i get that everyone’s like “oooo dick was so teensy when he was robin lol, that must’ve been so weird hahahaha”
but have you SEEEN an eight year old? imagine a full on 3 ft 11 child in a felt costume running around. like not “oh he’s eight” but then robin is built like a full ass teenager. no, none of that. imagine an EIGHT YEAR OLD standing above a crime scene, with chubby cheeks and all going-
“holy homicide batman! looks like whoever did the devilish dead really had it out for this guy!”
THIS NEEDS TO BE A BIGGER PROBLEM.
and it’s the most gruesome, horrific, bloody crime scene ever. and there’s just:
“don’t worry officers! robin on the case! 🤓👦”
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Y'all, I keep seeing HDG posts pop up on my feed, and I can feel it calling me like a fucking siren. I know if I read it, it'll be fucking OVER for me, because I can feel it. I'm not going to be normal about it. I already know I'd be a floret, and I already know I'd enjoy the fucking space lesbian aliens who treat you nice and domme you and everything.
The problem! The fucking! PROBLEM!!! is that I know! It's going to hurt me! I know! It's going to fucking make me yearn my goddamn heart out, and then it's going to be over, and I'll be inside HDG with no way out.
Someone called it info-hazardous material for transfolk, and I can feel the radioactivity from here, read the many warning signs left by past transfolk going "Ah shit, they weren't lying, them broccoli women do be fascinating, now I yearn for the domestication mines", hear the loud buzzing from my geiger counter.
I give myself a week before I give in and read it.
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You know I am your worst nightmare, oh how you love my bloody kiss. 🧛🏻♀️🩸
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🎀⛓ outtakes from shooting for shibari day ⛓🎀
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