#I'm sorry he's such a dick

[enemiesofinnocence]

'i think you were really reluctant to take accountability for that.'

RANDOM LINES OF DIALOGUE PROMPTS - OPEN @primalvessel

It came to something when Khum'a didn't even know what he was supposed to take accountability for?

Taking all the hits from their latest hunt? Being the best badass he could be out in the field?

Or for the fact that Grievous McSpear fancied his chances and stood right in the line of fire?

Whichever one was the case (chances were it was none of those things and Khum'a just didn't enjoy being corrected by anyone at any time) the blond certainly didn't take kindly to the remark, and it showed with the furrow of his brow and the barring of sharp teeth.

"Can see why they call you Griever. 'Cus you ain't been nothing but grief the entire time we been out here, yeah?!" A spread of both hands as though to present the situation he spoke of to his fellow Miqo'te.

"Why don't you kiss my hairy blond ass before you start accusing me of shit?"

[purpleangiie]

Damian: "Grayson, what are you staring at?"

Dick: "Sh!"

Tim: "Leave him be, D. He's emotional."

Damian: "Over what?"

Dick, staring at the two quiet figures in front of them: "Would you believe that? Jason and Bruce existing in the same space and not throwing a tantrum, but actually behaving like two adults? They're even working together at the same desk. Unbelievable."

Damian: "Wait, has father just ruffled Todd's hair?"

Dick: "And he didn’t even punched him back! I'm so proud of how far they both have come. *sniff* Now we could all be one happy family."

Damiam: *looking absolutely bewildered, gazing up at Tim who just shrugs*

Tim: "Give them 15 minutes."

Damian: "12."

---

Jason: "Bruce. Bruce WHERE IS MY PEN?"

Bruce: "Y-your pen, Jason?"

Jason: "Oh my god. You don't even remember it. My pen, Bruce. My personalized red and golden Montblanc you gifted me for my 14th birthday. I left it here, where is it? You threw it away, didn't you? LIKE YOU DID WITH ANY REGARD YOU EVER HAD FOR ME AND MY FEELINGS? DID YOU FORGET I WAS YOUR SON TOO? WHY IS IT SO HARD FOR YOU TO LOVE ME?"

Dick: "Damn! We got so close."

Tim: "And that'd be 10 minutes and 35 seconds."

Damian: "-TT- Pay up, Drake."

[aingeal98]

Ultimately the resolution of Jason and Cass fights comes down to the fact that while he has his own ideals that don't mesh with the bats, Jason can be flexible. DC skipped the whole reconciliation with the family but while he's willing to kill it's generally a means to an end to him, not the whole entire point unless you're talking about Joker. Meanwhile for Cass the question of killing vs not killing is dead serious to her which means any time they're working together and things start going off track it's like:

Jason: Look if we kill this guy we send a message to his boss which makes it easier for us to negotiate with him from a position of power and I just think that-

Cass, snatching one of his guns and pointing it at her own head: Go on, pull the trigger. Kill him. Kill me. Go tell Batman that you let his daughter die to make a negotiation easier. He already let you die so no problem right? You think we should die? You think our life only worthwhile as part of a plan, just because we're killers? Are we doomed? Are we rotten to the core with no hope of redemption? Go on then, kill us and kill part of your soul alongside it. You clearly don't care for it so why are you even trying? Kill yourself along with us, come on Jason let's all just die right?

Jason, slowly backing away: I think you may be projecting a tiny bit so just. Calm down before I call the suicide hotline please.

Cass, slowly lowering the gun and knocking the random henchman unconscious: Yeah that's what I thought, fucking pussy.

Jason: Mm yeah you know what I hate you actually. Fuck this mission I'll just shoot you right now if you're going to be this annoying about it.

Jason, explaining things later to Dick: So I just kept shooting at her until I ran out of bullets and we both calmed down enough to call a truce. We tracked the guy down and didn't kill anyone but I did blow up the batplane just as a last minute screw you. Is she always this uh... intense?

Dick: Yeah, one time I broke up with Barbara and she threw me out a window. She's just like that.

[egophiliac]

do skully have pokemon?

Pumpkaboo is the obvious one, but y'know, sometimes the obvious one is the right one! (we'll say SUPER SIZE Pumpkaboo, just for fun. big pumpkin for big skeleton boy.) and another person actually also suggested Greavard, which I somehow hadn't considered, but feels so perfect that I feel like I should have. dangit.

(they can also have little Nightmare Suit costumes :D)

[angstyentropy]

Dick was busy working on a case in his apartment when he heard his phone ring.

"Hello?"

"Dick! Come to town square as Nightwing" Donna said.

"Which city? Is there an attack?"

"Bludhaven and it's nothing dangerous but we need you here as fast as possible"

"I'll be right there"

---

As Dick approached town square the noise around him increased drastically. There were thousands of people packed together, people were wearing Nightwing merch, others still wore black and a familiar shade of blue.

Wally appeared next to him and looked almost like an excited puppy. "What's all of this for?"

Wally's smile somehow got wider "It's for you!" Chuckling at the look he sent him Wally continued. "It's for your birthday, the civilians don't know that of course"

"It's not my birthday yet?"

"It will be in 2 minutes! C'mon Roy'll kill me if I keep you from him for too long" Wally didn't wait for a response before plucking Dick up off the ground.

Dick was on another rooftop now, the one across from him had a giant banner with 'We Love Nightwing' on it. Roy and so many other heroes were on the rooftop with him but some faces were not there. Where's Donna?

Dick was tackled to the ground by a kid in a multi-colored suit. "Happy Birthday!"

"Thank you" Tim glowed. From the corner of his eyes he could spot someone in the shadows watching the scene. Batman moved from his spot when he saw Dick noticed him.

"It's almost midnight, Come on! You're going to miss it!" Once again Dick was dragged but this time to the edge of the roof.

Dick didn't miss it, he was glad for that fact.

Donna, Diana, Clark, Kory, Raven and even Garfield transformed as a hawk soared across the sky. They scattered black and blue confetti while waving around lightsticks.

The crowd around them erupted he could hear some screams and chants of his city's love for him from up here. Dick felt so much adoration for everyone around him, he nuzzled Tim closer and closed his eyes.

Out of all the places in the world Dick couldn't think of a single one he'd want to be at more in that moment.

[batbabydamian]

Jorge Jimenez C2E2 2024 Commission!

[violent138]

On a very stupid note, can you imagine how embarrassing it is for Bruce Wayne, the most paranoid and secretive man on earth, that whenever there's drama in his family it inevitably reaches a significant portion of the superhero community?

And he can't even go after any one person, because Alfred would tell Dick (who tells Wally and Donna, especially if it was really stupid), Steph would tell Kara (who would tell Clark, who would tell Diana, who already knew via Donna), and Tim would tell Kon, Damian would tell Jon and Connor, Duke tells Jason about it, and because Wally told Barry Hal now knows (and other Lanterns), J'onn knew because Bruce was fuming and Clark was trying to figure out how to bring it up, Cass told Dinah and Barbara so now the entirety of the Arrowfam and Birds of Prey know too and so on.

[cameforstuff]

Hate Mail

Stan had gotten used to reading and replying to piles of mail in a day, slowed by carefully deciphering the messy crayon so he could give the best response. It would usually take him several minutes to think of the perfect doodle to slip in with it. Sometimes he would scrap it several times before he was happy with the result.

His last letter was from a little girl from California asking if it could rain soda she poured it into the ocean. He’d written a polite answer explaining that it would be bad for the sea animals, and a simple experiment she could do with evaporation instead. After a bit of thought he drew Dr. Pine sitting a a table chatting with a sea turtle in purple crayon at the bottom. He was almost glad he had not improved his drawing skills since he was twelve. 

The next letter shocked him a bit. He almost set it aside when he saw it, thinking a bill had been slipped with the fan letters. Yet there on the front, in almost obnoxious cursive, was the typical address to Dr. Pine. There was no return address.

Another odd thing about the letter was just how carefully it had been put together. The wording straight and the envelope closed seemingly perfectly. Yet the bottom corner was scrunched like the writer had been holding it like their life depended on it. Stan opened the letter, to his surprise there was two. 

The first was like any letter from a kid, slightly messy handwriting gushing about their favorite part of the last episode. The ‘Tate Mcgucket’ seemed to really enjoy them discussing the lake’s food web and listed a few of his favorite fish. 

The second letter however was not as kind. It listed 12 inaccuracies in the episode. Each going in lengthy detail. He could only skim it as the text shrunk to save room. The explanations were familiar in a way. Kind of like how he tried to explain things, but laced with passive aggressive remarks. Hate mail was a thing he had gotten from angsty teenagers and upset parents on occasion, but this letter felt different. It was addressed by a ‘Mr. Mystery PhD, A real one unlike yours.’ He stared at the letter for several minutes unsure of what to do with it. 

He moved back to the first letter, replying to it like any other. Drawing a Dr. Pine riding a large bass. He quickly popped open a book for references, this kid seemed like the type to appreciate the effort. Then he looked back at the other letter. A bit of annoyance now when he remembered the letter had no return address. He pinned both to a the corkboard above his desk and moved on to replying to other letters.

He decided he was going to get his reply to Tate, not only because he was determined to reply to every letter, but also to spite this ‘Mr Mystery.’ He may be right that Stan is not a real doctor, but he was a man to stubborn for his own good

______

And thus a saga of mail exchanges begins. Where? Uh I lost it in shipping, you know how mail goes.

Forgot to link the post that this is based on.

[varpusvaras]

Jason arriving home with a black eye and split lip: hey

Roy: hey. Oof, that looks bad

Jason: yeah, well, you know how it is-

Roy: yeah, Gotham, am I right?

Jason: -Batman doesn't kill you but he hits hard

Roy: 😀 what?

[blinksalot]

working on something i may or may not finish but i liked this frame so i went ahead and added chat

[hatsbuckets]

[i do not need a fwb situation, i tell myself repeatedly. (i'm in college it'd be way too easy lmao)]

Head Canons (some suggestive stuff in this but not much)

Thinking about John Mactavish volunteering at animal shelters whenever he can. It ends up being like a few spattering of days every month, but he'll spend all day there. He loves being around the animals. And he loves getting to be useful and help wherever he can.

You, a longtime volunteer, there nearly every day, love having the enthusiastic, charming... strong... muscular... funny... extra help too. You were the one who showed John around on his first day, a volunteer event day that he happened upon. A few dozen people showed up, and this mohawked, military man was among them.

He was one of the few who came back to the shelter after the event, and on some random day every week, he's there to lend a hand, listening intently to whatever instructions you give him (he's very motivated to listen to you and help the animals out) and even after a couple weeks of absence, he comes back again, apologizing that work took him away so suddenly.

And after a few months... this silly, mohawked, (might I add effortlessly charming, handsome, pretty?) military man's scattering of volunteer days has become a welcome surprise every time. He's always so sweet when he talks to you, throwing a friendly, "good mornin', love. Survive without me?" Carrying on easy conversation throughout the day, and occasionally something that feels like flirting, but you don't read too much into it.

He's a blessing to have. Dogs need a run? He's the first to grab their leashes. Cats' litter boxes need cleaning? He's there with a scoop in hand. The small collection of rodents' pens need a new layer of bedding? He's already headed to storage.

He comes back drenched in sweat from runs, his tank plastered to his chest. Sweaty thighs peeking out from below his shorts as he squats down to pet the happy, panting dogs. And you pass him a towel, and his smile just beams up at you. God he's adorable and hot all at once.

His arms flex against his shirt sleeves when he hefts the heavy bags of food up onto his shoulder and god if only he'd do that that you.

His hands are so gentle with the tiny new litter of cats that just came in, helping you clean them off and place them safely into the crate with their mum. need I say more

You learn more about each other. Where he's from, what he does for work, and of course you'd pinned military, but he doesn't quite go into the work that he does. He talks about the men he works with, and you start to recognize names like Price, Gaz, and Ghost. He even shows you pictures of the first two. Not the latter though.

And then another few weeks he's not there... You're starting to miss the loud Scottish voice that normally fills the space as you hose down the concrete patio in the back the shelter. Your thoughts drift to how last time you did this with him he had sprayed you very intentionally with the hose. And you nearly tackled him to wrap your soaking body around him. His hand discarding the hose and wrapping under your legs as he hoists you happily up into his arms and oh you were so close, laughing, smiling, teasing about getting soaked. You were definitely blushing as much as he was.

a couple of days later, just like he'd never left, he's back, helping you organize the larger storage closet. Sharing jokes and teasing. Until you have to reach across him and his face is so close to yours and he completes the distance, catching you oh so off guard but you melt into that kiss. and he presses and prods until your job to reorganize is interrupted by the sudden to fuck each other into the next dimension.

and then a few days later it's the same... You had simply gone to grab a new leash from the closet... he had come for a bag of dog food... or that's what he'd told you at least...

And then your bodies are close, his hand at the back of your neck, your hand travelling down and down, his mouth on yours, hot, needy, quick, and amazing. You're both happy to do it. And it seems you both don't think much of it.

This becomes a routine, in his oh too few volunteer days each month, you make a habit of occupying small, mostly private spaces of the shelter, the small break room, the storage closet, his car, your car. It's only been two or three months, and it's not like it's a big shelter, not that many employees, but damn if it doesn't excite you all the same.

And then after one of these sessions, as you're slipping you shirt on in the back of your car, he pecks a tender kiss to the corner of your mouth. "I'll be gone a few weeks this time, bonnie. Jus' though' I might warn ya." (his accent gets thicker when it's laced with lust, you've come to notice.)

And he is, gone a while, that is. And during this time one of your old flings comes to town... some business trip... and God is this one always a good time, so charming and kind, buys you chocolates and all, a good person truly, just not one to settle down. That's fine by you. So, you let them take you home, let them in your bed, and have a good time. And then they head back to whatever the hell fancy job they have in whatever town they live in now.

It's longer than you expect before John comes back. And when he does, he greets you with that charming smile and you put him to work almost immediately, and he's happy to get to cleaning the dog kennels with you. You get to talking, he asks how your past few weeks have been. And John is so easy to talk to. And you mention your old friend you visited, how they visited your home, even bought you chocolates, the goof. But John gets quiet at this... you don't mention it, not yet...

And then of course, he walks you out to your car that afternoon and of course you end up in the back of it (I should mention here that you do not own a small car, after being the animal lover you are, you need the space to load crates in the back seat) and something about how John takes you this time is needy, needier, possesive in the way he nips at your skin and presses against you.

And at the end of it, he leaves with the same gentle peck at the corner of your mouth, but this time there's no quip, no tease, just a "drive safe" and a gentle smile...

A few days later this man returns to the shelter and before he even asks what needs to get done, he's offering up a small box of chocolates with a bashful little smile.

You thank him and accept the chocolates. and then it's back to work. That evening though, after a particularly long day after getting three new dogs and a new cat, when John walks you to your car, you ask if he wants to go home with you. You'd thought about it all day... somewhere between cleaning and intaking the new animals, mustering up the courage to ask. He accepts with that same enthusiasm that the dogs have when someone walks in with their leashes.

You wake up tangled in him, his arm slung heavy over your waist, his chest warm against your back, one leg thrown over yours like he’s actively trying to wrestle you into the mattress in his sleep. And this man sleeps light, military training and all, but the second you start shifting to sneak out of bed, his grip tightens. "Where ya goin’, love?" all rough morning voice and sleep-heavy slur, nose nudging against your shoulder like he could just sink right back into you and stay there. (You do not go anywhere.)

And things stay the same, mostly. He still only comes around every few weeks, still volunteers, still fills the shelter with that chaotic, obnoxious, charming energy. Still gets drenched in sweat from running the dogs, still lifts those massive bags of food onto his shoulders like he’s personally showing off for you (and he is), still sneaks off into the storage closet with you when no one’s looking, grinning against your mouth before pressing you up against the nearest shelf.

But then, one evening, right as you're closing up the shelter, he lingers by the front desk. Hands shoved deep in his pockets. That telltale shift of weight from foot to foot like he's got something rattling around in his skull, something he's been turning over for a while now.

"Was thinkin'..." He exhales sharply, rubs a hand over the back of his neck, looking down at his boots like they’ve got the answers. "I've gotta go again, but maybe next time I’m back, we go out somewhere. A proper date, aye?"

And fuck. That shouldn’t make your stomach flip. But it does. You should say yes. You want to say yes. But you don't.

Because life is a cruel and petty little bastard, your old fling had waltzed back into town. Just for you. A familiar, easy thing. The kind of person you don’t have to think about too much. And for some reason, you say yes when they ask you to dinner. Maybe because you don’t want to wait for something uncertain. Maybe because John is John—flirty, gorgeous, disgustingly good at making you weak in the knees, but never around long enough for you to be sure. (And John doesn't show it, not outwardly, but it breaks his heart.)

And then John comes back. Finally. And he’s not alone. There is a mountain standing next to him. Big. Broad. Dressed head to toe in dark clothes and hoodie like he’s ready for spying, the lower half of his face covered by a black medical mask. He looks like he could crush a man with one hand and still have fingers left to spare. And his eyes, dark, cold, sharp as a fucking blade, land on you like he’s personally offended by your existence. Oh. Oh, this must be Ghost.

John, completely unfazed, grins. “Ghost wanted to see what all the fuss was about.” Ghost says nothing. Just stares. (You have never felt more judged in your life. The fuck did you do to make this walking fortress glare at you like that? You know he doesn’t know. There’s no way he knows. Right?)

And things go back to normal, kind of. John keeps showing up, keeps doing his usual thing. But there’s something off this time. A shift in the way he looks at you, something quietly considering behind his eyes. It all comes to a head one evening when you’re closing up together, standing in the back room trying to fix a shelving issue. He’s quiet. You’re quiet.

And then, you break first. Spill it out like you didn’t mean to—how your old fling wasn’t what you thought, how you shouldn’t have agreed in the first place, how you let yourself get caught up in something easy instead of something real. And John? He leans back against the counter, arms crossed, listening, nodding along like he’s already pieced this all together. Until you mutter, "And I don’t even fucking like chocolate."

And that is what makes him pause. And his brows pull together. Just a little. And then, in the softest, most John way possible—"...Oh."

And the next time he walks into the shelter, it’s not with chocolates.

It’s with a small paper bag. He hands it to you with a little smirk, and inside.

Fresh strawberries. From the farmer’s stand down the road. You’d only mentioned them once. Some passing comment made one day while you were both cleaning up in the yard outside. And John had remembered. And with a charming little smile, he takes your hand. "Let me take ya out properly." And you blink up at him, caught off guard by how easy, how simple he makes it sound. "I—yeah."

And yes, you go on that date. And yes, you end up back at your place. And yes, you have a very, very good night.

And yes, eventually, John introduces you to Ghost properly. (and Price and Gaz too, ah John and Kyle.)

And yes, somehow, someway, you end up with not just one, but two terrifyingly strong military men helping out at the shelter—John still enthusiastically doing everything he can, and Ghost looming in the doing every little thing you ask without question, surprisingly good with the most feral old cats, somehow terrifying and begrudgingly helpful all at once. (He makes it a point to lift two bags of dog food for every one John carries. Jesus Christ)

And yes, eventually, Ghost ends up in your bed too.

But that’s another story.

Thanks for reading.

[farshootergotme]

My toxic trait is that my favoritism for Dick Grayson has no bounds.

[black-lone-knight]

It's been two days since Dick’s arrival at the Wayne Manor. Currently Dick is holding a magazine with a picture of him and Bruce on its cover.

Dick: What's a DILF?

Bruce, chocks on his tea: What?!

Dick, shows the cover: Here, it says you're a DILF.

Bruce: Ah, it means...

Bruce: ...

Bruce: a Dad who Is Loving and Fantastic.

...

Months later.

Superman: Batman has told me a lot about you.

Dick as Robin, enthusiastic: He has?

Superman: Yes, your Dad loves you so much.

Robin: Holy hotdogs! He's a real DILF.

Superman:

Superman:

Superman: Oh yeah... He certainly is.

[the-graves-family]

Aaron shrugs, a little put off. It's not like he's an expert on ghosts, either. Oliver makes him angry, no surprise, but he also finds himself not really being able to navigate interacting with the spirit.

He hates it.

There's several point in time where he could have offered to help. But he doesn't. And he's glad he doesn't, because Oliver jumping away from the washing machine like it's going to explode is the funniest fucking thing he's seen all year.

"Oh, my god," Aaron wheezes, doubled over laughing. "That was pathetic."

Oliver looks over at Aaron like he just said something stupid. Which he did. In his eyes, at least.

“I’m a spirit, not a wizard.” He answers, sounding as if he’s genuinely confused by Aaron’s question. “I believe I’d be better dressed if I had the ability to create clothing at will.”

Looking back towards the controls, he throws all attempts at getting it correct out the window, instead turning any arrow and pressing any button he thought was correct. “And I wouldn’t be attempting this either—”

The sudden sound of the washer loudly beginning to rinse his shirt cuts him off, arm jolting away from the machine as if he accidentally touched something that he shouldn’t have. It doesn’t end up exploding as he had suspected, and he clears his throat when he realizes.

[dreams-of-void]

i love how Dick and Joey's dynamic in the teen titans was like

Dick: no way I'm doing that. this is stupid and-

Joey: 🧍

Dick: you're right Joey. I should totally do that

[littlefankingdom]

I fucking hate when one of my silly incorrect quotes post is successful and people reblogged it with some Bruce's slander. Get the fuck off my post.

"Talia took care of Jason because Bruce abandoned him."

Wtf are you talking about. Bruce didn't abandoned Jason, he died. And he didn't abandoned him when he came back, Jason was not in the right to ask people to prove their love to him by killing others. And he also tried to kill the Joker after Jason died, he thought he had succeeded. Like, shut the fuck up.

"I don't give Bruce credit for anything regarding Dick's education."

Well, who the fuck raised him from 8 to 18 then? Alfred Pennyworth? The same Alfred Pennyworth that raised Bruce Wayne? The one that maintained the "employee/employer" distance with the grieving child he raised. Look at young adult Bruce Wayne and I dare you to tell me Alfred Pennyworth can raise a child better than Bruce, I dare you. And don't you fucking dare blaming Bruce for it, that would be ableist af to fucking blame him for being mentally ill and labelled it as "difficult", I don't tolerate that shit. Bruce Wayne was there for Dick when he lost his parents, he helped that kid through grief and showed him love, he held him close contrary to how Alfred held him. He taught him how to be a great detective, how to be a great fighter, and all he wanted was Dick to be a better man than him. Go tell that bs to your fav and see if he agrees (he doesn't, Dick doesn’t agree and would bite your head off for saying that)