#did you steal it?!

[midnottart]

⚡️🐍⚡️ • a storm is coming

[bogmonstergeneral]

crowley. crowley’s new hair color is 6.66. That’s the color coding. his hair is literally demonic. i love this show

[krysmcscience]

Call this the Whoopsie AU (it's barely an AU)

I mean. Narinder never explicitly SAID the Lamb would stay dead... :3c He probably should have been more specific. >:3c

Part Two:

Well. The Lamb tried, but...sorry, Nari, the crown hates you now. Shouldn't have been so quick to lend it out, I guess. :D

Aaaand Part Three:

'Isn't he just adorable?' -The Lamb, probably, while their followers smile and nod and internally scream at the brand new hellcat they now have to share living space with...

Anyway, nothing says 'Dead To Me' like following a person around to loudly remind them of how dead they are to you. Right? Right. Narinder's got this all figured out. <:]

[oifaaa]

if there is one thing I can respect about bnha it's for going yeah we're a society where almost everyone has a superpower including any number of animal based superpowers of course theres a bunny girl superhero but also the bunny girl super hero is just one of the most cool bad ass fighter superheroes ever she will break every bone in your body with her legs and there's nothing you or god can do about it

[charlietheepicwriter7]

"Nightwing."

Dick froze halfway across a rooftop, the lights and gunshots of Bludhaven disappearing in an instant. A scowl flashed across his face, teeth clenched and bared, before he forced it back. His face smoothed back out and his voice took on a pleasant, amused tone. "Slade. How did you get this frequency?"

"Nevermind that," Slade scolded. "We have more important things that need discussing, and information to be revealed."

"Is this about Constantinople?" He asked with a lilt, propping one hand on his hip. "Because I thought I told you, those geese totally counted as villains and deserved arrest--"

"I found a child vigilante. What do I do with it?"

"Ex-cuse me?" His fist clenched. "Is this a trick question?"

"No."

"What do you mean, 'what do I do with it?' You know what to do with it; you become its nemisis when their 15 and haunted them for the next decade." His voice was thinly-veiled rage. He couldn't stop himself from shaking. That poor kid, Slade has his sights set on them. He's going to torture that kid, or worse, and now I have to track Slade's trail back to wherever he found this kid--

"I can't do that! He's only eight years old!"

"What?"

"There's this eight year old meta brat running around a Mid-West town in his pajamas while adults shoot at him. There isn't a mentor in sight, and one of the kid's rogues has threatened to skin him. What. Do. I. Do?"

[gotham-snark]

>tt< "What would you do without me?"

For @batbabydamian the Dynamic Duo 2.0's biggest stan 💛

[tizeline]

I've saved up more than enough primos for this little gremlin and I'm tired of waiting, they should release him now >:(

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Changeling AU pt.2

This idea got me in a chokehold, so I'm here to add more.

I'm sticking with the 'Talia outplayed the fae in order to acquire 2for1 deal of babies' for this one and probably for any later continuations.

Damian knows his brother is not human. He knew it from the very beginning since no one bothered to hide the fact. Yet Danyal grows up just like any other human baby, acting like a child he is supposed to be. He trains by Damian's side, he eats just like everyone else, he likes the stories and lessons their Mother teaches them both.

But Damian knows. His brother is no human. He sees it in the way Danyal tilts his head like a curious bird, in his swift, flowing movements that remind him of snakes, in his eyes that reflect the moonlight in a way cat's eyes do. He knows it by how some of the assassins lose their names to his brother and how Danyal never lies but also never tells the truth.

More than that, he sees it in the way Danyal smiles. Others would call that smile a mischievous one, but Damian sees no mischief in there.

He sees amusement.

And it drives him up the wall.

So he trains. He works harder than ever to prove himself better. He is worth not just simple amusement, he is the Heir, the Son of the Bat, he demands respect, even from his brother. Danyal will never take his place - not that he even could, Grandfather would never allow an unpredictable being to become the next Demon Head.

And he learns, from his Mother and from the old books, and sometimes from Danyal himself. He learns of customs and rules, of names and wordings, of odds and debts, and of tricks and riddles.

Damian has his own pride, and he wants to show it to his brother. To see the amused smile fade from his face, to make Danyal understand he is not just a weak mortal who's been simply allowed to exist beside his brother.

He wants to defeat Danyal.

And one day, he does.

Danyal is on the floor, and there's no smile on his face. Instead, in his eyes he sees the calm tranquility of a lake, frozen to the bottom, as he looks at Damian. And Damian? Damian grins, victorious at last.

Yet it is only after Danyal stands up and leaves a soft, cold and barely noticeable kiss to his forehead before disappearing in the shadows, that Damian realises:

His brother never asked to have his name.

| <-prev | next-> |

[funnyjokespuns]

This is the best youre getting ok

[inkskinned]

you were raised in comparison.

it wasn't always obvious (well. except for the times that it was), but you internalized it young. you had to eat what you didn't like, other people are going hungry, and you should be grateful. you had to suck it up and walk on the twisted ankle, it wasn't broken, you were just being a baby. you were never actually suffering, people obviously had it worse than you did.

you had a roof over your head - imagine! with the way you behaved, with how you talked back to your parents? you're lucky they didn't kick you out on your ass. they had friends who had to deal with that. hell, you have friends who had to deal with that. and how dare you imply your father isn't there for you - just because he doesn't ever actually talk to you and just because he's completely emotionally checked out of your life doesn't mean you're not fucking lucky. think about your cousins, who don't even get to speak to their dad. so what if yours has a mean streak; is aggressive and rude. at least you have a father to be rude to you.

you really think you're hurting? you were raised in a home! you had access to clean water! you never so much as came close to experiencing a real problem. sure, okay. you have this "mental illness" thing, but teenagers are always depressed, right. it's a phase, you'll move on with your life.

what do you mean you feel burnt out at work. what do you mean you mean you never "formed healthy coping mechanisms?" we raised you better than that. you were supposed to just shoulder through things. to hold yourself to high expectations. "burning out" is for people with real jobs and real stress. burnout is for people who have sick kids and people who have high-paying jobs and people who are actually experiencing something difficult. recently you almost cried because you couldn't find your fucking car keys. you just have lost your sense of gratitude, and honestly, we're kind of hurt. we tell you we love you, isn't that enough? if you want us to stick around, you need to be better about proving it. you need to shut up about how your mental health is ruined.

it could be worse! what if you were actually experiencing executive dysfunction. if you were really actually sick, would you even be able to look at things on the internet about it? you just spend too much time on webMD. you just like to freak yourself out and feel like you belong to something. you just like playing the victim. this is always how you have been - you've always been so fucking dramatic. you have no idea how good you have it - you're too fucking sensitive.

you were like, maybe too good of a kid. unwilling to make a real fuss. and the whole time - the little points, the little validations - they went unnoticed. it isn't that you were looking for love, specifically - more like you'd just wanted any one person to actually listen. that was all you'd really need. you just needed to be witnessed. it wasn't that you couldn't withstand the burden, but you did want to know that anyone was watching. these days, you are so accustomed to the idea of comparison - you don't even think you belong in your own communities. someone always fits better than you do. you're always the outlier. they made these places safe, and then you go in, and you are just not... quite the same way that would actually-fit.

you watch the little white ocean of your numbness lap at your ankles. the tide has been coming in for a while, you need to do something about it. what you want to do is take a nap. what you want to do is develop some kind of time machine - it's not like you want your life to stop, not completely, but it would really nice if you could just get everything to freeze, just for a little while, just until you're finished resting. but at least you're not the worst you've been. at least you have anything. you're so fucking lucky. do you have any concept of the amount of global suffering?

a little ant dies at the side of your kitchen sink. you look at its strange chitinous body and think - if you could just somehow convince yourself it is enough, it will finally be enough and you can be happy. no changes will have to be made. you just need to remember what you could lose. what is still precious to you.

you can't stop staring at the ant. you could be an ant instead of a person, that is how lucky you are. it's just - you didn't know the name of the ant, did you. it's just - ants spend their whole life working, and never complain. never pull the car over to weep.

it's just - when it died, it curled up into a tight little ball.

something kind of uncomfortable: you do that when you sleep.

[expiredhydrogenperoxide]

oh nothing, just jegulus ‘accidentally’ swapping ties and watching sirius go absolutely mental trying to figure out how james ended up with a slytherin tie.

(he would have so many outlandish theories)

[shanastoryteller]

The day his deal comes due, Sam goes missing.

Dean tells himself it’s nothing, that he’s gotten caught up in some research, some last ditch, hail mary nonsense and that he’s just turned his phone off and everything’s fine, that he wouldn’t do something stupid, that he wouldn’t break his promise.

He tells himself that for the first two minutes after he cracks his eyes open and sees the empty bed across from him, and the first time his call goes straight to voicemail, and not much after that. Sam’s broken his promises over things significantly less important to him than his brother’s life.

Dean is dressed and in the Impala five minutes later, heart thudding wildly in his chest. He calls Bobby, Ellen, everyone he can think of, but none of them have heard from Sam, none of them have eyes on him. Sam was with him last night, even if he boosted a car, there’s only so far he can get.

He keeps calling, keep searching, desperate to stop whatever he’s trying to do, to find him, to see his brother one last time before he’s dragged to hell. To make sure Sam is going to be okay after he’s dragged to hell. But the hours tick down, the sun sets, and he can’t find a trace of him. He’s so exhausted and heart sick that when he goes to call Sam again it takes him a long time to read the number on his phone, eyes swimming, the time not making any sense.

1:03

That’s not possible.

That’s not –

His phone rings, blocking out the time with Bobby’s name across the screen, and he answers it but his throat is too thick to say anything.

“Dean?” Bobby says tentatively. “Are you – I got an email from Sam. It just said, I mean, did–“

“What did it say, Bobby?” he asks, even though he’s sure he knows.

Bobby sucks in a breath at his voice, because he knows just as well as Dean that he should be screaming in hell right now, not answering his phone. “To take care of you.”

Dean drops the phone, hears Bobby still talking as he grips the wheel and presses his forehead against the back of his hands. This is what he’d been afraid of. This is why he hadn’t wanted to mess with the deal in first place. This is the one thing he’d begged Sam not to do.

It's easy to find a crossroad.

The demon is laughing at him when it shows up, wicked grin in a pretty face. “That didn’t take you long, boy.”

It’s a different demon than the one he delt with, obviously, but Dean figures they all know the same shit, since demons are a bunch of gossips. “This wasn’t the deal. My brother lives and I die.”

“You traded your soul for your brother’s life,” she corrects, so amused by all this that all he wants to do is kill her, to exorcise her, to make her scream. “Just like your father traded his for yours. There’s no reason Sammy can’t make his own trade. Man, but is your family fucked up. Maybe if you’d just settled down like little Sammy wanted, you wouldn’t all be bargaining for each other’s lives like haggling at a flea market.”

“Untrade it,” he snaps. “My soul for him alive, come on, no year, no waiting, you bring him back and take me to hell right now.”

She laughs in his face. “You don’t have anything to bargain with, boy.”

“My soul,” he repeats, “That’s what this is about, isn’t?”

“Oh, it’s what it’s all about,” she says. “But Sammy’s a clever boy. You know that, don’t you? He didn’t trade his soul for your life, he didn’t have to. You didn’t die. No, he traded it for your soul. Sorry, honey, but your credits been declined.”

At first he doesn’t understand. Sam traded his soul for Dean’s, exactly, so there’s no reason he can’t trade it right back. Then he gets it.

She sees the exact moment it clicks, the moment despair and horror sweep across his face too quickly for him to stop them. “That’s right. Little brother owns your soul now. For some reason he didn’t think you’d take proper care of it. You have it because that’s where he wants it, but no one will be making any deals with you, Dean Winchester. You can’t sell a soul you don’t own.”

“You can’t,” he has to clear his throat, “you can’t just come in and change things at the eleventh hour-”

“Eleventh hour?” she interrupts. “Sammy made his deal eleven months ago.”

His mouth is so dry he can’t speak.

“Isn’t it funny?” she asks, head cocked to the side. “All this time, the deal he’s been trying to get out of wasn’t yours, but his own. Maybe the two of you might have even managed it, except you just wouldn’t help, would you? Insisting that he not research, that he not look for a way out, and he spent so much time trying to convince you, coaxing you to talk about your feelings when he knew you were safe, all he because he thought it would make you feel better when he was gone, because he couldn’t tell you the truth and talk about how scared he was, so talking about your fear was as close as he could get.”

Dean’s going to be sick. “Don’t – please, please, I’ll give you anything-”

“You don’t have anything,” she says, gleeful. “You want to know why I agreed? The thing that made it just too delicious to refuse? Sammy’s down there, just starting in on an eternity of torture, and all he has to do get out of it is give up your soul. It’s his, after all, and he can put the original deal back in place any time he chooses. Just one moment of weakness on his end and his beloved big brother will be on the rack instead.” She sighs happily. “It’s almost as good as anything we’re doing to him down there, the knowledge that if he slips up for even a moment then it would all be for nothing. I couldn’t have found a way to twist the knife deeper if I tried.”

There’s vomit crawling its way up his throat and he has to swallow it down before he can speak. “I can’t – I’ll do whatever you want, please, there has to be something.”

She leans forward, cruelty and delight shining in her eyes. “The only thing you can do is what you’ve been telling your precious baby brother to do for the past year. Accept it. Move on. Live a good life so his sacrifice isn’t in vain.”

God. How can she – how can Sammy expect him to –

He’s doubling over, finally upchucking what little he’s ate today, and he’s dry heaving on the dirt when he hears the fading sound of her laughter.

This can’t be real. This has to be Hell, he has to be in it right now. He has to be.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Thank you all for an incredible 500 days of love and support. I offer you: answers to questions that no one has asked.

(As always, more can be found in the tags <3)

[asterbats]

Odile that's not your craft type

[mipmoth]

It wasn't even a double battle

[confessedlyfannish]

DP x DC Prompt

Batman grunts a greeting at the boy Selena has introduced as "Danny" as if it's totally normal for a kid to be hanging out on a rooftop with her, kicking his legs out above the edge as if he's not 20 stories up.

Selena shares an equally amused glance with Danny that has Batman scowling harder than his usual as the boy gets up, stretching out from his hunch to reveal a 6 foot 2 build not unlike Jason's.

"Wow, spot on," Danny whistles, grinning at Selena. "I owe you a twenty."

"Darling," Selena purrs, hand finding purchase on his upper bicep. "I never exaggerate."

"Looks like Catwoman's got a new scratching post, B," Nightwing cackles in his comm, which is probably why Batman finds himself gritting out a--

"Little young for you, isn't he?"

The kid--in a hoodie and jeans, seriously, where did Selena find this guy--stares at him incredulously before his mouth stretches into an uncomfortably wide grin, revealing fairly sharp canines. He strides forward.

"What can I say, Mr. The Batman," he says, placing a hand on the man's shoulder. He must be around the same age as Dick. "I've got a thing for powerful women in black."

"See you for dinner tomorrow Lena," he says, hand lifted in farewell as he heads for the edge. He pushes himself over the wall with one hand, dropping over.

Batman clocks Selena's lack of alarm and doesn't flinch. Thirteen seconds later, there's no resounding thud when Danny's body would've met the pavement and she's still smirking at him.

"No metas in Gotham," he growls.

Selena throws her head back and laughs. "If I see any, I'll be sure to call. Now," she kisses his cheek, "I better go. I've got a date tomorrow."