#casual headcanon

[starry-bi-sky]

I am loudly pushing the batdad agenda i am loudly pushing the— DPxDC Prompt

“Woah. You look like shit."

Granted, that’s probably not the first thing Danny should be saying to the guy that just bit the curb, but in his defense; he’s not running on 100% right now either.

The man -- tall, towering, and broader than Danny is tall -- whips around on his heel, black frayed cape flaring out impressively. Danny would've whistled in appreciation, but he takes the time instead to wipe the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing the blood running from his nose across his cheek.

"Sorry." He blinks widely, not even flinching as the man with the horns zeroes in on him. "That was rude of me. I have a really bad brain-to-mouth filter; Sam says its what always gets me into trouble."

And she's not wrong either, per say. His smart mouth is what landed him in this situation -- with blood blossom extract running through his veins and cannibalizing the ectoplasm in his bloodstream. Thanks Vlad.

The man grunts at him; a short, curt "hm" that shouldn't make Danny smile, but he does because he's somewhat delirious and probably concussed. The man keeps some kind of distance, sinking towards the shadows of Gotham's alleyway like he dares to melt right into it.

If it's supposed to scare Danny, it doesn't work. Danny's never been afraid of the dark; he's always been able to hide himself in it. He blinks slowly at the mass of shadows.

"You look hurt." The shadows says, blurring together around the edges. Danny squints, and licks his lips to get the blood dripping down his chin off. Ugh, he hates the taste of blood.

"I am." He says, "My godfather poisoned me. M'dying." The agony of the blood blossom eating him from the inside out looped back around to numbing a while ago, so all he feels is half-awake and dazed.

"Hey," Danny stumbles forward towards the man, a bloodied hand reaching out to him. "You-- you're a hero, right? You're not attacking me; which is more than I can say for most costumed people I've met." Maybe it's a poor bar to judge someone at, but he's already established that Danny's not in his right mind.

The man makes no change in expression, but Danny realizes blearily that it's hard to tell with the shadows on his face. He stays still long enough for Danny to latch onto the cape -- stretchy, but almost soft under his fingers.

He looks up blearily into the whites of the man's eyes. "Can you help me? I don't-- I don't wanna die." Again. He doesn't wanna die again. He blinks slow and lizard-like. "I mean- I'll probably get to see mom and dad again, but I told them I'd at least try and make it to adulthood."

There's a clatter down the street, and Danny's ghost sense chills up his spine and leaves a bitter, ashy taste in his mouth. He immediately knows who it belongs to even before the deceptively gentle; "Daniel?" echoes down the way.

"Daniel? Quit your games, badger, Gotham is dangerous for children."

Danny's mouth pulls back, and blood spills against his tongue. "Please." He rasps, and grabs onto the shadow's cape with both hands. "Please. He's going to kill me. Please--"

"Daniel? Is that you?"

His lips part, dragging in air to plead with the darkness again. He doesn't need to, the whites of his eyes narrow, and the cape whirls around him before Danny can blink. Soon swaddled in shadows, the Night lifts him up, and steals him away.

[gojostan-doodles]

Sebastian has experience in the mines, he would DEFINITELY help you get resources!!

It's so funny too, cause sometimes he's like "Hey, I couldn't sleep last night so I took a walk in the mines. I found this gem... you want it?"

HOW FAR DOWN DID YOU EVEN GO TO GET THAT?? Good for him honestly. Go emo boy, go!

[cobaltfluff]

competitive aquarium date

bonus: the night before

[dangans-ur-ronpas]

happy pride month

[wilteddreamsofbaldursgate]

Overindulgent father Astarion who tells his children they’re allergic to any kind of jewellery that isn’t made of the highest grade Dwarven crafted gold. 

It’s not even because Astarion might have a certain aversion to silver, no, he just raises his children to have standards, thank you very much. 

And it doesn’t end with shiny things, oh no… 

The Ancunín brood is known to be dressed in perfectly woven cotton, silk and soft leather clothes, no matter the occasion.

They’re seen playing with expensive toys, reading artfully illustrated books that certainly belong behind thick glass, not in children’s sticky hands. 

There’s even talk that one of the children is not as naturally inclined to music as his parents claim him to be, surely his lyre must be enchanted—the instrument certainly looks extravagant enough! 

And then there’s always this air of effortless haughtiness surrounding the Ancunín children whenever their nannies and servants are parading them through town as if they were perfect little dolls; objects to show off the wealth their parents acquired in quite the mysterious ways. 

So, it’s no secret that Astarion and Tav are pampering their children—some might say they’re even spoiling them rotten. 

And maybe they are, especially Astarion.

But he doesn’t see why he should raise them any other way, nor does he want to.  

When it comes to his children, Astarion has his own standards, and as long as Tav agrees with him nothing really matters. 

Because, these people, they don’t know anything about the Ancuníns. 

They don’t know that it’s not unusual for Astarion to wash out dirt and mud and strawberry stains from comically small finery, leaving behind only the memories of a day spent playing in the garden, chasing after ducks, picking flowers, lazing in the sun…

That any holes and tears the children’s clothes might suffer are quickly mended, making them look as good as new in no time. 

Nor do they know that Astarion doesn’t mind fashioning a brand new dress to match that of a favourite doll, either. Or to embroider a pretty vest with the likeness of that stray cat the children seem to adore, although their father would rather they don’t touch the mangy animal. 

No, those people know nothing at all...

“Not tired!” Astarion’s youngest cries; the vehement denial of her father’s earlier accusation is cut short by a telltale yawn.

The room still smells of fragrant lavender oil and peaches even when the bath water has already grown tepid, just one or two degrees above what Astarion would consider too cold to be enjoyable. 

Amused, he raises an eyebrow at the protesting toddler before he lifts her out of the copper bathtub with little effort. 

By now, he knows every step of this game.

“Tut-tut, my dear child, what did mama and I say?” Astarion kneels, quickly wrapping a soft towel around the child to keep her warm. “We only tell lies outside of this house.”

Unfazed by her father’s gentle scolding, the girl crosses her arms that haven’t yet lost their puppy fat across her chest, reminding Astarion a little too much of a very displeased Tav. 

Suppressing a sigh, he leans back to consider the pouting child, wondering what could possibly be upsetting her this time—the list is growing longer by the day, after all. 

��What’s the matter, dear?” Astarion asks gently, hoping it’s something easily fixable as it’s growing rather late. 

“Want apple!”

Decades ago, Astarion might’ve rolled his eyes—he knows exactly which stupid apple the child wants, it’s been haunting him all day—but once he started to treat his children’s problems as if they were his own, his life has grown somewhat easier. 

“Why, let’s get an apple on our way to bed, then. Would that be alright, Your Highness?” 

The girl promptly nods her head, allowing Astarion to pat her hair dry before dressing her in a clean night dress. 

She rests her cheek against her father’s shoulder as he carries her first to the kitchen to grab a fragrant apple and a knife, then to her bedroom where they settle on the cosy window seat, just like they do every night.

Soft moonlight is pouring through the windows; the child giggles at the way the knife’s blade is catching the silver light as Astarion peels and cuts the apple into even pieces.

“Here you go,” he finally says, giving the slice of apple one last examining look before surrendering it to the impatient little hands reaching for it. “A sweet treat for my little sweet. Doesn’t it taste so much better when we don’t eat it off the floor, darling?” And when it’s not crawling with ants…

The appeased toddler nibbles at the juicy fruit as Astarion carefully combs through her still-damp curls. 

Her hair’s getting long, he notices, knowing that taking care of it will become more time-consuming each day. 

Once, Astarion would’ve thought this task tedious, brushing out hair that’s not his own, oiling and braiding it for no other reason than knowing his children enjoy him doing it. 

But that’s why he loves doing it in the first place, he supposes.

Astarion can tell by his toddler’s heartbeat that sleep is about to claim her. 

The half-eaten slice of apple is still clutched in her little fist as he cradles the child to his chest, slowly rising from the window seat to put her to bed. 

He’s just about to lay the child down that the fruit drops to the floor, his daughter’s tiny hand clutching at his shirt instead.

“Thank you, papa,” she mumbles, more asleep than awake.

Astarion pauses.

He breathes in the clean, yet unique scent of the little girl that is forever engraved in his brain, the same way he knows under which exact constellation she was born. When she took her first steps, what her first word was. Soon, he will have to memorise her favourite colour, and what she likes to eat when dirty apples won’t be that appealing anymore. 

By now, Astarion knows this game by heart, knows that with every year that passes, he has something new to learn about his children.

And sometimes he wonders what it’s like to grow up with clean bed sheets and full bellies. Sleep filled with naught but warmth and happy memories. Ever open doors and tears that are dried by tender kisses. Living in a house where mistakes and anger are welcomed, safe. 

He wonders what it’s like for his children to know that their father’s love comes without conditions. Not now and not ever. 

Sitting down on the bed, Astarion holds his youngest a little closer to his chest, unwilling to let go of her, yet. 

He’s often accused of spoiling his children when most people can only just grasp the very surface of his love for them, the bare minimum of what he feels for his one and only, precious family. 

These baseless accusations are as unimportant to Astarion as the people voicing them.

He’s raising his children to have standards, wants them to take their father’s love for granted, to accept nothing less but pure devotion.

It’s the only way Astarion knows how to love them, the only way that comes most naturally to him. 

Astarion looks down at his little girl, now fast asleep, a gentle smile tugging at her lips. 

After all these years—all these children—he’s still in awe watching them sleep in his arms as if no harm in the world could ever befall them.

And it won’t—not if Astarion can help it. 

“No, thank you, my heart,” he whispers, pressing a kiss against the crown of the toddler’s head. 

When it comes to his children, Astarion holds himself to the highest standard.

[zephyrchama]

We know that Lucifer is canonically the only character that's said the F word in Obey Me!. Nobody else has outright sworn. (I know the others say stuff that gets censored and it's primarily for legal/content reasons but hear me out.)

We also know Lucifer has cast curses during events so that nobody remembers what he (and his brothers in multiple instances) looks like shirtless/naked or as a dame.

Is it possible that at some point Lucifer cursed MC to be a pure cinnamon roll, unable to hear the other characters' constant swearing? Cursed to only converse like life is a PG13 movie while everyone is actually incredibly vulgar.

[eupheme]

Can you imagine sending Logan nudes lmaooo. If you have any time would you make a little drabble about sending Wade and Logan nudes and their reactions (,:

oooh hi anon, this is so 👀 to think about!! I feel like they would both be incredibly appreciative for sure (just like - knowing you were thinking about them would be such an ego boost for both) - I feel like Wade would be over the moon and so complimentary. and Logan might be a little more old-school. admiring, of course - no one’s sent him something quite like this before. He’d keep it safe - pull it out when he’s really missing you.

I have a little drabble for each below! Just a fun pov of them receiving them 💖 thank you so much for sending this!!

SENDING WADE & LOGAN YOUR ✨PHOTOS ✨

wade wilson x gn!reader | logan howlett x gn!reader

WADE

Wade is out - but it doesn’t matter, not when his sweetie pie snookums is messaging him. As soon as the metal gear alert chimes, he’s peeling away from the group to check your text.

Teeth sinking into knuckles when he sees the pretty picture you sent him - hard enough to bruise if he wasn’t already healing.

All that skin, bared for him to see. Red leather spread out beneath - something resting against your parted lips.

With a tap, it’s already the new background of his phone. Your contact photo as well - his thumbs moving a mile a minute as he texts you.

> baby.

> BABY.

> fuck, you look so fucking good.

> I’m SO fucking hard right now

> Is that my suit? IS THAT BABY KNIFE???

Your messages comes back instantly

> why don’t you come over and see? ❤️

“Fuck, I love you.” He groans, palming himself as he texts something back. Emojis, a random press of letters, he has no idea. Doesn’t fucking matter.

Throwing out the quickest goodbye he’s ever managed as he power-walks through the bar - still talking a mile-a-minute as he passes the shared table.

“Gotta go, listen - Avengers-level stuff here. The Marvel Jesus beacon has been lit, I am legally obligated to answer the call-”

Ignoring the chorus of questions that follow -

Because he’s got somewhere really goddamn important to be.

LOGAN

It’s late, when Logan hear the ping of his cell. His head tilting back on the couch, as he swipes through to his messages.

A breath held, when he sees what you sent him.

He lifts up on an elbow - a confirmation that the door is shut behind him. Keen senses catching the slow breathing in the room behind, before he settles back down.

Phone held close, as he looks at your message again.

He’s used to old, grainy polaroids. A hint of intimacy, tucked into a pocket when he enlisted. It’s nothing compared to this.

Bared skin. So much implied in the way your hand curves - hiding what he wants to see. The peek of his flannel at your wrists, before the rest is cropped with the angle.

An aching swell to his cock, as his hand drops to snake beneath the waistband. Squeezing himself, as he bucks into his palm.

A second, before his thumb is tapping on your contact. He can hear the smile in your voice the second you answer his call.

“You liked it, baby?”

His eyes close at the soft coo of your voice.

“Yeah. Fuck yeah,” He rasps, “You just take that?”

You hum your answer, and his fist tightens. A bitten-back groan, as his eyes close. Picturing the photo again. Picturing you.

“Fuck. Keep going, sweetheart.” Logan groans, “‘m right there with you. Wanna hear you when you come.”

thanks again for sending this! 💖

[here-comes-the-moose]

Echo would 1000% drop the craziest lore in the middle of dinner with the batch and then just ask them to pass the peas and continue on like nothing happened, meanwhile the batch is like “you did what????”

[macncherries]

no one gets it. this is waht autism does to a mf. welcome to macncherries schizo-posting :(

[originalaccountname]

My turn to be skk-posting

in my ideal vision, when they finally get in something resembling a relationship (as adults, they were Not There as teenagers), it's because they both want it, which means they unlock previously forbidden features with each other like sharing a bed instead of a couch (you all know about my weird obsession with skk and couches), but also freely touching.

Dazai is a rather tactile person; my guy is freed after 2 weeks in prison and the first thing he does is dance, poke at, lean/hug and play with the hair of the first non-evil person (a stranger) he meets. Being with Chuuya, he constantly finds himself in Chuuya's bubble, and indulges in ways he usually can't with others. That often means direct skin contact, not even with ulterior motives, but really just because he is allowed and he wants to.

Chuuya on the other hand has never done something gently ever: he is fierce, he cares and loves intensely, and he never lets go, but he barely knows the concept of a reassuring gesture (working on it). Dazai being in his bubble wouldn't bother him at all by that point, but the handsy part? it's awkward. needs some getting used to. It's a learning opportunity.

And when Chuuya gets used to it and finally makes a move to return the favour? it's Dazai who short-circuits.

[the-awful-falafel]

The Peppino dominance hierarchy

[lanawinterscigarettes]

house has low empathy autism and wilson has high empathy autism and that's where the majority of their differences come from. neither can imagine why the other thinks the way they do and both think their reasoning is superior to the others

[lunacias]

001: first shift

[sofiaruelle]

🤟🤟🤟

[ipostmysimpingstuffanonymously]

Part 2. This time its the Tokyo Five (As I named them) Headcanons in the reblog tags appreciated

[laxxarian]

They were in the basement with Jack Fenton having a grave announcement.

It was about the family going to Gotham cuz Jack, as much as he hates it, has to go to a gala since his cousin invited him and his family. He was also threatened that if he were to decline, his cousin would burst through the Fenton Works and live there for three days so Jack decided that it's better to go to the gala and deal with his cousin for one night rather than three.

Who's the cousin you may ask? Bruce Wayne.