#//he's talking in his sleep

[rrat-king]

i cannot be normal about them alsdkfasldkhfajklshfklasdfhjdslfdsj

[azulhood]

Danny was tired, like 'I feel it in my bones and soul' tired. And he didn't want sleep at home because there's only so many nights, he could spend lying awake making sure his heart was beating in case his parents checked on him.

Currently he was flying aimlessly not really taking in his surroundings, but he could neither sleep while flying or fly forever. Normally he'd sleep over at Sam or Tucker's, but the Mansons had made it clear that he wasn't welcome at their house anymore and Tucker was grounded. Both would sneak him in if he asked, but he didn't want them to get in trouble for him. Which leads him to decide between his two choices, sleeping in a graveyard, or sleeping in a forest.

The graveyard was a little crowded with all the ghosts that called it home but he could probably find a quiet spot to sleep. The forest had a great view of the stars but was filled with traps from both his parents and the GIW after tracking his ecto-signature. Both options weren't appealing, but he wasn't about to chance sleeping on the roof of his house again. There were too many ghost detecting guns attached to it now. Danny sighed, graveyard it was, at least the ecto from all the shades/ghosts would hide him well enough. Decision made, now all he had to do was make his way over there. But first, where the heck was he? Danny looked around at the unfamiliar grey sky and gargoyles littered around and realized he had no clue where he was. He must have flown too far away from Amity without noticing...Again. It was really becoming a bad habit. Danny stared down at the city's inhabitants that were going home or heading to nightshifts or whatever and dreaded the long flight back to his town. And maybe it was ghost instinct, or maybe it was just his exhaustion. But his brain suggested 'What if I just possess someone?' And to him that seemed like a perfectly logical train of thought. He wouldn't control their body or anything, just sleep in their skin...That did not make it sound better at all. Before he could think twice, someone left a general store, arms filled with stuff and somehow projecting an aura of safety. The two thoughts of 'They look comfy' and 'screw it' clashed together in his head as he made the very stupid decision of performing a swan drive right into the someone. "WHAT THE-" "Don't worry, I'll be gone by morning I just need to sleep" Danny cut off the persons freakout-he should really get their name at some point- he would have explained more but the sleep gods had already done their job. This left one very confused, scared, and freaked out Batkid.

[rainpunk07]

hear me out, danny speaking russian (dc x dp hc)

so i was just watching a video about space, right? allegedly, turns out if you (an american) wanna board the international space station you must speak russian fluently since the only way to get there is by a russian shuttle and pilot (nasa apparently ended their own shuttle program way back when??) (don’t quote me on this)

so picture danny learning russian at a relatively young age for the sole hope of going to space and such, and it coming out every once in a while when he’s mumbling or something like that (it’s basically second nature to him)

so danny ends up at gotham for whatever reason (demon twins, reveal gone wrong, idc, they’re all cool) and he wants to start anew, so he pretends to only speak russian?? ig?? it’d make for some funny/interesting BatFam interactions i suppose

i don’t know where i was going with this but i want to read prompts of danny speaking russian

[mythtakens]

✨Buck's baggage✨

[ash-short-for-trash]

The fact that both Obi-Wan and Ahsoka think that the other died during order 66 and spend years mourning the other when they both survived is so heartbreaking

[technically-human]

To relive a death

@williamvapespeare commissioned me to draw anything with the boys being gentle to each other and Edwin comforting Charles in general, so we went with this!

The idea of a character who is dead having to go through it once a year is very dear and near to my heart (how many dead blorbos do you have, I hear you ask. Too many) but at least these two have each other

[dreamyluigi]

something something luigi doesn't remember the final events of spm or dimentio at all after he's defeated (but mario remembers everything)

[crybaby-bkg]

I think Deku has a bit of a mean streak, actually. he’s no Bakugou—that’s for sure—but he’s not this innocent, sweet angel baby that the media has painted him out to be. but you only catch it when you least expect it, when you’re pushing his nerves, when the stakes to everything around him are high, when he’s tired of endless sleepless nights and just—snaps.

“Oh?” you go, grin unfurling like some grinch, chin resting on your hands as you leer at him from across his expansive desk. “You’re mean.” your words are teasing, a snarl that curls your mouth up. Deku stutters, eyes going wide, jaw snapping shut in surprise as he tries to think back on how rude he just sounded.

“No, I’m not—I mean, you wouldn’t stop and I just—there’s a lot on my plate right now—and you just—you keep on—I’m not—I’m not mean.” He’s sputtering, hands all over the place, the glasses perched on the bridge of his nose falling even lower with how he jabbers on and on. it’s endearing really, to see how he tries to upkeep his image of being so kind and understanding, even though his nostrils just flared at you. and his eyebrows turned down and he gritted at you, his hands were balled into fists, his words were so nasty, so ugly, so unbecoming for Deku.

you liked it. loved it even—vowed to get him like this every single fucking second that you could.

you pick and poke at him whenever you see him, teasing him and pulling at him. pushing him around even though the hero is so much stronger than you, so much bigger. and he lets you, tries to defend himself but—that’s not what you want. you want the ugliness, the snark, the mean.

he snaps, eventually, when you least expect it. grabs you up in black whip when you go to push him against the wall for the third time in only a minute, his eyes suddenly dark, the aura of the room suddenly charged.

“That’s what I was looking for.” you whisper to him, the grin spreading your face quickly dissipating in only seconds when you become the prey. when you become the one pushed up against the wall with teeth at your neck, a hand in your underwear, bullying your hole with too thick fingers.

“Why do you want me to act like this? Be so mean to you, huh?” he sounds so frustrated with himself, with you, growling and nipping and licking when you don’t answer quick enough. but your breath is caught in your lungs because finally—finally, did you get what you wanted. it just took a little bit of pushing, you suppose.

[phoenxwright]

[turtleblogatlast]

AU where Leo is trapped in the Prison Dimension for months instead of minutes and the only way he gets by with his sanity intact is through recording himself talking to his wrist comm.

When they finally manage to get Leo back and make him rest up to heal, Donnie can’t help but listen to the recordings left behind.

He’s not sure what exactly he’s expecting, only that his subconscious is screaming at him that it has to be heartbreaking, that it has to be torturous.

Instead, what Donnie is subject to is a full thousand hours’ worth of Jupiter Jim and Lou Jitsu crossover fanfiction. More than one part in the series. Spanning well over a million words.

(The worst part is that it’s actually good.)

[choccy-milky]

MC doing what we all wished we could do (aka napping on the floor with ominis )😴💕

[desmond-and-the-dead]

That itching discomfort from Magnus' magic only increased in its irritation as Desmond's wounds healed. Bar the wooziness accompanying his blood loss, he was right as rain... apart from the creeping blaze upon his nervous system. His eyes finally pinched shut, brow furrowed as he willed the rest of his body to remain still. Magnus didn't need him interrupting, and he knew that well enough.

But the feeling of Thaddeus bolting upright was probably the last thing he was fully aware of before the adrenaline fully left his body, allowing him to slip into a surprisingly restless state of unconsciousness. Because his mind was plagued with so many visions of the evening. Chance and the vampire. Monroe holding Cory all bloody and mangled. Marcus manipulating his blood bond with Chance in front of all of them. The gnashing of teath and tearing of flesh... his flesh. And the blood bond of his own that truly cemented his place amongst the most damned souls that still walked the earth. He'd condemned them all. And they would likely be taken. All because he thought he could keep his love a secret, his life a secret. What a foolish arse he'd made himself into. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. "I'm... sorry."

Thaddeus stared back into Desmond’s pain filled eyes. He could feel him fading. Could feel it with the slowing of his heart. Feel their broken, fraying bond continue to unravel. And he had a brief moment of contemplation. Would it be better for Desmond if he simply let him go? That thought brought out so much pain from his chest he almost cried out from it.

Desmond was in trouble. Whoever this enemy was. They had returned him in pieces. He’d never be safe. Thaddeus couldn’t protect him. His magic wasn’t built for that. He had powerful friends but could Thaddeus trust them to keep Desmond safe? Thaddeus didn’t trust anyone.

When Desmond’s features tightened, Thaddeus held his hand tighter. He almost turned to snarl at Magnus for whatever he was doing to cause it. But the fear of Desmond fading in that moment kept his eyes glued to the necromancer. “Shh.. “ He hushed him, stroking his blood stained cheek with his thumb.

More blue waves of power covered them. And Thaddeus didn’t understand why Magnus was projecting onto him too. But then he felt it. The rush of light pulsing through their bond. And it filled all the tears in it. Patching it back together again. Thaddeus surged to his feet as the bond pulled taut, completely whole again. He hadn’t known Magnus could do that.

Then, he watched as the physical wounds he could see on Desmond did the same thing. The power climbed up his body starting at his feet. And the slow, painful beat of Desmond’s heart started to beat steadily again. Thaddeus almost collapsed onto Desmond but stopped himself just before he fell. He hovered over Desmond. Just staring at him with shock and amazement.

Magnus did collapse, back into Thaddeus’ old easy chair. He covered his face with his hand and Thaddeus briefly considered moving to go check on him. But Desmond still had a hold of his hand. And he couldn’t have moved even if he’d wanted to.

[paunchsalazar]

they were sleeping together at this point

[pastellpeachz]

More lil crew and they're sleepy

[sgt-tombstone]

I get why everyone loves to draw Ghost with narrowed eyes (be it from anger, exhaustion, etc) but there’s just something about Ghost with wide eyes that gets me every time…

[shotmrmiller]

forcing your presence onto simon late at night because insomnia and a cup of tea always helps, or so they say, but you were taught better than to not offer others some but now the steaming cup is just sitting on the table to cool while you carefully sip on yours.

he doesn't look at it, you, nothing. keeps his eyes fixed on whatever he's doing, maybe cleaning his gun or something. fine. what matters is that you did your part.

and it eventually becomes routine. every night, like clockwork, he's darkening a corner in the coffee room and you've got a kettle warming. and every night, he ignores everything in his peripheral.

until he doesn't. it starts slow. you're already headed for the door, hand covering your yawn when he picks up the mug and takes a sniff. then, it's the tiniest sip, as if it's got teeth. come morning, the mug you used and his are clean, drying on a dish mat.

the following night, he waits for you to put it on the table before grabbing it. "you've a shit hand," he mutters. "left to steep too long. more bitter than the cigars price smokes."

okay. bastard. the next pot is too bland. calls it dog water. but he drinks all of it just the same. little to no sugar, splash of milk. the stare he leveled your way when he added milk could've destroyed the block.

"secrets safe with me, lieutenant. swear it."

unless he's tearing your ego into tatters with his scathing tea critique, he says nothing else. listens well enough, though. maybe. his eyes look blank most of the time. but he lets you ramble without interruption about nonsensical stuff; your day, your job, soap being the usual nuisance.

it's nice.

and then you fall ill. nothing water and cocooning yourself with your bedsheets for a day or three can't fix.

but then there's a very violent knocking on your door, hard enough to rattle it in its hinges, flaring the already painful throbbing that sits behind your eyes. no matter how hard you try to tell them to piss off, they don't.

"open the door."

now you've got a 6'2+ man barreling into your bedroom, turning his unnerving gaze your way. his eyes flick to your runny nose, chapped lips and wrinkled sleeping clothes.

"you're sick." brilliant observation. truly a man worth his sniper position.

"yes. i'm quite-" your words come to settle behind your clenched teeth as you watch him dig into his front pockets and pull out crinkled tea bags. and open your cabinets because now you're the visitor and he the (g)host.

you'd rather drink battery acid than another one of his brews. it made your eyes prick with tears, burned as it went down, warmed your chest. it was lukewarm when you drank it.

(he clears up a space on your foot table, and by clear up i mean use an arm to shove everything off the edge so he can continue to clean his weapons. has your couch always been that small?)