Tumgik
#a constant companion
Text
Sunny emotional support fox
1 note · View note
skeleton-squid-boy · 1 month
Text
twelve is not more ruthless or cruel or endangering than any of his predecessors. he just doesn't hide it. I think he was the kindest doctor because he didn't hide his ruthlessness from his companions, didn't hide it behind a goofy bow tie or the charm that makes people follow him to the end of the universe. . . he showed Clara exactly who he was and the brutal things he was willing to do if he believed they were right. And he didn't pretend to feel bad about them. I think after amy and rory he got tired of how easily people believed he was good, how easy that made them to kill, how their faith in him always always meant they never got home. So he does the kindest thing he can think of, and doesn't hide that they're not just choosing to travel with him, they're also choosing to travel with the death that follows him everywhere he goes. I think he's the first doctor not to hide from that second companion and the part he plays in keeping it onboard.
630 notes · View notes
phantomskeep · 13 days
Text
I just went on a three hour research binge for my fic. Was the binge about Danny Phantom or the DCU? Y'know, the two fandoms in the fic???
Nope.
Apparently no one can agree on the symbolism of a cat skull, so we make up our own in this household :')
Cute lil final design for my Thief!Danny outfit for my fic. I ended up adding in lil glowing eyes buuuuttt.... I'm dumb and forgot to save after that LOL
Tumblr media
I'll be doing more art for his design soon! I'm not the best with human anatomy (hi yes I'm a warrior cat kid) soooooo please be gentle <3
106 notes · View notes
the-p-in-lgbtqa · 6 months
Text
The Doctor: humans die so soon :( they're so weak :( and they age :(
Jack: I'm literally undying and unaging –
The Doctor: damn can't get rid of this bitch :/
Jack & Ashildr: Doctor our immortality is literally your responsibility. And if you take us with you you won't have to worry about putting us in danger !
The Doctor: I need to get away from this bitch as far as possible
233 notes · View notes
opportunityarose · 6 months
Text
aziraphale really is a teenage girl ya protagonist
143 notes · View notes
bogviolets · 9 months
Text
Tumblr media
sleeping beneath hobbit love part two: the journey continues.
350 notes · View notes
scotianostra · 1 year
Text
Chris 14 years ago and now.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
1K notes · View notes
perenians · 2 months
Text
i like to think that tara is so fiercely territorial when it comes to gale out of a sense of protectiveness. oh, she knows gale is a more than formidable wizard—she'd even go so far as to say that he's one of the best—but she knows what he's like in love. his actions are of utter, nearly thoughtless devotion. dangerous.
once he starts falling, he falls willingly with open arms. he gives all of himself to the person he loves—and that is what scares tara. his heart, given so freely, must be loved in return and taken care of. but how can tara trust gale's lover to do so, when tara does not know them at all? she's seen the damage that careless hands have done to her little love, and she doesn't want that to happen again. but gale's heart is his to give, it is not hers to protect, and i think that hurts her more than anything.
91 notes · View notes
Text
Zubmariner
The Captain: Actually, fuck this. I'm going to walk into the deep zee and never come back.
The Captain: THERES CREATURES
148 notes · View notes
waspgrave · 3 days
Text
everyone is so brave to decide who they're going to romance already. I feel like the man holding too many limes but its the 7 companions
20 notes · View notes
adrianicsea · 5 days
Text
sometimes i think about how blatantly clear and obvious it is in dragon age origins that alistair and morrigan were also intended to be bisexual and were made straight at the last second and it makes me so angry and sad that i get nauseous
15 notes · View notes
clericofkelemvor · 4 months
Text
i am actually genuinely so mad about how larian is going about things, on a professional level. i work as a software dev - when i put something out that is meant to be public ready, i make as sure are possible that there are no bugs. if there are any, i fix that asap, before adding anything on top of it bc 1) it disturbs user experience and 2) adding smth on top of a bugged foundation means at best u reproduce the bug, at worst U MAKE IT WORSE and then u have to untangle that
youd think this logic would go double for smth as complex as a video game but apparently its more important to [checks notes] make lae'zel nicer????
like im aware theyre... allegedly, considering what i hear of the state of the game post patch 6.0... fixing bugs. but by modifying/adding other things at the same time theyre actually creating or worsening more bugs than theyre fixing. and its. fucking stupid. and it makes me mad because its such basic logic that they're completely ignoring
26 notes · View notes
skeleton-squid-boy · 13 days
Text
ever think about twelve being so sick of losing people, especially losing people because of their belief in him as a hero, like amy. so he strips off that mask and shows how cold and calculating he is willing to be with lives and he chooses a face that shows his age and stops hiding his danger behind a charming smile or a bow tie. he does it as a kindness, so Clara knows what she's getting into. and she does. and she gets into it anyway. and it makes him even more desperate not to lose her. so he breaks all of his own rules, everything he stood for because just once he didn't want to have to lose someone. he went to the end of space and time the long way round, he beat death and he betrayed the home he spent his life searching for to try save her. for once he chose what he wanted, her, over the universe.
and after all that, all he managed to do was make it so she lost him instead.
507 notes · View notes
waywardsalt · 4 months
Text
thinking about how wind waker link’s first adventure had him controlling the winds to get around, it being his biggest strength in braving and traversing the seas, and in his next adventure he finds himself on a ship that does not at all require the wind for anything
29 notes · View notes
fishslappping · 20 days
Text
as a book fan….and I know this isn’t a new observation at all….but book fans have some real weird takes on the show
15 notes · View notes
qlala · 6 months
Note
Long casefic mentioned: screaming crying tearing at the walls of my enclosure
listen I know I've been sooo lock and key about this one for years because I wanted it to be perfect before I posted any WIP snippets, BUT... 2024 we are all learning to say "death to perfectionism," so december 2023, I am also saying "After all, why not? Why shouldn't I share a little snippet?"
setting notes for the below: a CCPD precinct, a few months after Flashpoint. (If you never got there in the show, don't worry about it; Len doesn't know what it means, either.) Barry and Len haven't seen each other since Len tipped him off to the Trickster ambush the previous Christmas, and as far as Barry knows, Len has been off with the Legends ever since. (He hasn't been.)
It was fascinating to watch Snart pull the Captain Cold bravado around his shoulders, even with his hands cuffed to an interrogation room table and no parka in sight. He rolled his shoulders back, slouched down in the chair—as far as the cuffs allowed—and crossed one ankle over his opposite knee. Then he rolled his bored gaze insolently in Barry’s direction and raised an eyebrow. 
“Seems you have me at a disadvantage.” 
Barry realized his mistake, a moment too late; as far as the CCPD was concerned, he and Snart had never met.
“Right,” Barry said. He wasn’t an officer, so protocol was fuzzy on whether he was supposed to introduce himself to an... inmate? Had Snart gotten himself arrested again?
Snart’s smirk deepened at his obvious floundering, so Barry looked to Joe instead.
Joe gave him the same resigned look he’d just received from Singh, but unlike Singh, Joe took pity on him. He flipped shut the file he’d been reading, then slid it across the table toward him.
It came to a stop within inches of Snart’s fingertips, and Barry saw him test the cuffs covertly as if considering intercepting it. Barry picked it up before he could try, throwing him a knowing glare. 
Snart didn’t bother looking chastened. 
The file, Barry noticed, was thicker than most that passed through the CCPD. When he flipped it open and saw the FBI seal emblazoned on the front page, he understood why.
A paper clip held a picture of Snart to the next page: a recent shot, judging from the hints of gray in his hair. Barry started to turn the page, then became aware of the twin looks of apprehension he was receiving from Joe and Snart. When he glanced questioningly at Snart, he looked away, feigning interest in his handcuffs. Barry looked to Joe instead, and felt a prickle of uneasiness when Joe only shook his head, knuckles pale where they were wrapped around the back of the empty metal chair across from Snart.
Barry flipped forward in the file. The next few pages were background on Snart, with no major changes from what Barry had expected. He was familiar with Snart’s rap sheet already, and the psychological profile they’d drawn up on him was about as accurate as a tabloid horoscope. He did feel an old pang of guilt when he passed a memo noting the unexplained disappearance of Snart’s electronic files, but it was getting easier to brush that feeling aside every time.
Unsurprisingly, the medical records from Iron Heights were sparse. Several pages were entirely blank, but there was a scribbled correction stapled to the bottom of one, noting, of all things, a severe food allergy to pineapples. Barry couldn’t help but grin at that; for such a mundane detail, it had apparently only recently been wrested from Snart, and with great effort. 
He skimmed the rest of Snart's section. It was obvious that—tropical fruit allergies aside—the FBI knew less about Snart than he did. He pulled up short, however, when he turned to the next section and found another photograph clipped into the file.
“What is this?” He looked up at the answering silence, but Snart avoided his gaze, and Joe crossed his arms with obvious discomfort. “Joe?”
“Bartholomew," Snart interrupted, before Joe could answer, and Barry looked over at him in surprise. Snart gave him a slow, knowing smirk. “It is Bartholomew, isn’t it?” 
No one had ever said his full name with such obvious relish, and Barry seriously considered throwing back a Lenny just to see how he liked it. But he caught himself in time, and he bit back an exasperated sigh.
“How do you know my name?” he asked. 
It wasn’t very convincing, and a flicker of annoyance crossed Snart’s expression, obviously displeased that he wasn���t playing along with proper enthusiasm. Then the smirk was back, and Snart leaned back in his seat with an air of indifference. 
Barry watched him suspiciously; he looked far too in control of the whole situation despite being the one handcuffed to the table.
“Feds didn’t tell me much,” Snart said. “But this…” He dragged his gaze down and back up Barry’s body in a long, appraising look. “This, I can work with.” 
“Joe,” Barry repeated, pointedly ignoring Snart. There was a slightly hysterical edge to his voice, though, and Joe sighed and unfolded his arms. 
“What do you know about the Morellos?” 
Barry blinked; whatever he’d been expecting, it hadn’t been that. The name was vaguely familiar, and it took him a few moments to put together where he’d heard it before. 
“They’re an East Coast crime family,” he said, slowly. He looked to Joe for confirmation, and Joe nodded. “They practically ran Metropolis during Prohibition. Not much from them, since? I think they’re still active, but… they’ve mostly been pushed out by other Families.”
“Someone’s been listening to his podcasts.”
Joe didn’t so much as glance at Snart for the interruption, a muscle in his jaw jumping. “Until recently, that was the case,” he said. “Members of the other Families have started dropping like flies, and the FBI thinks the Morellos are moving to take back power.”
Barry flipped through the file until he found a brief on the topic, and nodded for Joe to continue. 
“Last year, they worked out some kind of alliance with the Russian mob,” Joe said, “and now they control ninety percent of the heroin passing through Metropolis. The FBI couldn’t figure out what they were trading for that kind of power, until they realized the drug deals were lining up with major art thefts in the city.”
Barry glanced up from the brief, thrown by the apparent non-sequitur. “What would the Russians want with stolen art?”  
Snart snorted, and Barry turned to him with a raised eyebrow. 
“Universal value,” Snart explained. He swept his palms in a broad gesture, though it was restricted by the limited reach of the handcuffs. “Markets crash, currencies fall. A Picasso stays a Picasso. And canvas is easier to smuggle than gold.”
There was a certain logic to it, though Barry suspected it was a lot more complicated than Snart was making it sound.
“And, what, you’re involved with this?” he asked.
Snart actually looked insulted. “Drug trade’s a nasty business,” he said, a curl to his lip despite his light, almost bored tone. “Messy work. Lotta bribes, lotta bodies. Hard to make a profit when the product keeps killing your buyers. Not my scene.”
“What’s this got to do with you, then?” Barry asked. He pulled the second picture out of the folder and held it up. “Or me?”
It was a copy of the photo from his CCPD identification. It was a few years old—his hair was longer on top, his shoulders a little narrower—and Snart’s lips twitched in amusement.
“Cute,” he said. 
Barry rolled his eyes and slid the picture back into the file.  
“Snart’s managed to get it into the FBI’s head that he’d make a good criminal informant. Apparently, he’s an expert in modern abstract expressionism,” Joe said, the last part clearly a quote. When Barry turned to him, surprised, Joe only shrugged. “I know. Surprised me too.”
“Learn all kinds of interesting things in my line of work,” Snart said, picking idly at the edge of his handcuffs. “Ab Ex dominates the market, has for decades. Post-War’s always in style. It's easy. People get it.” 
His fingers didn’t curl around air quotes; they didn’t have to, his voice going vapid in a way that almost, almost pulled a smile out of Barry. Leonard Snart, closet art snob.
 “Unspeakable horrors,” Snart continued, with a lazy, ‘and so on’ twirl of his fingers. “Expressible only through feelings over form…” He circled the gesture back the other way, with momentarily distracting, long-fingered grace. “Yada-yada-yada. Modern art fan, Bartholomew?”
He was having too much fun with the name, and Barry gave him a flat look for it. 
“Barry.”
Snart’s lashes dipped on another once-over before he met his gaze again, eyes sharp and amused. “Pleasure.” 
Barry didn’t need the way Snart leaned hard on the word, drawing it out even as his lips curled up at one corner, to tell him he’d walked right into that trap.
Snart lifted one hand and twisted the cuffs to extend the other out toward him, as close to offering a handshake as he could manage. “Leonard Snart. At your service.”
Doubt it, Barry thought. But he bit back the comment and crossed his arms instead, folding his hands pointedly against his sides, then said, “Yeah. I know.”
Snart’s eyebrows lifted at the slight, and he lifted both hands in surrender. “Ouch.” He dropped his lashes on a private smirk just to flick his gaze back up again, not finished with the taunt yet. “Thought we might have something in common. Civilian to civilian.” 
Even the decades-old camera in the corner could probably pick up the amount of irony dripping from Snart’s voice, but Barry’s warning glance didn’t deter him in the least. 
“What with you being an employee of the CCPD,” Snart said, tilting one hand in Barry’s direction before curling his fingers back to indicate himself, “and me being an employee of the FBI…”  
“Criminal informant's not an employee.”
Barry didn’t jump at Joe’s correction, but it was a near thing. What was it about Snart that made it so easy to forget that there were other people in a room? 
“Tomato, tomato,” Snart drawled. He didn’t so much as glance in Joe’s direction, attention still trained on Barry. “Feds want me to infiltrate the local underground in Metropolis, see if I can't rustle up a few Morello 'associates.’” That time, he did curl his fingers in quotation marks around the word. “I pass along the names, the feds arrest them. Everybody goes home happy.” He paused, then added, “Morellos excluded.”
Barry was tempted to ask Snart how long he’d been waiting for him to ask, but he had more pressing questions. “And you agreed to help, what, out of the goodness of your heart?” 
Snart leaned across the table towards him with a dangerous smile, handcuffs scraping pointedly over the metal surface. 
“Let’s agree to disagree about the goodness of my heart,” he said, and any lingering concerns that Barry might've had about Snart might not know exactly who he was disappeared at the private gleam in his eyes over those words. “But no. Feds had a little chat with the District Attorney here in Central City. Detective West knows the details, but—“ He drummed his fingers on the table, then ticked his head toward one shoulder in a shrug. “Like I said. Everybody goes home happy.”
When Barry looked at Joe for clarification, Joe shifted his hands to his hips before pulling his glare away from Snart, one hand settling pointedly beside his gun.
“The Mayor of Metropolis reached out to our governor," Joe said. "They’re talking pardons.”  
“Yahtzee.”
There were a hundred follow-up questions Barry could’ve asked. But Snart was clearly still enjoying himself too, and Barry wasn't in the mood for more roundabout non-answers. So Barry turned his back on Snart and faced Joe head-on. 
“I still don’t understand,” he said. “What's my role here?” 
“For the record," Joe said, slowly, almost placatingly, "I told Singh this was a terrible idea.”
Joe hedging was never a good sign, and for the first time, Barry felt the stirrings of real apprehension in his chest.
“You told Singh what was a terrible idea?” 
54 notes · View notes