#flash funko

[mobius-m-mobius]

(i n / s p)

[marvelsgirl616]

my dc funko pop collection so far :) I’m getting my titans dick and kori funko soon 💕

[am-a-disappointment]

Ok can anyone help a girl out, yknow how kinder has the kinder joy thing with dc and funko pop, does anyone have the codes for the actual funko pop toys that will work here in the uk cuz im losing a lot of brain power trying to figure this out on my own

[comicchannel]

Funko Pop Marvel Comics Agent Venom (Thunderbolts) - 748

Link para compra BR: https://amzn.to/4cpeHVm

Buy here: https://amzn.to/4cnOdUq

[yranigami]

“ON YOUR LEFT!”

🕶️ …who the hell was that?! 😳

[silveragelovechild]

The Batman and The Flash wish you a Funko Christmas

[nunnimushka]

new addition to my figurine collection

I bought Frost Giant Loki

[grimini]

[skrytch]

They even made a Funko of this scene

[skrytch]

So apparently Funko made a special set for that scene in the Flash movie

Is it just me or do the babies look more lifelike is this set than they do in the actual movie?

[kv-wil]

[fratttymatty]

MorphMe

(All characters are 18+)

Elliot Hart was the definition of niche. A 20-year-old computer science major with a stack of anime Blu-rays, a Bernie Sanders sticker on his laptop, and more Funko Pops than friends. He was proudly gay, proudly nerdy, and proudly convinced that his brain was his best asset. His social life consisted mostly of online forums and heated Reddit debates about politics and Star Wars continuity.

One evening, as he scrolled through a lesser-known app store to find some quirky productivity tools, a strange app caught his eye: "MorphMe: Update Your Self". It had zero reviews, a glowy blue icon, and a tagline that read: “Be the you you’ve never met.”

Elliot raised an eyebrow. “Sounds dystopian. Love it.”

He downloaded the app.

Upon opening it, a series of sliders and checkboxes appeared on screen. Gender: Male. Sexual Orientation: Gay. Intelligence: 100%. Appearance: Twink. Personality: Cute.

He chuckled and set everything just right, including a little sparkle emoji next to “cute.” Then he hit “Confirm.”

The screen glitched. Hard.

Lines of code zipped across the screen. A notification popped up: "Applying New Settings..."

Suddenly Elliot’s phone vibrated violently. He dropped it as a bright flash filled the room. When he opened his eyes…

Everything had changed.

He sat up in bed — a bed that was now massive, messy, and covered in protein bar wrappers and gym shorts. The posters of Studio Ghibli were gone, replaced with flags: American flags, Gadsden flags, and a giant Sigma Alpha Theta frat banner. The air smelled like Axe body spray and whey powder.

Elliot… wasn’t Elliot anymore.

He was Chad.

Literally. His phone buzzed with a message:

"Yo CHAD bro, kegger tonight at Mike’s. Bring Stacy 🍑🍒"

He stood and caught his reflection in the mirror. Shaggy dirty-blonde hair, rippling muscles, tanned skin, a backwards cap, and not a hint of irony anywhere. His rainbow pride pin had been replaced by a “Don’t Tread on Me” button. His brain felt… lighter? Not stupid, just… breezy. Like algebra was a foreign language, but chugging beer and flexing came second nature.

“Dude… sick,” he said to no one, admiring his pecs. His voice was a deep, confident baritone — not a trace of his former nasally tone.

He opened his closet: polos, tank tops, khakis, and way too many pairs of Oakleys. No more anime tees. No more cardigans. No more Bernie.

And… he didn’t miss them.

Later that day, Chad strolled across campus, his arm wrapped around Stacy, a blonde with lips so glossy they could reflect sunlight. She was chirping away:

“Baaaabe, we totes have to go to Cancun for spring break! Like, it’s gonna be sooo wild. You, me, margaritas, and like, no thoughts. Just vibes.”

He laughed. “Hell yeah, babe. Cancun sounds hella rad.”

He didn’t remember Elliot. He didn’t remember being gay. All he knew was the gym, the frat, and how Stacy looked in a bikini. He fist-bumped his new bros, cracked open a Bud Light (Ironically, he hated IPAs now), and settled into his life.

He never opened the MorphMe app again.

Because as far as Chad was concerned — this? This was who he was always meant to be.

[comicchannel]

Funko Pop Comic Covers DC The Brave and The Bold Justice League of America - 10

Link para compra BR: https://amzn.to/3Qr3YRY

Buy here: https://amzn.to/3QoF1qd

[dxrlingluv]

Hermes x Modern Reader pls! Gn is fine but can reader be like totally Gen Z coded?

If I’m stuck here with you

A/N : Oh well. Hermes getting the view of what the future would be like with the help of the Reader? Count me in. Hermes art is from Zieru!

WARNING : Mordern!Reader, Hermes doesn’t know how to get back to his own time. Generally Platonic.

Word Count : 2k

The first sign that your Tuesday was about to go completely off the rails wasn't the ominous rumble of thunder from a cloudless sky (you lived in a city, weird weather was basically a bi-weekly subscription). No, it was the fact that there was a dude. In your living room. A dude who definitely did not have a key, and whose fashion sense screamed "lost my way to a Renaissance Faire, but make it ✨divine✨."

You were mid-scroll on TikTok, a half-eaten bag of spicy chips balanced precariously on your chest, your brain pleasantly numb from a curated stream of capybara videos and questionable life hacks. One minute, it was a golden retriever struggling with a lime, the next, a faint shimmer of gold light near your IKEA Kallax shelf, and then him.

He was tall, lean, and exuded an aura of someone who probably thought "running errands" meant literally running. His chiton (you vaguely remembered the term from a history class you mostly slept through) was an impractical shade of white, edged with gold, and he had these little winged sandals. Like, actual wings. On his shoes. And a staff thingy – a caduceus, your brain helpfully supplied, probably from the same dusty mental archive as "chiton."

You blinked. The capybara video was still playing silently on your phone.

"Uh," you started, eloquently. "Did my landlord finally decide to hire a really extra singing telegram to tell me my rent's overdue? 'Cause my guy, the gold lamé is a choice, but the message could've been an email."

The man turned, his movements fluid and impossibly fast, like a hummingbird on an espresso bender. His eyes, a startling shade of gold, widened slightly as they took in your state: pajama pants with a questionable stain, an oversized band t-shirt, and the aforementioned chip situation.

"A... singing telegram?" he repeated, his voice smooth and melodic, like wind chimes but with more bass. He had a slight accent you couldn't quite place, but it definitely wasn't from around here. "I am Hermes, messenger of the gods, son of Zeus, herald of Olympus!" He struck a pose, staff held aloft. It would have been impressive if he wasn't standing next to your wilting houseplant, Bartholomew.

You slowly sat up, chips cascading onto your duvet. "Okay, werk. And I'm Y/N, purveyor of lukewarm takes and existential dread, child of... well, my parents. We good?" You paused. "Wait, Hermes? Like, the Hermes? Greek mythology Hermes? Bro, are you for real?"

He frowned, a slight furrow appearing between his perfectly sculpted brows. "You address a god, mortal. And yes, the Hermes. Though I confess, this realm is... unfamiliar. One moment, I was delivering a decree to Hades—a rather tedious affair, he’s been so broody since Persephone started her ‘self-care season’ topside—and the next, a blinding flash, and… this." He gestured vaguely at your collection of Funko Pops. "Is this a new wing of the Underworld? It's surprisingly... cluttered. And smells faintly of artificial cheese."

"Rude," you muttered, brushing chip dust off your shirt. "This is my humble abode. My crib. My legally-distinct-from-a-cardboard-box apartment. And you're telling me you, like, actually yeeted yourself from ancient Greece into my living room?"

Hermes tilted his head. "Yeeted?"

"Teleported. Poofed. Arrived unannounced like my Aunt Carol when she smells free food."

"Ah. Then yes, I suppose I 'yeeted'." A faint smile played on his lips, and you had to admit, even if he was completely delulu, the guy had charisma. Like, an unhealthy amount of it. The kind of rizz that could convince you to invest in beachfront property on Mars.

"No cap?" you pressed, narrowing your eyes.

"Have you not seen my cap, mortal?" Hermes said, looking genuinely confused while tapping his winged cap. “Though I have seen some... interesting headwear in my travels through the ages.”

"It means 'no lie,' my dude. For real?"

"For real," he confirmed, a hint of amusement in his voice. "I am as bewildered as you are, perhaps more so. This… technology." He gestured to your phone, which was now showing a makeup tutorial. "It glows. Does it contain an oracle?"

"Nah, fam," you said, picking up your phone. "It contains crippling social anxiety, cat videos, and the definitely not useless knowledge of humanity, mostly used for arguing with strangers. Same diff as an oracle, basically." You swiped away the tutorial. "So, you're a god. A literal, actual god. From the myths. Currently chilling in my less-than-mythical apartment."

Hermes nodded, his golden eyes scanning your room with a mixture of curiosity and faint disdain. "Precisely. And you, Y/N, are my first point of contact in this… vibrant, yet perplexing era."

"Vibrant is one word for it," you snorted. "So, what's the tea, Hermes? Why are you here? Did Zeus get lost on his way to another 'swan-related incident' and send you to find him?"

Hermes winced. "Father's… avian escapades are a subject best avoided. As for my presence, I believe it to be an accident. A magical mishap, perhaps. Or maybe Loki’s pranking me across pantheons again. That guy owes me big time."

You processed this. A god. In your apartment. Because of a magical oopsie. Your Tuesday was officially off the leash and running wild in a field of pure, unadulterated chaos. And honestly? Low-key, you were kind of living for it.

"Okay, so, Mr. Messenger God," you began, swinging your legs off the bed. "First things first: wardrobe. No offense, but the chiton and winged kicks are a bit… much for a trip to the bodega. You're gonna get so many weird looks. People will think you're doing some avant-garde performance art."

Hermes looked down at his attire. "Is it not… fashionable?"

"Buddy, it's iconic, it's a serve, it's giving 'legendary artifact chic.' But for blending in? Not so much. Unless you're trying to start a new trend, in which case, go off, king." You rummaged through your closet, which was a chaotic explosion of band tees, thrift store finds, and at least three hoodies you'd "borrowed" indefinitely. "Right, let's see. You look like a medium? Or are gods, like, universally sized?"

He watched, bemused, as you pulled out a pair of dark jeans and a plain black t-shirt. "These… simple garments?"

"Trust the process," you said, handing them over. "The bathroom's over there. Try not to smite my rubber ducky, he's emotionally fragile."

While Hermes was wrestling with the concept of denim, you frantically tidied up, shoving stray socks under the couch and stacking dirty mugs in the sink. If a god was going to be your unexpected roommate, even temporarily, the least you could do was make the place look less like a goblin's nest.

He emerged a few minutes later, looking… surprisingly normal. The modern clothes fit him well, though he looked slightly uncomfortable, tugging at the hem of the t-shirt. The winged sandals were still on, though. Baby steps.

"Okay, not bad," you said, circling him. "The shoes are still a statement piece, but we can work on that. You clean up nice, Speedy Gonzales."

"Speedy Gonzales?"

"Never mind. Pop culture reference. You'll pick it up. Or not. It's fine." You grabbed your keys. "Right, mission one: acquire sustenance that isn't artificially cheese-flavored. And maybe figure out how to un-yeet you back to Olympus before Zeus starts blaming me for his missing messenger."

The trip to the local grocery store was an experience. Hermes was fascinated by everything. Automatic doors: "Sorcery!", the sheer variety of packaged foods: "So many choices! Do mortals truly consume these brightly colored squares?", and the self-checkout: “A mechanical servant that demands tribute! Astounding!". You had to physically restrain him from trying to "liberate" a pineapple he claimed was "too majestic to be confined."

"Dude, chill," you hissed, pulling him towards the cereal aisle. "You can't just 'liberate' produce. That's called shoplifting. And trust me, the mortals who run this place? Way scarier than Hades on a bad day when it comes to their five-finger discount policy."

He looked genuinely contrite. "My apologies. Old habits. On Olympus, if one desires a golden apple, one simply… acquires it."

"Yeah, well, here, acquiring gets you a talking-to from a guy named Kevin who peaked in high school and takes his job way too seriously. Now, do you want Froot Loops or existential dread in a box, aka Raisin Bran?"

Back in your apartment, Hermes watched, captivated, as you made instant ramen. "You boil water… with lightning trapped in a metal box?" he asked, peering at your electric kettle.

"It's called electricity, my divine dude. Kind of our version of Zeus's party trick, but less likely to incinerate you." You handed him a bowl. "Slurp carefully. It's hotter than Hephaestus's forge."

He took a tentative bite, his eyes widening. "Remarkable! Such complex flavors from a desiccated brick and powder!"

"That's the magic of MSG, baby."

As the day wore on, you found yourself in the bizarre position of explaining modern life to an ancient god. You showed him how to use your laptop: "This glowing tablet… it shows me the world! And so many cats!", introduced him to the concept of memes: "So, these are… illustrated jokes? Often self-deprecating? Mortals are a curious species.", and even tried to explain TikTok trends, which mostly resulted in him looking utterly bewildered but gamely attempting a few dance moves with a grace that was frankly unfair.

"Your 'vibes'," he said at one point, after you'd used the term for the fifth time, "are they a form of emotional aura?"

"Basically, yeah. Like, your vibe right now is 'ancient deity trying to understand a modern gremlin.' It's a whole mood."

He chuckled, a genuine, warm sound. "And your vibe, Y/N, is… surprisingly patient and amusingly irreverent."

You felt a weird warmth spread through your chest. "Hey, someone's gotta keep the gods humble, right? Can't have you all thinking you're the main characters all the time." Though, you had to admit, Hermes had some serious main character energy.

Later, as dusk settled, painting your small apartment in hues of orange and purple, a comfortable silence fell between you. Hermes was staring out the window, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"This world is… loud," he said softly. "And fast. And filled with so many fleeting things. Yet, there's a certain… tenacity to it. To your kind."

"We're stubborn little weirdos, that's for sure," you agreed, leaning against the doorframe. "We make a lot of noise, collect too much stuff, and spend way too much time looking at glowing rectangles. But, y'know, we try."

He turned to you, a soft smile on his lips. "You, Y/N, are more than just 'trying.' You navigate this chaos with a strange sort of… grace. And an unending supply of peculiar phrases."

"It's a gift," you said with a shrug, though your cheeks felt a little warm. "So, any closer to figuring out how to get you back to your regularly scheduled god-duties? Or are you stuck being my platonic, mythological roommate for the foreseeable future?"

Hermes sighed, running a hand through his perfectly tousled hair (how did he do that?). "I confess, the way back eludes me. The energies here are… different. Scrambled. It's like trying to find a specific whisper in a hurricane." He looked at you, his golden eyes surprisingly earnest. "But, if I am to be… stranded, for a time… I cannot think of a more… entertainingly perplexing guide than you."

You grinned. "Aw, Hermes, you old softie. Don't worry, we'll figure it out. Or we'll just teach you how to play Mario Kart and order pizza. Either way, it's gonna be an adventure." You paused. "Just, uh, try not to accidentally smite anyone, okay? The paperwork would be a nightmare."

He laughed, the sound echoing pleasantly in your small living room. "I shall endeavor to restrain my divine impulses, [Y/N]. For now, at least."

Maybe having a god crash on your couch wasn't the worst thing that could happen on a Tuesday. It was definitely going to make your next "what I did this summer" story a lot more interesting. And who knew? Maybe you'd even get him to ditch the winged sandals eventually. Or, better yet, get a matching pair. That would be a lewk.

No cap.

[tiger-in-the-flightdeck]

Almost the exact same one in FMA #8. What do you wanna bet Dan Mora has it on his real desk?

this tiny barry thing in the bg from batman/superman: world's finest #13