#he’s coming back!!!!!

[vvitchering]

In 37 short days we will once again have Din Djarin on our screens. He’s finally returning from war. I will not apologize for the feral being I will become beginning on March 1.

[marypsue]

Keep seeing that post where OP starts like 'Thinking about...grieving the undead' and then adds on about like. Real life situations where people have not died but have left your life and you would have reason to grieve them.

All respect, that's an important concept, but that is not what I am thinking about when I read 'grieving the undead'.

[pbnmj]

THE NOIR-HOBIE INTERACTIONS THAT I MADE UP IN MY MIND ARE VERY REAL TO ME. SONY PLEASE PICK UP WHAT I’M PUTTING DOWN!!!

[platoapproved]

louis + cruelty

[heilos]

I don't want you to feel like you're nothing

[frownyalfred]

okay so there were a ton of posts/fics about the hilarious "fuck/maryy/kill" Bruce Wayne & Justice League scenario (I read them all, amazing comedic timing y'all) but to me, the most hilarious scenario is the JL play fuck/marry/kill, Bruce's name comes up, and half of the people in the room in the know immediately turn bright red and refuse to keep playing and no one will explain why.

Hal: "...and I would fuck Bruce Wayne. No, I would kill him. Nah, actually I'd fuck him, who am I kidding."

Clark: choking on his coffee and rapidly turning an alarming shade of red

Diana: "An....interesting choice, of course."

J'onn: "Shall we play a different game?"

Hal: "Wait, what? that was the game, wasn't it?"

Ollie: "I'm with Hal, I'd fuck the shit out of Bruce. He's the easiest guy I know, it's not like it'll exactly be a hardship for him."

*every single person in the room turns to Batman, standing in the corner*

Clark: "Wow! I think I just heard someone drop an ice cream cone in Guatemala. Batman, I'll need a team up."

Ollie: "For ice cream?"

Diana, standing up and putting herself in between Bruce and Hal: "This sounds dire. I will also assist."

Clark, under his breath, one hand on Bruce's back: "It's not worth it. He's not worth it. Come on. Walk it off."

[loganhowlctt]

HUGH JACKMAN as THE WOLVERINE aka James 'Logan' Howlett (2000-2024)

X-Men (2000) X2: X-Men United (2003) X-Men: The Last Stand (2006) X-Men Origins: Wolverine (2009) X-Men: First Class (2011) The Wolverine (2013) X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) X-Men: Apocalypse (2016) Logan (2017) Deadpool & Wolverine (2024)

[mikeluciraphgabe]

Jason hitting the panic button in his sleep cuz he was still in his uniform and rolled over but because he’s in one of his safe houses the signal is all messed up and the Batfam is in chaos trying to find him but Jason is just “zzzz” the whole time

[chloesimaginationthings]

Jeremy Fitzgerald bravery in FNAF 2 worries Michael..

[namespara]

If Cazador ever commented on Astarions companions (instead of just ignoring them which ultimately leads to his downfall) he'd be pretty flabbergasted to see the durge he definitly has heard of innit

[beybuniki]

dabi day!!!

[siyelius]

he’s like that weird uncle that won’t stop randomly showing up for family events despite cutting him off 23 years ago for felony fraud charges

[shotmrmiller]

ghost getting himself a cute, soft girl he doesn't talk about much but is clearly obsessed with and price just thinks it's nice he's finally settled down, approves of the home he's made for himself, definitely approves of the one he's taken for himself.

soap asks kyle if he's seen you and he says, "yep. lovely bird he's got tucked away in her little dollhouse. makes great food, too." soap swears there's a subtle shift in his tone when he says "lovely", a hint of something deeper that flickers in his eyes for just a moment. soap simply sucks on his teeth, letting it slide. (although he knows that kyle's always been one to appreciate the good things in life.)

interest gnaws at him, a persistent itch he can't scratch. price likes you just fine, as does kyle. well what about him? he decides to bite the bullet and goes to simon with a knot between his brows, the corners of his lips tugged downwards. they've shared clothes, bullets, beds. if the other two got to meet you, why can't he?

"ya can come over for dinner on tonight. she'd 'ave my neck if she didn't formally meet ya anyway."

soap then asks, out of genuine curiosity more than anything else, if simon would have kept you in the dark from him hadn't he brought you up himself.

"ya meet 'er when i want ya to, boy, and not a moment before." the tone he takes is unmistakeable. his words are a command, not a suggestion, and soap instantly knows to not push further.

soap nods. "ah'll be there."

"course ya will. she'd be terribly disappointed otherwise."

yeah, he'd hate to have that.

soap sits in the living room, the soft glow of the lamp casting a warm light over the cozy place. with a full stomach and an unfastened belt, nursing a glass of kentucky. he can't remember the last time he ate that well or that much.

maybe it's the alcohol that loosens his tongue, or the fact that he wishes he also had a sweet little thing to keep at his side just like simon's doing with you now, but the thoughts he's been mulling over all evening since he first saw you tumble out of his mouth.

"while ah can attest to yer taste in sweethearts, can't say much about your alcohol. bourbon, LT?" he says, chest warm.

simon's arm tightens around your hips, fingers splayed possessively over your thigh. he shrugs, completely unbothered by the backhanded compliment. "can't be perfect in everythin', can we, sergeant?"

soap's cheeks burn furiously hot when you come to his defense with a smack of your palm onto simon's chest. "be nice to johnny. he's got a face that make up for some of his other flaws."

the teasing lilt in your voice unashamedly gets his southern blood pumping. he can't help it if certain things stir when someone as pretty as you look at him like that. soap swirls the amber liquid gently in the glass while keeping his limpid eyes on you, not even trying to hide the fact that his gaze hasn't wavered since your cheeky little comment.

you then whisper something in simon's ear, your cupped hand not even half the size of his head and soap has to rearrange himself from the outside when your teeth catch your bottom lip. simon looks up at you then, eyes heavy and half lidded, and a smirk plays at the corners of his mouth.

"'m not sure, love. you'll just 'ave to ask 'im yourself. go on."

you open that sweet mouth of yours, but simon cuts you off with a decisive wave of his hand. "no. you know how to ask for things."

your reaction to that is visceral, and you're on your knees faster than his alcohol-muddled brain can comprehend. don't look down 'er shirt, don't look down 'er shirt, don't-

"johnny, will you touch my pussy?"

he splutters at your question, completely taken aback, but it seems you're not done just yet.

"hands to yourself, sergeant. tha' not all."

you pout at simon, one that earns you a look that promises consequence, but do as he says.

"will you touch my pussy, johnny? pretty please?"

[parkore]

made a guy btw

[bruciemilf]

Alfred honestly can’t say shit about Bruce bringing in strays, because what if the Waynes got him the same way?

I genuinely can’t recall HOW Alfred, British special forces extraordinaire, ended up working for Gotham’s (scary) sweethearts.

In my mind, he came to them bleeding.

There’s a tang of bitterness pooling in his gut. Soldiers don’t have friends. They have guns. And he’s all out.

Just when Alfred thought all is in peril, a tiny little hand gently covers a nasty bullet hole on his abdomen.

The first thing Alfred thinks about is: ‘Jesus, this kid has scary eyes.’

“Hi, Alfred.”

“…How do you—“

“Bruce! Jesus FUCKING Christ, I swear, I’m not paying for your ransom next time you run o—…What the fuck is that?”

If there’s one thing about Thomas that Alfred will never forget is his voice; The bass , so chasmic and powerful it could shake the whole world, and the burning care in his eyes despite his vulgarity.

Bruce, — who’s the tiniest bundle of a boy Alfred witnessed, is yanked up by his father’s strong hands, squeezed to his chest carefully. “Hurt,” he says. There’s a tiny, red handprint on Thomas’ shirt.

“Yeah, I didn’t notice,” Thomas mumbling, looking around.

Maybe local gangs? The bullet point is too precise, too calculated. “Who the hell are you?”

Alfred, with his raspy breath, says, “I’m the terribly rude bloke dying on your doorstep, I’m afraid. Alfred Pennyworth. At your service.”

For a guy who’s about to bleed his last, he sounds awfully sarcastic.

“Yeah, wise guy, no one’s dying on my kid’s birthday. Bruce, tell Dotty to prep up the basement. And tell your mama to get my Budlight out of the cooler. Jesus Christ.”

Alfred ends up hoisted on this man’s back. Thomas asks if he has anyone he wants to call? Anyone that’ll come pick him up? Anyone to bury him, if it comes to it.

Alfred whispers he does not.

Thomas sighs. “Well. Kid‘a been asking for a playmate.”

[magpiedraws]

Jon he's really trying here cut him a break

(tumblr crunched the resolution of this comic a lot rip)