#KNOWING he is going to die!!!!

[mediumgayitalian]

y’all i cannot stop fucking thinking about it. will with his big blue eyes, youngest of them all, completely musically untalented and rhythmically challenged but by the gods does he understand the human body. following lee around holding his quiver and rattling off whatever he just learned from watching michael in the infirmary. doted on by his big siblings. talking for hours about a galaxy far far away with heroes who choose to save the world, aren’t forced to, hey, they’re heroes, just like you, lee! and his siblings have dreams, they know the prophecies, they look at their little brother and they know he will be alone. they don’t know why or how yet but they can feel in their very soul that he will be out in the stupid world with all its hatred and violence and he will have to defend himself. and he can’t shoot straight and he cries when he hurts someone in training, and all he wants to do is help, and he doesn’t understand that people can be cruel and they will take his kindness and bleed him dry. and a war is coming. they can feel it. do you think they would be desperate? for themselves as much as will? i don’t know how long i will live. i don’t know how long i have left. but you will be there, son of phoebus. i know you will. remember me, okay? remember how i loved you. remember how we loved each other, remember how we healed and fought and cared. please. please, will, remember us. and remember how we loved you.

[sapphicathenas]

anyone else thinking about effie spending 24 years watching haymitch completely fall apart. effie, who met haymitch by accident, who knows exactly what kind of person he is, who sees him every year on his birthday for 24 years and each year he’s drunker, each year he’s angrier, each year he’s faster to give up. and then they get katniss and peeta. peeta, who is kind and open and understanding, who refuses to give up on haymitch. and katniss, who is so much like haymitch at 16 that it hurts. and over the few days they’re together, effie watches haymitch come back to life. watches him try. watches him have hope. and then they get to keep not one but both of those kids. they get to come home. and then, less then a year later, effie pulls haymitch’s name at the reaping.

[warden-anders]

the way that irving and helly's body language INSTANTLY switched from conflict to comfort as soon as helena switched out was INSANE. he cradled her so fiercely AND SHE CLUNG BACK. irving knew he wasnt going to come back from that, but helly was worth more to him than his life was at that point. all she knows is that she's cold and wet and that irving was there, and of course irving wouldnt hurt her, so she embraces him back! anyway they love each other theyre family and i need to bite something

[fairsweetlonging]

imagine an au where shen yuan transmigrates into a blank slate npc with very little system involvement, traveling around for a while until he's found by yue qingyuan and taken back to the sect because apparently shen qingqiu went missing around his transmigration period and shen yuan looks exactly like him, so it must be him, but then a few weeks later when he's just settled in on the peak and accepted his fate the real shen qingqiu shows up who was just on vacation and everyone forgot.

now there are two shen qingqiu's, one of whom is the real one and the other an amnesiac they gaslighted into believing he is shen qingqiu.

anyway—shen qingqiu has a new didi now!

[humming-fly]

was anyone gonna tell me shadow saved rouge's life in sa2 or was I just supposed to find that out playing the game myself

(this worked out as a rather fitting closer for the Final Day in Year of Shadow haha, hope ya'll have a fun new year! 🎉🎉🎉)

[utilitycaster]

"why should I get invested in shows if they'll just get canceled" I was deeply invested in Heroes (2006) and it was not canceled, it just got really terrible. I also got really invested in the sandwich I had a few weeks ago despite it only lasting like 15 minutes. You must embrace the ephemeral. You must be willing to love things that may not love you back, that might betray you, or that may die an untimely death. As the great philosopher Mr. Mitchell Lee Hedberg said "I'm not gonna stop doing something because of what happens at the end."

[arcane-gold]

the inquisitor has far too much on his plate these days

[headcanonthings]

Tim: *dies* Stephanie: Timer starts now! When do you think he’ll be back? I say two months Damian: Bullshit. One month Dick: nah, half a month Bruce, sobbing: WHAT ARE YOU DOING? TIM JUST DIED! Jason, scratching his chin in thought: One week

[coddda]

I wish we could have met in some other way.

Lawlight Week Day 2: Soulmates

If you saw me repost and re-edit this several times uh No you didn't </3

Still frames/Individual gifs:

If you know what every frame is from you get a free cookie. by the way

[somnoir]

Down Bad in Distress

Bruce Wayne is kidnapped... A lot. And it's always so weird that only Batman is allowed to save him. That this dumb, charming, but kidnap-able Billionaire doesn't have a bodyguard.

Now, Bruce can simply go "Oh, we've got Batman. No need to worry for that!" But people are fussy nowadays. He underestimates just bow much Gotham loves their disaster of a prince with a golden heart. Even his company employees are begging him to hire a bodyguard. (This is from the many files being sent to his office, obvious recommendations on competent bodyguards)

Cut to the new bodyguard for hire—who was recommended by Alfred of all people (something about him being the disciple of a good old friend of his). The man was large. Fucking huge. Taller than Jason, if one would like to admit (Jason is his 6'4" baby and this fucking fridge if a man looked 6'6").

But he was all soft and warm. Like a golden retriever the size of a bear.

Anyways, Danny was a rather kind man. When he wasn't following Bruce around and playing bodyguard, he was indulging the kids. Entertaining them with the most obscure things and stories from his childhood. Better yet, Danny would be the kids' bodyguard rather than Bruce's whenever they went out.

It was a miracle when they realized that Damian wasn't reacting badly to the man. Very strange since Damian would think it'd be shameful for someone to protect him during the day. But then again, Bruce once saw Danny effortlessly pick up Damian so his son could coax a cat out of a tree. That was most likely the kicker.

Anyways, Danny looked and felt soft.

It wasn't easy for him to settle into the man's ever present presence, but it's been almost four months since Danny's been hired and Bruce doesn't even flinch when the man brightly greets him from the bottom of the stairs.

"Good morning, mr. Wayne!" Danny would say, all teeth and bright eyes in his suit.

"Bruce," he'd correct immediately.

And then Danny would pause, laugh, and— "Good morning, Bruce."

Then his kids would follow and Danny would affectionately greet them all, ask where they plan to go and if they needed Danny to follow.

His bodyguard was like sunshine and warmth incarnate.

But if course, Danny was a bodyguard.

There were instances where Bruce would have to take a second to remind himself that this man that would look down at socialites like he's ready to crush their hands is the same one who once gave him puppy-dog eyes to back up Damian when his son asked to keep the kittens.

That the same man who grabbed someone by the scruff of their collar like they were weightless was the same one who talked about poetry and literature with Jason.

That the man who once hauled Bruce off the ground and walked right out the gala when the smoke alarms blared is the same one who would gently coax Tim off the coach and into a proper bed.

But right now, that's not his concern. No. Bruce is more concerned about the fact that he's gotten kidnapped again.

Everyone was most likely alerted. They were. He could hear Red Robin, Blackbat and Spoiler talking over the comms, checking in on Red Hood and Robin in case things went off.

"B, don't move. These guys are more prepared than the usual ones." Tim's voice filters into the comms, evidently annoyed. "I've got Oracle checking if there are any bombs in the place."

Bruce stayed silent, watching the masked men and women walk around, guns in hand and crates surrounding them. He had been knocked out during a party. The last thing he saw was Danny's eyes—god, it frightened him a bit. How those pretty blues suddenly turned green like Jason's.

Then he was here. Most likely with a concussion.

"B?"

"I'm okay... Be careful..." He murmurs under his breath, hearing his children sigh in relief.

"Good. We've got Red Ho—What the fuck is that?" Barbara immediately cut herself off, her voice strained and pitched with surprise.

"Oracle?"

"Spoiler—Do you have a view on that?" Oracle frantically asked. "Shit—the cameras just went down. Guys?"

"is that—" Stephanie chokes out, "Is that Danny?"

Bruce froze. Danny?

Jason always knew that Danny was kinda off. The first time he met the man, it wasn't his size that Jason immediately noticed. It was how his eyes flashed green when they met his. At first, he felt threatened, ready to attack whatever the fuck thought it was a good idea to infiltrate his family.

But then... Then Danny smiled at him. Offered his hand with a kind greeting. Jason took that hand and... And felt calm. Like the buzz in his head melted away, like the Lazarus was cleansed.

And Danny most likely knew. Because the man was smiling in satisfaction, like he was pleased that Jason suddenly didn't feel starved and angry and hurt.

"I don't know what happened to you kid, but whatever the hell did, it wasn't good for you. Hopefully you'll get better now." Danny whispered softly and then withdrew his hand, tucking it behind his back.

Jason doesn't know what the fuck Danny was but the man was worth keeping around.

Admittedly, he turned to Danny a lot nowadays. Jason can't call Bruce all the time. No. His relationship with Bruce still isn't good enough to warrant Jason to call him constantly.

But Danny? Again, Jason doesn't know what the hell this guy is but whenever Jason was in trouble, he dialed Danny's phone immediately. And he came... Every, single, fucking time. No questions asked, just pick Jason up and patch him up like nothing.

Danny was a good guy. Like sunshine, like golden retrievers. All teeth with some fangs.

And that same guy just snapped a man's neck with his bare hands.

"Hood... Are you seeing this?" Robin asked beside him, equally stunned as they watched their usually kind and sweet bodyguard effortlessly tear through the group of men with his bare hands. There was already blood around. Everywhere, maybe. Some already on Danny.

"He's on a fucking warpath." Jason murmurs. Every bit of admiration he had for Danny just multiplied by a thousand when he watched him grab a gun right out of a guy's hand and slam it into their head. Fucking amazing.

If Bruce doesn't square up and ask this guy on a date, Jason would have to start planning to parent trap them.

Fucking shit, he needed this guy as a dad.

The doors don’t just open—they explode off their hinges, a violent crack echoing through the warehouse. Guns swing up, barrels glinting under harsh light, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except the figure in the doorway.

Bruce’s pulse slams against his ribs.

And then Danny walks in, dragging a half-conscious man by the leg, leaving a smeared trail of blood in his wake. He doesn’t even look winded.

Blood stains his usually pristine uniform—smeared across his face, streaked over the white of his shirt, soaking into his knuckles. His tie is gone. His collar is open, a few buttons undone, exposing a sliver of skin beneath the mess. There’s blood on his face, drying in streaks, and his knuckles—his knuckles are raw, dripping, alive. He looks… disheveled. Lethal. Gorgeous.

"HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! THAT'S DANNY!" Spoiler screeched, "HE'S BODYING THOSE FUCKERS! RED! RED, ARE YOU FUCKING SEEING THIS?!"

"SOMEONE RECORD THIS! SHIT! SOMEONE RECORD THIS!" Red Robin replied, equally loud and frantic as if trying desperately to find the old camera he used to stalk Bruce many years ago.

He doesn’t slow down. Doesn’t hesitate.

Danny launches the man he was dragging, sending him crashing into the nearest gunman with a sickening thud. Before anyone can react, he moves—crossing the room in impossibly fluid strides, twisting a wrist until a gun clatters to the floor, elbowing another man so hard in the ribs that something audibly cracks. A shot goes off, a wild, panicked attempt—Danny doesn’t even flinch. He snatches the arm holding the gun and bends it the wrong way. The scream is immediate.

Bruce’s breath catches.

Another man rushes Danny with a knife—big mistake. Danny catches his wrist mid-swing, wrenches it to the side with bone-snapping efficiency, then drives the same blade into another attacker’s thigh. The man howls, but Danny is already moving, slamming someone’s face into the nearest table hard enough to leave a smear of red on the wood.

They never stood a chance.

Two minutes. Two damn minutes, and the entire room is a battlefield of unconscious, broken bodies.

And Bruce cannot focus.

Bruce barely registers Jason swearing at him through the comms, telling him to get it together. He can’t.

And then Danny turns to him.

His face is splattered with blood, his chest rising and falling steadily as he steps forward. His hands, bruised and raw, reach out, and Bruce swallows hard.

Danny kneels, gaze flicking to Bruce’s bound wrists, and his touch—gentle, so gentle—works at the ropes with precise care. The knots had been tight, biting into his skin enough to bruise, to draw blood. Danny’s jaw clenches at the sight.

Bruce should say something. Should thank him. Should not be thinking about how unfairly attractive he looks like this—wild, wrecked, utterly devoted.

But he can’t help it.

He’s so gone.

"Mr. Wayne."

On instruct, Bruce corrects him. "Bruce."

And Danny pauses.

The chaos settles—not in the room, where bodies lay crumpled, groaning, and barely conscious—but in him. Just for a second. Just long enough for Bruce to see it.

Blue flickers into green. A warning. A promise.

Bruce doesn’t look away. Can’t. Even as Danny tilts his head, something unhinged curling at the edges of his smile. His chest rises and falls, slow, deliberate, the blood on his face catching the dim light. His knuckles, split and raw, flex at his sides before he exhales a laugh—low, sharp, guttural.

Almost a growl.

And Bruce—God help him—feels something thrill in his spine.

Then Danny takes his wrists. Carefully. Reverently. Those same hands that had snapped bones and silenced screams mere moments ago now hold Bruce’s bruised, bloodied skin like it’s something precious.

Then—cold.

Not warm. Not comforting. Cold lips, pressing soft against each wound, his touch featherlight against the raw skin. Bruce shudders.

Danny pulls back just enough for Bruce to see his lips—stained red with his blood. And he grins, sharp fangs more prominent than ever, his eyes molten with something Bruce can’t name.

"Bruce…"

Danny says it like a prayer. Like a promise. Like a goddamn claim.

Exasperated. Excited. Fond. And something else entirely.

"Try not to get kidnapped again, Bruce… Or I might just end up blowing up Gotham to get you back.

Bruce’s breath stutters.

Oh.

Oh, no.

Bruce is so utterly gone.

(Someone laughs in the background, shadows curling at their feet. Lady Gotham is pleased.)

Part 2 | Masterpost

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

My Great Grandma who loved her babies very much

Reference that I used for the face!

[astronnova]

woe, winter sports teddyghost headcanons be upon ye

[emacrow]

When John Constantine died, he didn't think his last deal actually saved his soul.

Especially with a enormous room full of Gods, Demons, Faes and other being he swindled his soul with.

He didn't expect that deal with the Ghost King in the infinite realm for beating darkseid accidentally contaimnented his poor excused piece soul with ectoplasm to morph into a halfa when he died doing what he never thought he do last.

Save a kid from an illegal ectoplasm extraction from what would've cause the future to end later on.

The next thing he knows, he is in a giant room with all the entity he swindled, sitting on a red plush pillow. Feeling smaller than ever, looking at his tiny tanned pudgy baby hands before a loud whined was heard.

"Fuckin Infinite king got him."

"Yeah, fuck that, I'm not fighting the infinite king after what he did to Chaos last time. He can keep Constantine's stinky soul."

John could only stare in amazement and some twisted sense of shock as one by one, more and more entities were leaving the room, giving up their own contracts, some cursing or grumbling under their voices, even the one who swear she'll get him, could only gritted her teeth, and throw a cursing tantrum before throwing her own contracts on the floor before walking out the room.

Leaving John alone, sitting on a plush pillow with the main person who has caused all this..

Danny Phantom, who was sitting down, relaxed in mid-air, playing with a miniature newborn galaxy like it was a playdoh. White hair full of stars constellations as braids holder, face covered in stardust with a smug grin on his face.

"Why..?" John could only say softly. After all the trouble he cause with the infinite realm high king, he didn't expect this.

"You'd grown on me after accepting that deal to take out the ecto-acts, and seeing your cheese grated soul like that and knowing what going happen after you die. It was the least I could do, plus.." Danny said honestly, waving his hand a bit in gesture.

"Now, there are no excuses that I can't look in your cursed astronomy tower at the house of mysteries!" Danny said with his cheek beaming brightly.

John could only stare blankly for a moment before he started to giggles.. that giggles morphing to a full-blown out crying mixture laugh.

The tiny, purpled hair toddler sobbed like a baby for the first time in years, tears of overjoyed or overly emotional sense of relief that he escaped his own damnant thanks to one deal with a scrawny teen in a outhouse diner 3 years ago.

Hell, being turned into a 3 year old toddler halfa was a better thought than he had in mind, even at the expense of no alcohol for the next 14-18 years would be worth it.

Part 2 -> here

[anonymous-existences]

Random DCxDP Prompt/Thought #2

Jason Finds a Notebook in Danny's drawer, Big Capital letters on its cover written as 'Labels', He raises an eyebrow as he inspects and opens the notebook. "What's this about??" He asked, Turning his head to Danny before reading the text. "Oh that's my nicknames for people cuz I tend to forget names a lot." Danny shrugged nonchalantly as Jason flipped through the pages.

He stared dead silent for a moment at his name and it's 'labels', blinking in disbelief. "WHY DO YOU HAVE ME AS 'ANGER ISSUES', 'FUNNIER THAN JOKER', AND 'HE WHO PROBABLY HAS A FURSONA'?!" Jason read the other labels in disbelief.

His gaze landing on Bruce's 'labels', barking out a laugh as he read the first one out loud. " YOU HAVE B AS 'AUTISM SPECTRUM'?!" He yelled out with a wide amused grin, Danny laughing softly, "I mean... Just look at him..." Danny shrugged making Jason laugh out even more.

[catgrandpa]

Gotham has always been weird, so when the groundskeeper at the cemetery noticed the Wayne kid’s plot was disturbed, he just chalked it up to more of the same ol’. Alright, so ‘disturbed��� may be a tad too light of a word, but what’s an empty grave in the grand scheme of Gotham? God knows in a city like this one, they could use all the burial room they could get. He figured he’d just jot it down on the website and hope nobody noticed for a while.

Too bad he didn’t account for the 13 year old boy in Bristol who periodically checks the cemetery’s website when he’s feeling particularly lonely.

Plot Removed.

Tim Drake stared at the two words under the heading for Jason Todd’s plot number. Removed? What do they mean ‘removed’? They can’t just remove a plot? That’s a person down there! That’s Robin down there! You can’t Remove Robin!

Calm down. Deep breaths. Assess the situation.

Robin has been dead for 5 months and 14 days. There is no reason for a grave to be removed that early, especially one of a member of such an affluential family. Chances are likely it’s a simple clerical issue. He can call first thing in the morning and make them aware of the mistake. He can have it all fixed in 5 hours.

Just a phone call.

In 5 hours.

…

Tim hates talking on the phone almost as much as he hates waiting.

Well it won’t be the first time he’s snuck out to head to Gotham proper at 1am. It can’t even really be considered sneaking out if there’s no one home to catch you.

Buses stop running at 2, so he layers a couple sweaters under his coat and grabs his best running sneakers so he can comfortably make the trek back.

Just a quick trip to settle his nerves. Maybe get a few shots in if he spots Batman, but really he just wants to see with his own two eyes that things are okay and Jason can rest.

It’s 1:37 by the time he gets to the headstone reading ‘Here Lies Jason Todd’ and the gaping, muddy pit in front of it.

This- This doesn’t make any sense. This is not removal. This is destruction. Desecration. Somebody did this. Somebody-

Assess the situation.

A hole in the ground, approximately 1.5 feet in diameter.

Mud and grass flung outward but with little force.

Large chunks of earth turned over and shoved away.

No signs of tool marks or clean lines of entry into the dirt.

Dragging claw marks.

Staggering, shuffled pairs of foot prints in the mud.

A trail of dirt.

Something… Something large clawed its way out of the ground here. Something large and bipedal and- and humanoid.

Tim refuses to jump to any conclusions he can see all the facts laid in front of him. He’s going to cautiously follow the trail and simply hope to any god listening that he isn’t the world’s first line of defense against the zombie apocalypse.

He’s been walking for 23 minutes and there’s good news and undecided news. Good news: he’s closing in on the target and the trail isn’t taking him out of the way so his trip home won’t be prolonged. Undecided news: The potential Zombie Robin is heading directly for Wayne Manor.

As zombie apocalypse news, this is very bad. From Tim’s collected observational evidence, his not-so-professional opinion is that Batman, faced with a horror movie level zombie of his dead son, would not respond well, and would likely not fight back.

In Batman and Robin news? Tim’s unsure. If Jason is simply back? What could that mean for them? Batman can have his Robin. He wouldn’t have to continue nearly killing others and himself every night in his grief. Jason could-

No. Stop. Do not jump to conclusions.

Hope only brings heartbreak.

What would Batman do? Get close and see if the target is a threat.

Target is male. Mid-teens. Dark hair. Pale skin. Leaning against surfaces as he walks. Appears injured and disoriented.

Minimal risk assessed. Approaching and attempting contact.

Target identity confirmed: Jason Todd.

“J-Jason?” It comes out as a croaked whisper. Jason shows no sign of acknowledgment.

Tim clears his throat, steps right in front of his path, and tries again.

“Jason. Jason, stop I want to help you.” Still nothing.

“Please, Jason. I can help, I promise I can help!”

Why isn’t this working?! Why can’t he just do something right for once?! He wants this to work, he wants to help Bruce, he wants to fix Batman, he wants to not be alone, he wants-

“Robin!”

Robin jerks to a stop.

Tim reached out his hand.

“Robin. Robin please, I’m sorry you’re going through this, it’s really scary, I’m really scared. But I just want to help you. Help you find Batman. Help you get home.”

Jason just stares at him. Of course he does. Of course it’s not going to work. Why did he even bother hoping he could help?

Hope only brings heartbreak.

His sight blurs as his eyes fill with tears and he starts to lower his outstretched hand.

His arm is slowed as a cold hand weakly grasps his own.

“Don’t… scared… Bat… help… Dad… help.”

A relieved sob tears out from Tim’s chest and he gathers himself together. He yanks his extra sweater off and gently pulls it over Jason’s cold shoulders. Jason lets Tim drag his arm over his shoulders to try and carry some of his weight.

“Okay, Robin. Yeah. Your dad will help us.”

Batman will solve everything once Tim gets Robin home.

[sunderwight]

Shen Yuan strikes me as someone who doesn't know how to live very well.

I don't mean that he doesn't know how to have a good time or celebrate life. I mean he is always thinking about his death, evading death, or how he's going to die, and planning most of his life around it. He does this like it's a habit. He avoids thinking about his impact on others and he tends to see more meaning in the "good" ways that he could die (and threat in the "bad" ways he could die) than in what he has to offer by living.

But he doesn't want to die. He's not particularly suicidal. He has a healthy survival instinct, not just a reflex but in terms of the big picture as well. He doesn't fantasize about his death, or about ceasing to exist.

He just seems really accustomed to framing everything about his life around his mortality with a degree of immediacy and concern that most young people don't usually have unless they are suicidal.

Hence the "oh yeah he almost certainly had a terminal illness or something near to that in his first life" vibes.