#(the canon incident)

[sweetiebunbuns]

Two reactions to being doomed by the narrative

[stars-obsession-pit]

The ghost of a past regret

The tome hidden under Damian’s mattress continued to burn in the back of his mind. He knows he shouldn’t have kept it. Magic is dangerous, that of the Infinite Realms especially so. And there was no guarantee the book was even accurate; he’d never given the cultists a chance to make use of its contents.

But a single section from it refused to leave his mind. He couldn’t just throw out the opportunity it offered.

‘Danyal…’

–––

Damian had hated to admit it, but his twin brother could be cannier than him at times. Danyal had caught on to the harm of the League long before he ever had.

And he had tried to get out. To get them both out.

Damn him. Why couldn’t Danyal have been selfish for once in his life…

But Damian had still been caught up in it all. He was the perfect heir. He was loyal. He would not betray his family in the League.

And yet he’d been so quick to betray his brother…

Danyal’s shocked gasp as Damian’s knife slipped between his ribs still echoed in his ears when he awoke from nightmares. Sometimes, on particularly bad nights, he would swear he could still feel the blood dripping down his hands, and amount of scrubbing ever made the sensation go away.

He was sure Alfred at least had noticed the redness of his hands, but he never pushed for answers. Damian was thankful for that, even as he felt undeserving of the comfort. It had all been his fault.

At the time of the betrayal, Damian had felt little of the emotional weight. He was disappointed in his brother, but he was just doing his duty to the League. It would only be later that it set in, and the regrets continued to eat at him long after his family forbid all discussion of the traitor his twin.

What if he hadn’t fought? Would they have succeeded at escaping? Would they have met their father sooner? Would he still be able to see Danyal’s smile?

It was pointless to wonder. Danyal was gone.

–––

But perhaps not completely.

The siren song of the spellbook continued to call to him. The first thing to ever offer even the faintest glimmer of hope for finding closure.

For it contained a ritual to summon the ghosts of the betrayed.

Maybe it wouldn’t work. Regardless of the book’s accuracy, he’d never done anything like it before and wouldn’t be using the spell for its intended purpose. It was described for use in combat, tearing apart enemies with the specters of the vengeful dead, not for seeking atonement. Was changing the context even possible without entirely restructuring the ritual? He didn’t know.

And it wasn’t like he could ask the magicians of the Justice League Dark for help—even the most unscrupulous among them would still try to dissuade him and likely inform his father.

But how could he not try?

It might be wishful thinking to hope he would ever forgive him. But even if Danyal rejects the apology, it would still be worth it just to see his brother just one more time…

He grit his teeth and clamped his eyes shut as emotions warred against logic inside him. It was a terrible idea. He shouldn’t do it. He shouldn’t.

‘Damn it.’

The tome felt impossibly heavy as he pulled it from under the mattress with unsteady hands.

He had a ritual to set up.

[1425fivefive]

what if i briefly lost my mind due to this photo and wrote a 1.5k landoscar strip poker drabble. what if (landoscar, 1.5k words, nsfw)

Sometimes, Oscar wonders if Lando does things purely to torture him.

They’re on the private jet McLaren’s chartered for them back from the FIA Awards. Zak and Andrea are somewhere up in the front of the plane, probably sleeping off their hangovers. Andrea looked like he might puke at any second when they got into the car that morning to head to the airport. Oscar and Lando are at the back, sitting across from Sam Bird, one of McLaren’s drivers in Formula E.

Oscar likes Sam well enough, but he can’t help but wish Sam was literally anywhere else. Oscar feels like he’s going insane with Lando sitting right beside him, buried in an oversized hoodie, his curls still sleep-mussed. Lando keeps shooting Oscar these cheeky little grins, like he knows exactly how crazy Oscar’s felt all weekend.

Their rooms at the hotel were right next to Zak and Andrea and they couldn’t do anything without risking being overheard.

But it didn’t stop Lando from sending Oscar a mirror selfie after his shower, Lando’s towel slung ruinously low around his hips, water dripping down his torso. It didn’t stop Lando from following Oscar into a single-use toilet at the awards ceremony and palming Oscar’s dick through his tuxedo, kissing him hard and wet and filthy, before leaving Oscar panting against the sink, desperately trying to calm down. It didn’t stop Lando from sending Oscar a text in the middle of the ceremony that just read, can’t wait for u to fuck me tmrw 😇. Oscar had to work very, very hard to keep a neutral expression on his face.

At this point, Oscar sort of feels like he might die. He knows you can’t literally die from blue balls, but he also can’t help but feel like Lando’s trying his hardest to test that theory.

Two hours into the flight, Lando announces, “I’m bored.”

Oscar rolls his eyes. He’s not feeling particularly sympathetic at the moment, not when he’s half-hard and trying desperately not to go get himself off in the plane toilet while his bosses are on the flight. 

“Play your Switch or something,” Oscar says shortly. “Don’t you have, like, a million films on your iPad?”

“Yeah, but I’ve already watched all of them,” Lando says, pouting. “I want to do something fun.”

Oscar’s about to snap that he reckons Lando’s had more than enough fun these past few days.

But Sams interjects before Oscar can, saying, “I have a poker set?”

“Brilliant,” Lando says, face lighting up. “I love poker.”

“Why do you have a poker set?” Oscar asks. It seems like a bit of a random thing to just have on you in case the opportunity arises.

But Sam just laughs. “Love of the game, mate. Love of the game.”

Lando tips his head toward Oscar, grinning. “Only real poker heads would understand.”

“Oh my god,” Oscar says, shaking his head. “You only got into poker, like, a month ago—”

“Two months!” Lando says, holding up two fingers.

Oscar has to look away. The sight of Lando’s massive fingers has Oscar feeling things he really, really shouldn’t only two hours into a nine-hour flight.

“Oh, well then,” Oscar says, voice only slightly choked.

Out of the corner of his eye, Oscar sees Lando grin, like Lando knows exactly what Oscar’s thinking.

“You know how to play, right?” Sam asks Oscar.

Oscar shrugs. “Well enough.”

In truth, Oscar’s pretty shit at poker. But not as shit, apparently, as Lando.

Within three rounds, Lando’s down to a measly pile of chips. He keeps playing horrible hands, betting huge on hands that even Oscar knows almost never win. Hands like queen-high or a flush draw when Lando only has one card from that suit in his hand and there’s only one matching card on the board after the flop. Like, Oscar’s not good at poker, but he knows enough to know that Lando’s playing so poorly it almost seems like Lando’s trying to lose on purpose. 

That theory’s confirmed when Lando finally runs out of chips and says, “Shit.” He looks over at Oscar, his expression all wide-eyed innocence. “Reckon I’ll just have to start betting clothes, then.”

Oscar almost chokes. He briefly fantasizes about jumping out of the plane. It’d stop Lando from fucking torturing him at least. 

Instead, Oscar says, “I’m not playing strip poker.”

Oscar expects Sam to back him up, to realize what an absurd idea it is to play strip poker on a plane with their coworkers.

But Sam starts banging his fists on the table chanting, “Strip poker, strip poker, strip poker.”

Lando cackles and immediately joins in, and soon enough the two of them are making such a racket that Oscar’s worried they’ll wake up Zak and Andrea. Oscar has no interest in being on the receiving end of one of Zak’s tirades after being woken up in the middle of a nap.

“Fucking fine,” Oscar grits out. “Fine, we’ll play stupid strip poker.”

The thing is, though, Lando’s the only one out of chips. Which means Lando’s the only one actually having to bet any of his clothing.

Oscar prays Lando will start small. Maybe bet a bracelet or a shoe or something.

Instead, Lando says, “Hoodie.”

So that’s how it’s going to be.

Lando, predictably, loses, playing fucking eight-two offsuit when Oscar has a set.

“Rats,” Lando says gleefully, pulling off his hoodie and tossing it onto a seat across the aisle. He knocks his shoulder against Oscar’s. “Shit luck, eh?”

“Yeah,” Oscar grits out, studiously ignoring looking over at Lando. He sort of hopes that if Lando doesn’t get the attention he clearly desperately craves, he’ll stop.

But on the next hand, Lando says, “Shirt.”

“Fucking hell,” Oscar groans, under his breath.

Lando giggles. “What was that, Osc?”

“Nothing,” Oscar says, staring dejectedly at his hand. He wishes it were something awful, something he could just lose with to keep Lando from ripping off his shirt, but it’s a fucking pair of kings. Oscar feels like the universe is conspiring against him.

The only blessing is that Sam seems oblivious to whatever sexual psychodrama is playing out on the other side of the table, whistling happily as he looks at his cards.

Lando loses again, peeling off his shirt and settling back in his seat.

Oscar really, really doesn’t want to look, but he can’t help but glance over at Lando, his dark nipples tight in the cool air of the plane, lean muscles on full display. Lando’s eyes spark, lower lip pulled between his teeth, grinning like the cat who got the cream. While Sam’s still looking down at his cards, Lando brings a hand up to his chest, running it over his skin before dragging it up to his neck, fingers wrapping suggestively over the thick muscle. Almost like he’s imagining Oscar’s hand there.

“Oh my god,” Oscar groans.

Sam glances up. “All good?”

“Yep,” Oscar says, voice tight, forcing himself to stare at his cards. “Everything’s really, really good.”

Next to him, Lando lets out a delighted little giggle.

As they go around placing their opening bets, Oscar pleads silently with Lando to fold. Just once.

But Lando doesn’t fold. Instead, he announces, “Sweatpants.”

Oscar stumbles to his feet, praying his hoodie’s hiding his boner. He chokes out, “I have to—” and pushes his way past Lando, beelining for the toilet.

He’s furious as he pulls his sweatpants down. Angry as he wraps a hand around his cock. Pissed off as he starts to stroke himself. 

Fucking Lando. Always fucking teasing. Knowing exactly how to get Oscar riled up, how to make him feel like he wants to say fuck it and drag Lando into the plane toilet in front of their coworker and bosses. Even though Oscar feels like he’s losing his mind, he can’t deny that it’s possibly the hottest thing he’s ever experienced. That he knows he’ll put up with it every fucking time if it gets him off this hard.

But he sort of wants to torture Lando back.

Oscar pulls out his phone, opens his camera, and hits record. He tries to put on a show, thumbing over the head, zooming in on the wet tip, twisting his wrist the way Lando always likes when Oscar does it to him. But Oscar's so on edge that he’s coming before he’s even really gotten started, spilling over his fingers to the image of Lando on top of him, Oscar’s fingers on his nipples, Oscar’s hand around his throat as Lando fucks himself on Oscar’s cock. Reminding Lando who’s in control.

But as much as Oscar likes to pretend, he knows it’s not him.

Still, Oscar feels a surge of power as he opens his texts with Lando, sends him the video of him getting off, and writes, Don’t touch yourself until we’re home.

When Oscar comes out of the toilet, he’s pleased to see Lando squirming in his seat, glancing up at Oscar with flushed cheeks, eyes desperate. Sam’s not paying any attention, headphones on, watching something on his phone.

“Having fun?” Oscar asks, blissfully relaxed after his orgasm.

Lando squirms a bit, tugging his hoodie over his crotch. But he grins up at Oscar, the gap between his front teeth on full display, and says, “Loads.”

[tea-n-ink]

Homesickness is where the heart is

[reegis]

✨mechanisms character designs!!✨

lyf gets to be blue because i said so

who else should i draw!!!!

[phoenixyfriend]

Something something Dooku survives the Clone Wars, the Imperial Era, and even a few years past the OT...

And Luke finds him while looking for More Jedi to help him teach.

Chewie recognizes the decrepit old bastard, and there is yelling, but being A Hundred And Nine has mellowed Dooku out in his own dusty hermit hut, on the other side of the galaxy from Ben and Yoda's hermit huts.

All the Jedi ghosts are unhappy with this but Dooku is… not REFORMED, technically, but he's old and tired, even if the Force keeps him a bit more healthy and energized than the average Old Guy, and humans routinely live to pretty unreal old ages in the gffa anyway so really 109 for them is probably like 85 for us.

But yeah. Old mountain hermit (to contrast the desert and the swamp) who's been in hiding from That Dick Sidious since he lost both hands to babyface Vader in 19BBY.

@jebiknights (Sammie) said:

Dooku finds out Luke was also trained by Yoda and is like "oh Yoda finally gave me a younger brother like I always wanted"

Alternately he could probably get Luke to call him Great-Great-Grandfather.

Sammie: Funniest option is he's both which makes Luke even more confused lmao Ghost Obi wan in the background like "stop fucking using non Jedi terms to describe Jedi relationships it doesn't fucking work"

Luke calls him, irreverently, Gramps, but also. Leia definitely recognizes him as a Recent Historic Political Figure, but not until AFTER Luke has already integrated Dooku into his new Jedi school.

"Why did Chewie let him do that?" He thought it was funny. (And/or if you like Chewku, you can make this some sordid exes thing.)

"Why did R2 let him do that?" Best keep evil man in electrical prodding range.

Sammie: Leia comes to the school for her biweekly Jedi lessons and sees the newest teacher was a traitor to the Republic 😭

Best if they can find Quin or Ventress out in the black. Partly because like. Does this make Ventress their step-grandma (Quinlan's on-off something) or their great-great-aunt (Dooku's 4th apprentice)?

Sammie: Both and also Luke's niece. Luke has a migraine by the end of it and Leia is ready to disown herself. Ventress: I didn't realize the Jedi were so incestuous Luke: war flashbacks to before he realized Leia was his sister

Ahsoka in the corner with Spacebucks, five years late "Y'all suck. Hey, Quin."

Sammie: I know you likely didn't bring up Quinlan thinking of QuinObi but now I'm imagining Quinlan declaring himself their grandpa when he meets the twins bc 1) he loves to cause chaos 2) he does/did consider Anakin his kid even if not in neat non Jedi terms and 3) Obi-Wan thought being considered Anakin's father made him sound old, and Quinlan needs to harass him beyond the grave

Dooku must have a cane that the ghosts heckle him about because He Clearly Wants To Be Just Like Yoda.

@lyntergalactic (Lyn) said:

I feel like evil gramps could really bring out Ahsoka's snark once she shows up and that would be highly entertaining Ahsoka is simultaneously his most and least favorite grandchild

She's the most experienced as a Jedi (Ventress went full Sith, not just leaving the Order but following the tenets like Ahsoka, and Quinlan isn't in the lineage), has never Fallen unless you count that thing on Mortis.

Also she WILL bitch Dooku out at this age, and honestly he kind of appreciates the brutal honesty.

Ahsoka: I'm not a Jedi. All the old people: Lies

She brings up the Hondo incident since nobody else is putting in the effort. Anakin and Obi-Wan COULD as ghosts but nooooooo she has to do everything around here.

Sammie: Oh but it sets them off so hard they can barely get the story off from laughing NGL I think the twins did not understand how truly annoying Obi-Wan and Anakin could be together until the Hondo story gets told.

They are The Worst.

[phantobats]

No, Crime Alley doesn’t need a vigilante like Red Hood. In fact, Jason Todd’s approach is exactly what Gotham must avoid to break free from its cycle of crime and despair.

I've seen increasing rhetoric amongst Batfamily spaces that Jason Todd's approach to ruling Crime Alley with an iron fist is the preferable one. He's been painted as some sort of hero for perpetuating violence and controlling the drug trade instead of dismantling it, as seen here:

user iheartdeadmen79 on tiktok:

Contrary to popular fan rhetoric, Batman doesn’t avoid Crime Alley. He confronts its darkness, honoring his parents’ memory and striving to improve the lives of its residents.

Batman frequently patrols Crime Alley, protecting its people from gangs and criminals ("Just Another Kid on Crime Alley!"). His mere presence is a deterrent to crime and a reminder that justice exists.

As Bruce Wayne, he addresses the root causes of Crime Alley’s plight. Through the Wayne Foundation, he funds infrastructure projects, clinics, scholarships, and other resources that empower the community (Detective Comics #457).

Batman collaborates with figures like Leslie Thompkins, whose clinic provides healthcare and shelter to Gotham’s most vulnerable. Together, they tackle crime at its roots—poverty, neglect, and systemic injustice.

Batman’s approach is about more than fighting criminals; it’s about building a foundation for a better future.

Jason Todd’s Red Hood represents the antithesis of progress. His iron-fist approach perpetuates the very cycles of violence he claims to stop.

In "Batman: Under the Red Hood", Jason attempts to take over Gotham’s underworld, including parts of Crime Alley, by using lethal force. This creates power vacuums, incites gang wars, and leads to collateral damage among innocent civilians.

Jason targets criminals but ignores the systemic issues driving crime. Killing gang leaders may seem effective, but it does nothing to address the poverty and lack of opportunity fueling the problem.

Residents of Crime Alley already distrust authority. Jason’s violent reputation only worsens this, making him seem like another dangerous figure instead of a protector.

Jason’s “kill to prevent crime” mentality sends a harmful message. It glorifies violence as the only solution to complex social issues, desensitizing the community to brutality and ensuring the next generation grows up in the same cycle of trauma.

The Bigger Problem: Romanticizing Red Hood

Here’s the uncomfortable truth: much of the fandom romanticizes Jason Todd’s methods without critically examining their consequences. Posts praising Red Hood for “taking control” or “cleaning up Crime Alley” ignore how his actions destabilize the community, alienate the people he claims to help, and perpetuate the very violence he fights against.

Jason isn’t a hero for Crime Alley—he’s a cautionary tale. By normalizing his ideology, fans risk promoting a toxic mindset that equates justice with unchecked power. Crime Alley doesn’t need fear and bloodshed. It needs hope, investment, and the belief that change is possible.

Batman embodies the hard, often thankless work of building a better Gotham. Red Hood, though well-intentioned, embodies the dangers of quick fixes and violent rule. Gotham, and especially Crime Alley, doesn’t need more fear. It needs heroes who understand that real change comes from compassion, collaboration, and addressing root causes—not from perpetuating the same cycles of pain.

Fans need to move past the idea that Jason Todd’s methods are heroic. They’re not. They’re destructive. If we want Gotham to heal, it’s time to embrace hope, not more violence.

And I do know that the creator of the Tiktok I mentioned wrote their POV off as just being fanon, yet because it isn't explicitly stated in the caption and you have to dive into the comment section to even figure it out, it perpetuates the idea that this is how things actually are in canon, instead of being something fans with no real idea about social issues made up to praise their favorite white guy of the month.

[adamant-hearts]

Today I offer eepy morning Jiaoqiu!! (I wanted an excuse to put this pink foxboy in a comfy hanfu-)

[sandflakedraws]

How about Floyd, who came back as promised, hugging little Branch who just saw Grandma Rosiepuff get taken/eaten by the Bergen Chef?

Or how about Floyd, who came back as promised only to find the Troll Tree devoid of life and Rosiepuff's pod empty, going grey as he mourns baby Branch whom he thinks got eaten?

Hey so! Totally fun (and not hurtful at all) fact-!

For Trolls Band Together, the story the writers wanted to go with (according to the Artbook and novelization), implies that Brozone's disbandment happens before Bergen Town is even a thing, which has such severe implications to me.

so.

tfw you return to your home to find that

actually, the forest that sheltered you is eradicated, replaced with a giant town whose occupants' sole form of joy consists of devouring you.

the tree that served as your home is the only thing left of that forest, and it is decayed, withered, and desiccated... displayed in the middle of the town in a cage.

your pod, your home, is empty. every home around it is empty too. there are no trolls in sight.

as far as you know, everyone that used to be here is gone. or dead. most likely dead.

you will never see them ever again.

you were just a teenager.

[crystallizsch]

this idea still cracks me up so i figured i'd share it out into the world in a separate post playing ring toss with malleus' horns

(this originated from here in a reblog, thank you @fidenciothecryptidgent ajdklsjlaj)

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 217

Babies can die if they don’t have enough physical contact. This is something that is known, but Talia does not have time to spend with her twins, and it’s not like she carried them thanks to the false Lazarus womb, so she didn’t even have that excuse to use. 

What she did have, was a near braindead teen who could be taught things through muscle memory. 

Which is how Jason ended up caring for a pair of toddlers between any training, even after his dip in the Pit. Well, he cared for them until he left for Gotham, to enact his plans, even if he continued to call them every week. 

But that wasn’t enough for little Damian and Danyal.

Where had their caretaker gone? Away from them? Where is Baba? Across the sea? Unacceptable. They will not stand for this! 

Which in turn, is how Jason discovers his the twins outside his safehouse window, having somehow made it to Gotham on their own- what the fuck, kids!?

[skeletoninthemelonland]

a glimpse of what their early dynamic looks like

[stars-obsession-pit]

Suddenly half-human

Danny was a full ghost hanging out in a random spot in the Zone when suddenly a rift in space tore open on top of him.

His very essence shifted as strange energies poured into him from a previously-unfathomable direction.

No longer pure ectoplasm. Something new, something living in a deeply foreign way.

A force suddenly pulled him to collide with cold, solid ground.

He felt different.

His whole body felt weighed down as if encased in thick rubber, preventing him from shapeshifting or even just floating up. Something thudded to life inside his chest, pumping a new fluid throughout his insides.

As he continued to lay there in shock, his chest began to burn.

Instincts he didn’t fully understood kicked in and his mouth flung open, gasping for breath. The burning subsided as his chest continued to heave.

What the hell? Since when did he need to breathe?

He heard three young, panicked voices from across the room. He flopped his head in their direction and took in their appearances semi-deliriously, still trying to pull his thoughts back together.

They were humans. Living, breathing humans. A tall redheaded girl, a boy in a beanie and glasses, and a girl in what he believed was referred to as “goth” clothes.

Wait… was he human now?

Awkwardly clambering to his feet, leaning against the wall of the strange tunnel for balance, he tried to give them a grin. It probably came out a bit more unhinged than he intended.

“So, uh, any idea what just happened?”

[arttsuka]

Some past fiddlestan? (Like Ford just went through the portal. He gone now. Past. Yk?)

The mystery misery yaoi

[warning-heckboop]

Was going to write a little ficlet to go with this, but. Vaccine tiredness is killer.

A little bit of art for the FOP Nature au by @bunnieswithknives. I cannot recommend checking it out enough.

[poedays]

David was in the car when Gabe died.

When David Shaw awoke after the crash the first thing he felt was his Dad’s hands on him. Pushing magic into his core, healing him with everything he had within him. David looked into his Dad’s eyes and saw the blood covering the side of his face. He saw his Dad’s expression. That smile. That Gabriel Shaw smile. But in that moment it was not a smile of happiness, nor reassurance, but a smile of resignation. This smile was a goodbye.

The last thing David saw before he passed out once again was that smile, the last thing he felt was his father’s hand on his cheek, and the last thing he heard was the gentle words of his Dad:

“It’ll all be okay David, I’m here.”