He's tried to give me the rundown of practically everyone on the street, feels like."
"Y'should come in t'the shop," the invitation rushes out in a way that makes him feel clumsy. Perhaps that’s why he did it; to have you in his space, with his head and his footing right. Here, he feels every inch the artificial man. Pieced together, too big and too looming, with no help or guidance on how to talk to soft things and pretty girls.
You grimace a little, eyes focused on the till as you count out his change. "Not really on a butcher-shop budget right now."
"'S'alright. I can keep something aside for ya," he doesn't mention how it would come out of his wages. How it would come out of what he brought home to his mum and Tommy. It didn't matter, though, when he was used to going without.
"That's - that's really nice, actually," Your sweet face is glowing now, and he feels like he could bathe in the warmth of it. "Next time you come by lunch is on me."
He sees the way you tuck your chin and smile as he walks away, and that bottomless pit in his guts feels just a little more full.
(He doesn't quite catch the snickers of the boys at table three, whispering and nudging each other as you come to take their orders. This time.)
He stares more and more through the window of the shop, watching as you come and go. Watching the way you greet the regulars and skirt around the group of lads who like to linger in the evenings. There's something sharp, nasty, to the way they circle around the entrance. The way they cackle and hoot when the one with the eyebrow piercing smirks and whispers to his mates as they force you to brush past. They're a pack of hyenas, shrieking and smug as they toy with the poor little thing that's walked past their watering hole. He's seen this type before, practically grew up with them. His old man was probably one of them, perfecting his cruelty while young, cementing it as part of his nature.
It has Simon sharpening his knives while he grits his teeth. Has the boss tutting at him when he cuts too close to the bone.
He knows there's something violent in him. The old man tried to bring it out then snuff it out, getting scared when the knife that he sharpened was able to cut him in return. He's no stranger to bloodshed. No stranger to the calloused, deprivation-dimmed apathy that breeds like algae in the environment where he was forged. Dripping, slimy, suffocating.
Doesn't mean he likes it, though.
(He'd gone back for those puppies, you know. Felt wrong leaving them. Felt like a rebellion against his old man's sick life lessons as he dumped the box outside the doors of a local veterinary clinic).
So he keeps his eyes peeled, stakes out the café like he owns it. Stares down anyone who looks at you wrong until they look away, muttering under their breath. 'Fucking freaky dead-eyed git.' It seems to work.
And you seem to like it, sparing more smiles for him. Bringing him bigger portions than normal and topping up his cup before he even needs to ask.
"I know you've been working since seven, Simon. Gotta keep your strength up," You seem bashful as you slide the plate across, and he just eats it up.
You've been looking at him, thinking about him. It's not something he's familiar with, having someone care for him. His mum loves him, of course. Tommy too. But it’s not the same, not when it's been his job to take care of them. His job to step up to the mantle and into the shoes that his father should've filled. Watching the sway of your wide hips as he tucks into the steak and kidney pie with gusto, he feels satisfied. The hunger is there, always is, but it's not gouging at him under the skin. It's satiated, pleased. The kind of comfort that leaves his eyes heavy and his belly warm.
It's a routine you fall into, and everything is rosy-
Until it's not.
He's closing up shop, wiping down the counters and getting ready to haul down the shutters when he sees them. Those stupid pricks, travelling in their pack and signaling that their quarry is in sight. Look, there it is alone and limping and- You're in a rush, leaving later than usual and shrugging your coat on carelessly as you shout your goodbyes to Sal. You're in that skirt again, the one that makes his lower belly tighten and mouth feel dry.
"Oi, look! Dirty scrubber has her fat arse hanging out!"
It sets them off, chittering and howling as you freeze wide-eyed and lip-quivering.
"Gonna be sick, mate. Don't want to see your knickers, love. Didn't even know they came in that size."
He doesn't even see red. Doesn't see anything but your pretty, round face crumpling as you try to tug your skirt out from where it got caught under your coat.
The ringing of the bell by the door muffles the sound of the first punch. His fist crunches into that prick's nose, and he wants nothing more than to keep going until his face is little more than meat and pulp and blood. He can taste it, smells the blood in the air like a shark.
But you're watching.
"Bit bored with y'taking the piss out of her," he snarls it as he hauls the man by his jacket, shoving him hard against the wall until his head thwacks against the bricks. Easy as hauling a side of beef. "Why don't ya try me next?"
The man seems dazed, head spinning and nose dripping. His mates, too, look floored. Ready to scatter and abandon their leader to the bigger beast. Only the promise of more blood keeps them watching, feeds their nasty appetites and he's just itching to let them see. Watch what happens; it's coming for you next.
"Speechless now, eh? Had so much to say earlier," he's spitting the words out, teeth snapping as he leans down so close to the man's face that he can see how his pupils constrict. "Apologise."
And he's smarter than he would give him credit for. Smart enough to whimper out his 'sorry, sorry, sorry' as he drops to the filthy, damp pavement when Simon swivels towards the others. Something about the set of his shoulders, the way his hands and apron are splattered with the gore of man and animal, has them scattering.
"That goes for the rest of ya! Don't ever want t'see your ugly fucking mugs around here again," he spits on the ground, itches at his jaw with his wrist as he watches them run.
He can't hear them anymore. Can't hear anything over the sound of his heavy panting and pounding heartbeat.
It's cold out. He's only realising it now, standing in the December chill with just an apron over his jeans and t-shirt. It has him shaking, flexing his hand as his knuckles start to sting and swell. He welcomes it, welcomes the familiar bite as he pushes down the savage, ragged anger rippling through his chest.
"Simon-"
"Y'alright?" he cuts you off, faces you head-on.
And all the rage saps out. You're not cowering away. There's no disgust on your face. No tears or embarrassment either, no. You've got a crumpled packet of wet wipes in your hand, reaching out for him. Concerned.
"Figure you'd want to get that prick's blood off you soon as possible," you give him a sad little half-smile. "Didn't have to do all that for me, Simon."
"Yeah, didn't have to." He concedes as he steps closer to you. Crowds into your space until you're toe-to-toe and he can feel your warmth. He brushes his fingers against yours, lets them linger on your soft skin as he reaches for the wipes. "I wanted to."
-----------------------
Let's all pretend that this was okay and ignore the fact that I still haven't posted the wips that I keep going on about 🫠💖
Just a little self-indulgent drabble idea that I had today, thinking back to watching 'My Mad Fat Diary' as a teenager, feeling nostalgic ~ (The Finn-defending-Rae scene had 18yo me in a chokehold lol).
2K notes · View notes
poorly-drawn-mdzs · 4 months ago
Text
Tumblr media
Trapped in a vicious cycle of pining? Try gay sex! (More things to learn over at Tiger Tiger!)
#tiger tiger#jamis arlesi#remy bonnaire#Arno#through a series of unfortunate events I will be posting this after the update will be out so my timing will be more so:#“Alternate take on how that scene played out” Rather than my funnier “My prediction for how it will go down”#I truly think Remy would rather admit to crimes he didn't commit than confess he has a thing for men.#It would be funny! It would be so funny if this is how Jamis found out. Alas...Not yet...Not yet...#I do love the idea that Jamis completely overlooked the all the elder god horror to get right down to the question of 'HOW DO YOU KNOW HIM'#Remy knows him. Knows him carnally. Wouldn't you like to also know your captain better? In spirit and body and mind?#Jealousy looks good on Jamis. Now he just has to do something about it.#Poor Remy though...He love Jamis so much he'd do anything to prevent losing him.#Which entails never giving Jamis a chance of rejecting or accepting his feelings!#Meanwhile...Jamis is a bisexual disaster man who is at his *limit*.#(For the MDZS fans looking at this Tigers comic who still have no context:#This is like Lan Xichen finding out Jin Guangyao hooked up with Nie Mingjue after LXC spent all that time thinking JGY was straight.#Better yet. This is like WWX just starting to realize his crush on LWJ and then finding out he and JC hooked up in the time skip.#'Nice to know you're into men but why did I have to find out like this' moment.)#((Yes I am trying to bridge the gap between the fandoms I am in. Yes I am still on my propaganda train. Choo Choo!!!))
2K notes · View notes
chronalshifts · 1 month ago
Text
caitvi in act 2: reunion, cute banter, extremely good double-cross subplot, will probably get back together
jayvik in act 2:
Tumblr media
2K notes · View notes
lilybug-02 · 21 days ago
Text
Tumblr media
Angry Bugs!
Bug Fact: The origin of the word "bug" is still unknown. Linguists suggest it came from the Middle English term bugge ("something frightening"). Likely connected to Scottish bogill ("goblin"), Low German budde ("louse, grub"), and Welsh bwg ("ghost").
V2 First || Prev // Next
Volume 2 Masterpost
▴♥︎▴ Patreon ▴♥︎▴ Buy Me A Coffee ▴♥︎▴
1K notes · View notes
keferon · 23 days ago
Text
This is a cybertronian. He’s 2 hours old so we made him look like a child. A lil baby robot. All cute and basically just like a human kid. <- the thing I see everywhere
This is a cybertronian. He’s 2 hours old but he looks like a grown ass adult, strong just like an adult and can already transform into a jet even though he has just one brain cell and no fucking idea how to fly. <- the thing I desperately hope to read about one day even though I haven’t seen it to be properly explored even once
1K notes · View notes
emrysmoss · 1 month ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media
I looove how they had to describe this line in the Merlin books as Arthur giving a “forced, tight smile” because if they described the way he actually delivered this line they would have no reasonable explanation as to why he says it so fondly…..
1K notes · View notes
hailsatanacab · 1 year ago
Text
Family Dinners - dpxdc
"Holy shit, you're Bruce Wayne!" Danny gaped, jabbing a finger at the man sitting at the head of the table.
The bustling dining room goes silent as everyone turns to look at him.
"Danny, who did you think was going to be here?" Tim asks, disbelief plain in his voice and Danny feels his face flush red.
"Sorry, I, uh, I guess I just never put it together. Tim Drake-Wayne. Wayne Manor. It, uh, makes sense now." He laughs sheepishly and scrubs at his neck before slumping back down into his chair.
"Well," Tim says with an indulgent sigh, "at least I know you're not just friends with me for my connections."
"Yeah, I'm really sorry, I just never thought about it, I guess."
Danny sinks lower as everyone around him laughs. Come to dinner, he said, the food is the best, he said, ignore the family, he said. Danny really wishes he'd listened to Tim and just ignored them—almost as much as he's regretting accepting the offer in the first place—but... he's having dinner with Batman.
Ancients, that's so weird!
The last time he saw Batman was in the future and, suffice it to say, it was not going well. There hadn't really been time for family dinners there.
Wait. Family dinners?
He peers around the table, openly gawking at everyone as it all clicks into place.
"Everything alright, Danny? Now realising who everyone else is?" Tim asks with a roll of his eyes.
"Uh... something like that..." Danny mumbles as everyone laughs again.
From further down the table, the smallest Wayne scoffs and clicks his tongue.
"I thought you said he was smart, Drake?"
"So, you all do it, too, then?" he asks, ignoring the jibe. Danny's only a little bit jealous as he thinks of how much easier they must have it, how much easier it'd be if his family had been on his side, too. "You all work together?"
"Nah," Dick says from across the table with a brilliant grin. "Tim's the only one that works with Bruce, we all have different jobs. I'm a police officer in Bludhaven."
"Disgusting." Danny blurts out without thinking—because seriously, what kind of self-respecting vigilante would also be a police officer?—before clapping a hand over his mouth. "Sorry."
The whole table laughs again, the loudest being the blonde girl a few spaces down from Dick. Look, Danny wasn't really paying attention to names when they were all paraded in front of him. Dick only gets remembered because his name is a joke.
Come on, Danny, recover!
"That's, uh, not what I meant, though."
"Oh?" Dick asks, cocking his head slightly to the side. Is it Danny's imagination or does his smile tense slightly?
"Yeah, I mean like, you know, in costume. It must make it so much easier to have everyone together like this."
"Costume? What do you mean?"
Yeah, Danny's not imagining it, everyone tenses up at that. It's really only now that he's realising that this probably isn't how he should bring up that he knows about their... night time activities. In fact, he probably shouldn't be bringing it up at all.
"Uuhhh..." Danny looks wildly around the table as he continues making his stupid noise. Think, think, think! There must be a way out of this!
"Danny?" Tim asks, looking concerned.
"Oh, Ancients, this isn't how I wanted it to go at all," he mutters, slipping even further into his chair. He's almost on the floor now and he so, so wishes it could just swallow him up.
His real first meeting with Batman was meant to be cool! He had planned to be Phantom, maybe save them from a tight spot, prove his worth as a mysterious and powerful ally as thanks for the help Batman gave him in the future.
"Danny, what are you talking about?" Tim starts tugging on his sleeve in an attempt to pull him back up from his pit of despair.
Eventually, Danny relents and sits up straighter, hiding his face in his hands and whining all the while.
"I'm sorry, I just didn't expect him to be here and it threw me off so now I look stupid and it's so embarrassing!" he wails, flailing his arms wide. "Why wouldn't you warn me that Batman was your adopted dad, Tim? Couldn't you have let me know?"
"I'm sorry, what? Danny are you alright? There's no way Bruce can be Batman, look at him!"
"Yeah," the blonde girl laughs from the bottom of the table, "look at him! That's a wet noodle of a man! Batman can actually do things, B is incapable of pretty much everything."
"Thank you, Stephanie," Bruce sighs, massaging his forehead.
It's... Those are the first words Danny's heard Batman say since everything went down and it's enough to knock him out of his embarrassment.
It's really good to hear his voice again. Especially now, when it's strong and healthy and full of personality—even if that personality is little more than a tired father right now—far better than how it had been, at the end.
Danny sits up, back straight, and grins. He's got this. He remembers it perfectly. Some people count sheep to fall asleep, Danny repeats his mantra to be certain that he'll never forget it.
"Gamma alpha upsilon tau iota mu epsilon, 42, 63, 28, 1 colon 65 dash 9."
Once again, the whole table falls into silence.
"Holy shit..." breathes the other D name (Duke? Danny's pretty sure he's Signal) from opposite Stephanie. "Isn't that...?"
"The time travelling code." The littlest Wayne says stiffly. "We have met in the future?"
"That's not just the time travelling code, Dami." Dick says, looking between Danny and Bruce. "That's the family time travelling code."
Danny's grin freezes in place.
"I'm sorry, what?"
"1 colon 65 dash 9." Dick explains, still flicking between him and Bruce. "It means you've been adopted into the family and we should all treat you as such, no questions asked."
"Tell you what, I'm about to ask a question." Danny says, dumbstruck. "You just told me it was a code to identify time travellers, not anything about being adopted! What the hell, B?"
Bruce looks about as shellshocked as Danny feels.
"We must have been close," he says finally, after opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water a few times.
"No! Not that close!" Danny reels back, taking a deep breath ready to refute it all, but... "Well, I mean, you found me when I first got stuck, and you helped me get better despite being... And then we fought together against the, uh, bad guy, before he, um, he... before you couldn't."
An uncomfortable beat passes while they all pick up on what Danny tried so hard not to say.
"So, you're not from the future, then, you travelled there and came back?" Tim asks, breaking the tension and leaning forward with a glint in his eye.
"Yeah, it was a whole end of the world thing, but don't worry about it," Danny says with a hand wave, "It's all kosher now, won't ever happen."
"What did happen?"
"Seriously, don't worry about it, we cool."
"How long in the future was it?"
"About ten years? You were pretty spry for an old man, B," Danny laughs, wishing they'd get off the topic of what happened and get back to the adoption bit.
Everyone shares degrees of a cautious smile as they relax out of the shock, and Dick—whose grin is the biggest—says, "No wonder you got the family code, you're already riffing on him like one of us. How long were you there for?"
"A week, before I managed to get back to my present and stop him then."
"A week? Jeez, B, that has to set some kind of record, seriously."
"Oh!" Danny says, sitting bolt upright and blinking in surprise before pointing at Dick and bouncing in his seat. "You're Nightwing!"
"What?"
"That's exactly what Nightwing said when Batman told me the code! Makes so much more sense now."
Dick laughs and claps his hands, delighted.
"You were not formally adopted?" The grumpy small one—Dami?—asks, his face pinched.
"I didn't even know I was informally adopted."
"And your parents? Are they alive or dead?"
"Damian, stop—"
"They were dead in the future, but they're alive now." Danny says, looking down. He fiddles with the tablecloth, twisting the fabric around his fingers as he fights down the pang of sadness that he always feels when he thinks of them now. He forces a bright smile on his face and hopes it doesn’t look too strained. "I just, uh, can't talk to them much, anymore."
"Damian," Dick warns, "1 colon 65 dash 9. Treat them as family, no questions asked."
"This is Damian treating him as family, the little turd has no manners." Tim scoffs, rolling his eyes, but he gently bumps shoulders with Danny to knock him out of his funk. Danny can't help but send him a watery smile.
"I have the most exemplary manners, Drake, unlike some people." Damian spits, crossing his arms with a pout. "I was merely ascertaining his status to see how he could possibly fit into the family."
"I know this is all a bit sudden, Danny," Bruce smiles, ignoring Damian and reaching out to lay a warm hand on his arm, "for all of us. But if I felt strongly enough to give you that code after spending a week with you in the future, then you are more than welcome in this family, if you so choose it. I think I can speak for all of us when I say we'd like to get to know you a bit more."
"I know a threat when I hear it, Bruce." Danny snorts. "But, yeah, I get it. I'm sorry this is all so weird, it really wasn't how I wanted to find you again, but... I'm glad I did."
"So are we, Danny." Dick says, with a warm smile. "And formally or not, 1 colon 65 dash 9 means you're family. Welcome to the fun house! No take backs or refunds, sorry. You're stuck with us."
7K notes · View notes
lazylittledragon · 10 months ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
so how about that durge
5K notes · View notes
darkmuffinstudios · 3 months ago
Text
Tumblr media
HAD THE MOST INSANE DREAM JUST NOW AND THESE TWO WERE IN IT AND I WAS JUST LIKE JSVFIJVFSJIVFSIKVSFIKSFV STEALING YOU GUYS
LIKE I LITERSLLY ROLLED OUT OF BED AND GRABBED MY TABLET AND SCRIBBLED THESE GUYS BEFORE I FORGOT
SO SO SO! THE IDEA IS THAT SOMETHING SOMETHING WHEN PPL DIE, THEY GET THESE HALOS ON THEIR HEADS WHICH TIE THEM TO THE LIVING WORLD AS A SORT OF LIKE “THEY CANT MOVE ON” SORT OF THING
AND WHEN KILLER GETS KILLED, HE HAS SO MANY DIFFERENT REGRETS AND SO MANY DIFFERENT WANTS THAT HIS SOUL ESSENTIALLY SPLITS INTO TWO—. UT THEYRE STILL VERY MUCH CONNECTED? LIKE THEY ARE DRASTICALLY DIFFERENT VERSIONS OF HIM BUT NEITHER CAN MOVE ON UNTIL THE OTHER IS SATIATED AND EISJCNDJSKCSKCMDLD
GOD THESE TWO ARE SO BADASS DISJCJCJC MY OWN BRAINROT IS GOING NUTS
MAYBE MORE TO COME SOON OK BYEEEEE
2K notes · View notes
itsdefinitely · 10 months ago
Note
TUMBLR LEGWND ITSDEIFNITLEY ALSO DRAWS SANDERS SIDES?!?!???
Tumblr media
i dabble
3K notes · View notes