#'guess this is my son now'

[varpusvaras]

I think that instead of being super apprehensive about Jason and him dating Roy, Oliver should take one look at him and then one look at Bruce and go oh, I'm about to be so annoying.

Oliver starts being so nice to Jason. So nice. Inviting him to family dinners. Giving him both his hero communications and personal phone number and telling him to call whenever he needs something. He gives him new tech and keeps updating his weapons and armor. He helps with missions and clean up and says nothing if Jason is a little rough, apart from patting him on the back and saying good job. He starts keeping his picture inside his wallet and has other pictures of Jason, Roy and Lian framed in the house and tells everyone about him. He starts calling him son-in-law first and then just son and then calls him a Harper and eventually a Queen.

At first it was just to annoy Bruce, but after the first time he tells Jason that he did a good job and Jason starts to tear up a little, Oliver goes oh no, oh I'm actually doing this now. This my boy now. I don't care if he and Roy break up or something, this is my boy now.

Bruce still thinks he's just doing it for the sole purpose of pissing him off, though, and he is so fucking mad. The Justice League meetings have turned into a Cold War zone.

Bruce starts to being so nice to Jason as well, forcing himself to ignore some of the more outrageous things Jason does, and Jason is so, so fucking confused.

[pilkypills]

[egophiliac]

oh no, I love them

(super quick doodles done between other stuff, there will be better things later I promise :')

[screwpinecaprice]

They won the lottery and inspired by Mr. Greg, they spent it all in one day by committing identity fraud.

Idk I took a second job and my brain is so fried right now. 😭

[turtleblogatlast]

No but like every time I think about Splinter and what he had to go through just to keep the boys alive, my heart hurts for him so badly. Is he perfect? No not at all, but none of them are and by god does he love his sons.

The fact that all of them are alive, and grew to thrive despite the circumstances surrounding them is a testament of how much Splinter loves his boys. He raised four babies following the most traumatic time of his life, all alone with nothing but the sewers to house them (to hide them.) I feel like he’s not given the credit he deserves for all he’s done.

And I get that it’s easy to hold up his flaws and faults when it comes to parenting, I myself like looking into them because flawed characters are super interesting and said flaws make them more realistic and engaging, but he tries, and again, so many others would have given up on the boys or failed along the way but Splinter didn’t.

He’s their father, for all his faults he did his damndest to make sure they survived.

[futurepastme]

SecretConsort!merlin

I had this fic idea before falling asleep, I don't know if anything like this already exists (probably). Be warned that I didn't revise this once.

First of all Arthur and Merlin absolutely love each other, but they start off as friends with benefits. Until one day Arthur can't handle anymore

“Say you're mine. Say you'll be mine and no one else's”

“I'll be yours as long as you're also mine”

And yeah, they go exclusive after that (they already were but now was official) and give them a few months or years, but eventually Merlin becomes Arthur's secret consort and they are officially official, mother's sigil and all, because like I said, they Love each other.

Anyways, eventually Uther finds out they are together and he gets tomato-red furious, and only calms down when Arthur agrees to marry for political reasons, whomever Uther chooses for him.

The thing is, Uther kind of learns to like them as a couple, not that they go all out and about telling the world, because is still supposed to be a secret, but Uther sees the sweet glances and the smiles, and most of all he sees how willingly they are to die for each other and it just sits right with him. Uther thinks Merlin makes a good consort for his son and is in no hurry to marry him off anymore.

But of course, nothing really stays the same, and the day comes where the only way Uther finds to keep peace with another kingdom is to marry Arrhur off to some other king's daughter, and he hates it because he knows and he approves of his relationship with the skinny boy that makes his son so happy.

And then comes the heartbreaking scene of Arthur telling Merlin the news and the even more heartbreaking scene before Arthur's wedding day

“I won't be able to be only yours anymore”

“Maybe not, but I'll always be yours”

And they cry through the night holding each other tightly as if the world were to end, because it just might.

And the next day, Uther can freaking see it 

They are both behaving, no one is causing a scene but from up close you can notice how bloodshot their eyes are. And he can see it in the way they refuse to make eye contact, he can see it as he sees Merlin silently crying as Arthur shows the crowd their future queen.

And Uther hates it.

And is not like the new princess is a horrible person but she just doesn't like Merlin, she doesn't want to share her husband. She makes Merlin leave Arthur's Chambers and forbids him to follow Arthur all day unnecessarily, but she knows she can't win.

Not when the King himself gives Merlin royal chambers on the same floor as theirs, and especially not when Arthur doesn't spend the night on his.

Arthur has duties, though. Husband duties. And he has to fulfill them and it kills Merlin.

And Uther can just watch helplessly as Merlin's gaze follows Arthur and his wife and he stays behind as the servant he is supposed to be and is so unfair because she doesn't even love Arthur 

And they keep growing apart but keep fighting for each other because they are fucking made to be together so they still try even if the best they can do for days is hold each other for a few minutes just breathing each other in because that's home and that's where they are meant to be

It continues for a while until one day comes where Arthur goes out without Merlin

And at the same time while he is away, his wife finds herself with child, and everyone's so happy and Merlin just has to leave for a while because he can't handle it

But again, things never go as planned and the knights return with Arthur's body, because something went wrong 

And you can honestly choose what it was, a curse, a spell, bandits, a boar, a mercenary, it doesn't matter because Arthur is dead now and Merlin wasn't there to save him

And now Uther has to deal not only with the death of his only son, and with his widow wife with child but he'll be the one to tell his consort and is so devastating 

Merlin's face turns from sad to haunting and it's like the world ended and Uther can see himself in him, he can see the death of his love weighting on Merlin the way it weighed on him, if not worse

Arthur's body stays inside the castle for two days before the burial so the people of the castle can say their goodbyes and no one has seen Merlin, they are not even sure he went to see Arthur 

And everyone is concerned about the poor widow all dressed in black, she is sad, sure, but the tears rolling from her eyes are just for show, Arthur was barely a friend, but he was good to her

Arthur's body is being prepared for removal, overseen by his family and close friends before the public ceremony took place, and that's when it happens 

Merlin just barges in and stops everything. 

He's spent two days working in it, and he just doesn't care anymore, as long as it works

And Uther once again just watches as this skinny boy fills the room with golden light, and he can't even care to do anything because honestly he would do everything for his love if he could 

And everyone watches as the light coming from Merlin starts being absorbed by Arthur through his chest and is so beautiful to watch

Arthur starts to sit up as Merlin lowers down and they just have a moment, a small second where they are both there and Merlin just rests his head against Arthur's 

“I would do it again. I would do it as many times as needed because I love you and you are my everything”

“Merlin?”

And then the light is gone, and so is Merlin 

And Uther watched as his widowed son holds his lover's body, just like he did over twenty years ago

[roseworth]

i love this one. btw. if you even care.

[puppetmaster13u]

I was looking at Klarion's design,

And started comparing it to Vlad's ghost form. Corpse pale (sometimes blue tinted)? Yep. Horn-hair? Yep. Red eyes? Yep. Cat? Yep. Eyeliner? Also yep. Suit? What do you know. Fire? Yeeep.

So anyway, what I'm saying is Klarion as de-aged Vlad raised by the chaos-lovers that is the Dannys & the rest of the team.

[s0fter-sin]

ghost stares at the ceiling, chest heaving in a harsh pant; sweat ice on his clammy flesh and soaked into the sheet he restlessly kicks away.

ears still ringing, his fingertips blindly drift down to trail along his vivisection scar. he half-expects blood to smear in their wake. his own line of solomon, who ordered him split in twain; half of him given to a grieving mother and half left with the grieving to be.

just for both his broken halves to be rejected.

what did it make him that his mother grieved him more than she loved him? that she begged to be relieved of him more adamantly than she begged to receive him? why did his worth spill out with his drawn blood? why was his pain lesser than hers?

his hand flexes, digging into the raised scar like it’ll part beneath his fingertips to plunge into his mangled insides. no one knows the cruelty of reforming the halved; his name, his being, not nearly as important as his body when he was stripped from himself. no one knows the pain of healing and understanding losing pieces of yourself means losing your value along with them.

how many more pieces did he have to lose before he was halved once more? before his very presence incurred grief so strong it was better to be rid of him than cradle his bloodied remains?

did the infant fight himself? did he age always at odds with himself; his halves never truly whole? he hopes he wasn’t, that he was spared the loss of self; the fear that one may be welcomed over the other.

who will he lose when the inevitable comes? when he’s ripped apart again? simon? or ghost? is it better to be cursed with choice just like his mother or live with an aftermath chosen for him? does it matter if in the end, he convinces himself there was nothing of him left to lose?

his head lolls to the side and the wild buck of his chest slows. he watches johnny beside him, his face lax with the rare peace of sleep; his cheek squished against the pillow, his lips pursed as long breaths escape him.

johnny. soap. never torn asunder but two all the same.

he carefully reaches out and ghosts his fingers along the jagged scar on his chin. even in sleep, he presses into his bloodied touch. he’s never fled his half-flesh, never shies away from his gore as it spills unbidden from his cleaved torso. he holds on where his mother let him go; cups his stomach to hold his insides in place and never minds the blood that drips through his fingers.

simon will never let him become his own solomon and cannibalise himself. he will never let him question which half of him has more value; which pieces he can afford to lose before he’s cast aside.

ghost’s soap. simon’s johnny. his.

whole, in any incarnation.

[lordgrimwing]

How Elwing Lost A Silmaril

The first letter—sealed with an eight-pointed star pressed into red wax and delivered just before dawn—left Elwing trembling in her small office, stomach rolling and the taste of bile thick on her tongue. What was she to do? What could she do? Her parents’ murderers were coming here.

The letter didn’t say as much outright. The writer (Maedhros, she’d learned his name eventually, but he would always be the red-haired orcish monster that took her home away and haunted her worst nightmares) veiled every threat behind eloquent lines of meaningless placations and enteritis for the silmaril. He asked her, granddaughter of a thief, to return it to him, eldest son of its maker and rightful heir. But she could read what he did not say: that if she did not bend to his will he would do to Sirion as he did to Menegroth. He would come with his fell army and slaughter everyone in his way.

But how could she give up the jewel? It protected them, kept the forces of darkness at bay just enough for the refugees to eke out a living on the shores. And should Eärendil, her dear, brave husband, find a path to Aman, its light might be the only thing that could stay the Valar’s Doom long enough for them to listen to him. She could not give up their hope.

The second letter—sealed in red wax and delivered as the barley fields were harvested—brought more promises of horrors unnamed falling upon the settlement. She wept after throwing it in the fire. She could not do this on her own. The city council was terrified into inaction at the thought of what lay before then, and Eärendil was still out at sea. She missed him. She missed him so terribly when the councilors looked at her with fearful eyes and asked for her decision.

The fifth letter arrived in the hands of an underfed Mannish girl as the first winds of winter blew in from the sea. Elwing gave her food and a family offered a spot in their home, but the girl said her lord instructed her to go nowhere else until she had a reply for him. Elwing thought of banishing her from the city unanswered, of telling the guards with their rough-made weapons to see that the Fëanorian did not return. She regretted the thought nearly as soon as she had it. The girl was young and it was not her fault that her parents joined themselves to a mighty Elf lord. She could stay for a day.

Tell me whatsoever you desire, the greatest or smallest need of your heart. 

The letter said in handwriting that was fast becoming too familiar. 

I will give unto you that thing and greater still if you would part with my father’s Silmaril. I would bring you all the provisions of my camp, all the weapons of my army, every other precious thing of power left in this land if you would but willingly part with that one small thing that I must otherwise be driven to take by force in the spring. Tell me your desire, and I will give it unto you. Let this not end with blood.

She fumed in her office, angrily pacing the thin rug gifted to her by the weary-eyed wife of one of her father’s guards who fell in the tunnels of Menegroth. She does not need anything from the murdering bastard! Sirion has all it requires. They would be safe if only they were left alone. How can Maedhros think that he could ever give her anything to make up for what he’s done, to convince her to do what he wants? He’s a monster and a coward who wishes to soothe his conscience by acting as if the attack is all her fault, an inevitable consequence of her resistance. He wishes to absolve himself of yet more evil.

She will not let him. If it is the only thing she can do, she will defy him.

Elwing takes up precious ink and paper. She throws herself into her chair and leans over the beaten desk, pouring her anger and helplessness into the words she scratches across the page.

You’ve taken everything from my people. You wish to take everything from me again. You are monstrous, servant of Morgoth. May the Valar stand against you as I cannot. What would I have, you ask? I would have what you’ve taken from me restored: I would have Dior, my father, and Nimloth, my mother; I would have Eluréd and Elurín, my brothers, alive again and in my arms. But I shall never have them for they died at your hands and at your command.  You cannot give me my parents. You search for my little brothers but still cannot give them to me.  So, what would I have? I would have your brothers. Give me your two youngest. I have lost my twin brothers for this gem. You must do the same.

She signed the bottom with a vicious strike that split the quill’s nip, blotting the page with ink as dark as orc blood. Her heartbeat in her chest, thumped against her ribs under her breast as though it would escape fate. Her letter would change nothing and she hesitated for a moment before dripping wax from a flickering candle for the seal, tempted to throw the paper to the fire. 

She’d written in a tantrum, a final kicking of her feet against what would come in an impotent rage. But what did it matter? Did she not deserve to beat her fists against the Doom once? Everyone looked to her for leadership and guidance as Dior’s heir but she felt like little more than a child. This would be so much easier to handle with Eärendil at her side but he still had not returned and at times she doubted he ever would (what Doom had befallen him on the waters? What lonely fate for him and the crew on the waves?). She would send this letter then say goodbye to all childishness and face what came bravely as her parents and grandparents did. 

Resolved, she dripped the wax and sealed the letter. She’d give it to the messenger tomorrow with what small food they could spare so the girl did not starve on the journey. And then…

And then all would be out of her hands and fate would fall as it would.

The sixth letter came in the hands of two red-haired Elves on tall horses. The men sat straight and tall in the saddle, their heads held high. Elwing would have called them haughty if they hadn’t dismounted and bowed deeply before her, falling to one knee as one might before royalty. A third Elf, dark-haired and somber-eyed, rode with them, though he kept himself aside and astride his steed.

“Queen Elwing,” one of the red-heads said, his face fire-scarred. He paused, waiting for permission to go on.

She nodded and waved her hand impatiently, wondering what new trick Maedhros was playing or if this was how he announced an impending slaughter.

The speaker went on, looking up slightly though he stayed kneeling. “We are Ambarussa–” he gestured to the other– “youngest sons of Fëanor. We give ourselves up at your request in exchange for the silmaril.”

Elwing stood in frozen silence as he continued, icy sea breeze biting at her fingers and face. 

[sacriou]

STOP LOOKING AT ME WITH THEM BIG OL EYES!!

[anjasitdown]

I knew something was UP when the only film that helped Yuuji control his flow of cursed energy was the Lord of the Rings. Our boy Yuuji is TRULY a hobbit at heart. Chapter 265 spoilers ahead, but I'll put it under the cut.

It was back in season 1 when Gojo had Yuuji watch a variety of movies to teach him control of cursed energy regardless of the emotions evoked by the films. Gojo refuted Yuuji's idea that anger and other strong negative emotions are the only source of a strong cursed energy.

With that in mind, I don't think it's random that LotR is the one shown to us that helped Yuuji gain mastery over his cursed energy flow. Sure, Yuuji might've controlled it before watching other movies, but it feels as if it's on purpose that it's LotR, especially that scene at the river where Frodo tried to take the burden of destroying the ring on his own, fully aware of the dangerous journey ahead. But Sam didn't let him and willingly followed him, even if it would cost him his life.

Maybe, just maybe, Yuuji learned to control his cursed energy because he saw himself in Frodo. Yuuji looked so engrossed in the film as if he was feeling it—as if he was Frodo who, just like him, bears great evil within him. Not only that, but Yuuji saw in Frodo's eyes the same crushing weight of responsibility and isolation such an evilness entails. It was as if he's looking in the mirror. But Frodo wasn't alone. He had Sam and the others in the Fellowship who are also willing to lighten the burden he carries. And I think that's what got to Yuuji.

And I don't know if it's just me reading too much into things but Yuuji is at his best when he feels anchored by his friends' support or when they're relying on him, like that time when Yuuji held down the cursed spirit at the detention center to buy Megumi time to save Nobara and escape; when Yuuji and Todo almost defeated Hanami, and my favorite, when Nobara nailed down Mahito's double during Shibuya arc:

As corny as this sounds, Yuuji managed to pull himself from Nanamin's death and attack Mahito because he felt Nobara's presence, which encouraged him to continue fighting. Even if the sorcerers were scattered that time and most were left to fend for themselves, Yuuji didn't feel alone. This was the one thing Geto needed the most when he was spiraling down.

Yuuji reminds me so much of Frodo: Yuuji the vessel of the evilest sorcerer in history and Frodo the Ring bearer. But before that, they were nobodies living a simple life, which they treasure and work hard to keep. They're not ambitious and are satisfied being surrounded by their loved ones. They're the ones we least expect to defeat the evilest entities since they're surrounded by the strongest warriors/sorcerers, who could not defeat the said evilest entities. Yuuji, like Frodo, does not belong to the kind of world he got thrown into, and this is made pretty obvious in the recent chapter.

Throughout the many months Yuji had been with various sorcerers and curse users, his principles and worldview got blurry. He started to assimilate their ideas, which didn't feel like him to be honest. From ideas of having a specific role in life and fulfilling it, wanting to give people a good death, and having a cog mentality to being the same as Mahito and becoming a monster to defeat another monster. That's not him. That's never him. And Yuuji realized that too, and I love seeing him change his perspective into that which feels more like him.

Yuuji never liked fighting others. He may have been blessed with physical prowess that might've been on par with Nanamin, but he never wanted to use it. Heck, Yuuji joined an occult club instead of becoming an athlete. What's important to him are the memories you make with yourself and with your loved ones—choosing to do things, even mundane ones, that bring you and others joy because that's what life is all about.

To Yuuji, there's nothing wrong if you lead a simple life doing things as mundane as walking your dog, sleeping, taking a shit, writing this meta, and existing. Living day to day is already hard as it is. Yuuji wants Sukuna (and us) to know that your worth to live and be loved and respected doesn't depend on the grand dreams you have, how far you've come in life, how powerful and strong you've become, how useful you are. Your worth to live is inherent to you, and no one's going to change that, not Sukuna or anybody else. And Yuuji's not gonna stand idly by and watch the likes of him trample on people's lives. They don't get to choose who's worthy to live and kill those who don't.

I read somewhere that Gege thinks Yuuji having no ambition, unlike Naruto wanting to be a Hokage or Luffy aiming to become a Pirate King, is the story's weak point. But I disagree. That's what makes Yuuji so unique and refreshing to watch as he develops. He may not be as ambitious as other shonen heroes, but he does have a strong moral compass, even as young as 15. It may not be obvious, but Yuuji is introspective, observant, and most of all he has this childlike love for life that the other characters have lost due to the nature of their jobs.

Back to the LotR reference—as much as similar Yuuji is to Frodo—when Sukuna switched to Megumi, Yuuji started to feel more like Sam and Megumi Frodo. No matter what happens, even if it would cost him his life, Yuuji's never gonna leave Megumi alone in despair. Megumi has become weak in mind and spirit that he's possibly on the verge of giving everything up. Still, Yuuji's not going to give up on him. He will destroy Sukuna and carry Megumi back home.

In the end, if Yuuji survives, all I could ever think of is his eyes full of insurmountable despair and mourning over the lives of the people he loved and lost. There's no going back after this. I can only hope that after the end of this story, Yuuji could still find a way to rest—be with a person or in a place—if there is anyone or anything left at all.

[sariphantom]

I guess I'm a true Rise fan now, huh?

[little-pondhead]

DPxDC Prompt:

[this is a long one please forgive me]

Bruce lied to the others about his trip through time. Not all of it! Just…one specific thing.

During the early parts of his timeline hijinks, before Tim realized Bruce was still alive, he had a bit of a respite in between his endless time jumps. (Maybe a certain ghost was helping him out.) With a fuzzy memory at best and a strange itch to investigate the unknown, Bruce had been taken in by an old couple who had no kids but wanted to pass on the family name. And who better than a thirty-something amnesiac stranger who could actually be related by blood?

Bruce, with nowhere to go, accepted his new name, grew out his hair, and quickly got accepted into college for engineering. There, he met two of his closest friends; a redheaded woman who could kick his ass and a wet chicken of a man who could also kick his ass. They both made him nostalgic for something he didn’t remember, and that made him sad sometimes, but the two were always there to cheer him up.

Years passed, and Bruce’s life moved on. He settled well into his new name, mourned his parents when the eventually passed, celebrated his wedding with the redhead, and grieved when the last of their trio fell out of touch. He had a daughter, and then a son! They were both so smart, even if they didn’t share the same passion he had for exploring the science behind the afterlife. (Something about the dead just itched his brain in an infuriating way, and Bruce wasn’t one to let sleeping dogs lie. He just had to find out why he was so obsessed with this stuff!)

Eventually, his and his wife’s research yielded results, and that’s when bits of Bruce’s former life started coming back to him. After the portal opened, he spent his days with his head in a fog, oblivious to the world around him as he struggled to continue his work.

Why did he remember a boy named Dick? Who would name their child that? And Jason…who was Jason? That name always made him sad. There were more names, more faces, but none of them were his. He could never remember what his name was supposed to be. All he had was the one his adoptive parents gave him.

His wife was worried. His daughter was struggling. And his son…his son sometimes hurt to look at. Bruce didn’t know why. He knew he was being a terrible father, but something in him wanted to cry whenever he gazed at those clear blue eyes, just like his own. His son was too smart for his own good, and realized his dad had started avoiding him.

The day his son purposely left the room so Bruce could relax was one that hurt him even now.

Time kept passing, and Bruce was becoming anxious. His brain fog was as bad as its ever been. He had constant headaches, and his hands kept twitching for nonexistent tools on his belt. Something was going to happen. Something had happened. A voice in his head told him it was all his fault.

So in an attempt to clear his head and spend more time with his family, Bruce insisted they all go to dinner at the local diner. His son invited his friends. Even better! More people meant more distractions from his messed-up thoughts. He wouldn’t spiral with the kids around.

And then something exploded.

The last thing Bruce remembered was his son’s (green??) eyes widening in fear and horror as something yanked him violently backwards. He fell farther than expected, through a portal and a green sky full of black stars. A hand tightened on the back of his jumpsuit, hauling his giant body through another portal with a roar of a motorcycle.

And then…and then…and then what?

All of a sudden, Bruce was sprawled in some mud in the middle of a forest, dizzy and coughing from the explosion’s fumes. He’s singed all over, and his ears still rang from the force of the…what happened again?

Bruce sits up, and all of a sudden, he’s in the era of the pilgrims. His memory has been wiped clean, his new name and family forgotten thanks to the hands of time. His adventures through the time stream continue, with him assuming many different identities throughout many different decades.

The memories of being Jack Fenton don’t return to him until he’s back in 2004, once again in his own time and living as Bruce Wayne. A glowing green sticky note informs him that “The Nasty Burger Incident” had just occurred. His “other self” just had his ass dragged to another era, so the time loop would continue.

It also informed him that he had an orphaned son crying for him at Bruce’s own grave.

Well, his forgotten son (that sounded bad, even to him) was supposed to be about fourteen now, right? Bruce hopes he doesn’t have to fight anyone for custody.

[writer-room]

I've decided the only reason Lloyd, known descendant of dragons, didn't tell this to Egalt, who refuses to train non-dragons, is for the same reason he never mentioned he's the First Spinjitsu Master's grandson. It just never came up. Nobody asked him directly about it. And besides, he's only like, one-fourth dragon, so does it really count? He doesn't look like a dragon, and he has never in his life considered himself a dragon. Mentioning his ancestry to Egalt probably would've just made him look like some hotshot, or make him more annoyed. There's no need to bring up such a silly little fact. He's sure it won't be important later.

[tio-trile]

Oh good Neil Gaiman finally unfollowed me after all my bullshit I can be even more unhinged now