#got inspired I guess

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

For those of y'all newer folks who don't know who Paladin is.... Intro, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 8b, Part 9, Part 10, Part 10b, Extra

[egophiliac]

redesigning my headcanon for Sebek's parents, based on important new information (SCALES)

(you can't see it but they're both wearing crocs)

[littlemoonglow]

Warning: Long post?

—

Jason did not expect his ghost form to feel…like this.

(Oh, dealing with his body randomly phasing through the ground and smacking his face onto hard concrete was not fun, but Jason dealt with that just like with every other hurdle in his life. By being more stubborn than the problem itself.)

It felt like something… settled into place. That was the best way he could describe it.

He felt as if spite and anger were finally not the only things keeping him awake and running. 

He felt calm, almost. Stable, at least. Whatever pent up energy that was stuck in his chest cavity now flowed freely throughout his body, redistributed, instinctually easier to manage.

It's almost like he could breathe a little bit easier.

(After much… ranting that Jason decided to ignore for his own sanity, Danny said that his case ectoplasmic corruption was probably due to the fact that Death, as a concept, doesn’t let go of things easily, time shenanigans notwithstanding.)

(Becoming a half-ghost was seemingly the only working compromise.)

—

Danny once told him that broad strokes of a ghost’s personality could be guessed by looking at their physical appearance. 

Despite the cool powers, this was a slight downside. Jason dealing with the filth of the Earth meant that being to hide his emotions and who he is was kind of important. Life saving, even.

He realized later on that his ghost form was way too easy to read.

—

He looked at his arms covered in bandages, and got reminded of the amount of times he had to patch himself up in the last month.

His jacket was ripped in place he knew that would have been sewn together when he was a living breathing human (well, as much as he could be).

He always looked slightly on fire?

(Danny told him it's probably related to his... core?)

(He know he died in an explosion but really?)

And then, there was his… veil? Shroud? Cloak?

It looked really nice.

But on the other hand…

It drooped when he felt under the weather. It flicked and thrashed around when he’s either irritated or barely holding back his urge to headshot someone.

And—

(No Danny, my cloak was not fucking wagging when you brought me fresh ectoplasm last week, you’ll have to get your goddamn eyes checked—)

He'll deny it until the day he dies (a second time).

And then his cloak could sometimes just…grow bigger. He figured that it acted as an extension of his own body, and had a nice add-on of allowing him to sense things he couldn't see. Hell, he could even make a hand out of it (wacking Danny with it - gently - never gets old). Jason had to also admit it looked cool, with the wispy bits and with one of its sides becoming a bright yellow.

(It reminded him a bit of his time as Robin.)

—

Being a ghost had a lotta perks.

Dealing with targets was so much easier when no one could see you. Inflitration was so much simpler when walls became optional. Cameras will glitch out when he's around, he left no traces visible to the naked eye and, combined with his training, to say that it was useful would be an understatement.

But, sometimes, he feels like he’s changing as well the more he transforms. Not drastically, but enough for him to look back and notice.

He usually was someone who prided on being efficient and straight to the point.

But now he’s starting to… have fun.

He started using his claws whenever he could. Don't het him wrong, he still uses his guns plenty, but there was just something deeply satisfying about vaulting over things, scaling a wall or crawling on the ceiling with bare hands. 

(Punching people is still the most satisfying by far, though.)

That one time hunting down the Joker wannabes was fun too.

(Danny said he’d get along great with Skulker? Did Jason want to find out? No.)

Fading in and out of invisibility, he picked them off one by one, watching as panic and dread slowly but surely creeped up on the remaining ones.

(After all, he has no respect for those trying to emulate the dead clown.)

—

(Yeah, the Joker was dead.)

(Surprisingly, that has not been a good day.)

—

One of the favorite things he liked to do was rooftop parkour. The… bendability of gravity is… fun, not gonna lie.

(Not flying though. Jason is used to having feet in regular contact with solid ground, thank you very much. No offense, Danny.)

But he gets why ghosts love to fly. When he’s jumping from rooftop to rooftop in Gotham in the at night, watching the city light fly by, cloak spread behind him, it’s as if nothing else matters. 

(No Joker, no petty criminals to beat up, no avoiding the Bats so they don’t find out about his existence—)

He can just enjoy, even just for a little bit.

—

(Somehow the Demon Brat and Orphan could sense him. Will keep and eyes on those two, and also the more reasons to avoid them.)

(The real problem was the new Bat in town. Bruce, what the fuck, another one? Again?)

(The yellow one, Signal. No time to check his profile yet, but probably a meta or something.)

(First night out and the guy almost managed to actually fucking see him —looked at him straight in the eyes and all, then did a double take. Jason never phased into the pavement so fast in his entire fucking life.)

(And so far no Bats on his cloak tails yet.)

(He did help the guy incognito, just a couple of times.) 

(And he also did steal his escrima sticks for fun, and once the guy went out looking for them, he’d put them right back where they were.)

(Turns out, he discovered later, that being a little shit runs in the ghost community.)

—

(Sometimes he also wonders what happened to Danny before they met.)

(He wasn't a Gothamite, that was obvious. He doesn’t pry, but it doesn’t take a lot to piece two and two together.)

(He just wonders who he has to kill this time.)

—

(Jason could not believe he forgot and underestimated just how fucking persistent every single one of the Bats could be. Of course it had to run in the family.)

He gazed down, thought the agony, at the gaping wound under his right armpit.

(The Bats have been chasing him relentlessly for a while now. He got more injuries than he can count, especially from Bruce.)

(They know. Oh, they know.)

(It didn’t go well.)

(He knows the others are there surrounding him to prevent him from escaping, he knows that Dick is right behind him, but at the moment he couldn’t care less.)

It has been a long time since the last time he got shot.

(It felt like someone set his right side on fire.) 

What was flowing out in abundance was a neon, toxic green.

(The Pit Waters, ectoplasm, he didn’t even know that he could fucking bleed in ghost form—)

(Danny—)

He looked back up at Batman, holding a (frankly) ugly gun, white casing and highlights in the same shade of toxic green. 

(A gun that Danny warned him about. And everything behind it.)

Jason felt something in him... snap.

(Why did it have to be you, Bruce.) 

His mouth opened—

(waitsincewhenhecoulddothatthroughtthe mask—) 

(Jason could see the billows of neon green smoke—)

(He couldn’t see Bruce’s expression.)

(Every. Single. Goddamn. Time.)

— and wailed.

---------------------------------------------------

I am genuinely delighted that my last post got that much attention! Thank you so much, to all who liked, rebblogged and commented, it really does mean the most. 💕

This AU may be continued? No guarantees, tho.

For those interested: Part 01

@fandomnerd103 @phoenixdemonqueen @satisfactionbroughtmeback @ascetic-orange @apointlessbox @bathildaburp @fisticuffsatapplebees @aisforanonymity @phandomhyperfixationblog @help-i-need-a-cool-username @hashtagdrivebywrites @did-i-miss-anyone-tagging-is-a-monk's-job-first-time-doing-this-aaaaaaaaaaaaaa

[tringstarruuu]

✦🌹 Wild Rose 🌹✦ ============ PRINTS

[whaliiwatching]

a rendezvous beyond

and a halfway closeup just bc im rlly happy with how the bg turned out lol

[maskerat]

redesigned my quirrel gijinka : )

I also changed the way I draw humans (I say whenever I slightly alter proportions in my art)

[mybrknhrtt]

- does a hunt that has no violence feed anyone? ✸

[erineas]

This is how the joke started

And this is the joke itself

Anomaly design belongs to @htsan

[lunarin64art]

That feeling when he can't stand to see you that way, no matter what you do, no matter what you say😩😭💔

[tea-time221]

i did the twitter trend

GUYS IM ALIVE!! i havent posted on here in forever but my glorious return has been chaperoned by gencio

love those guys

[brekitten]

Bruce doesn't dream.

He never has, really - at least, not that he can remember. He never even had nightmares from the night his parents died. Maybe that's why; maybe he just subconsciously trained himself to not dream after that night, in fear of the nightmares that were sure to come. But the point is that he does not dream.

And yet.

The dream always starts out the same, every night, every time he closes his eyes and slips into the embrace of sleep. He's in a pitch-black room, one so dark that he can't see his hands even when he raises them right in front of his face. He knows, somehow, that he can walk for hours without coming into contact with anything - walls, furniture, anything at all to indicate that he was even in a room. Yet he knows that he is, although he's not sure why, as there really is no reason for him to know that.

The dream changes, after a while of walking. He knows that he won't find anything, no matter how far or how long he walks. This place is empty, desolate even. It fills him with dread every time. The change is never consistent, always bringing him to a different place each night.

(Once, it was a dusty old bedroom, one that made his heart ache, although he didn't know why. He had taken notice of the various space-themed decorations, the model rockets and NASA posters and stars on the ceiling. It was clearly a child's bedroom, but it hadn't been used in a long time. Another time, it was a darkened lab, illuminated only by the strange vials of green liquid lined along the many, many shelves. Bruce had wondered, after he had awoken, if it was Lazarus Water, but that felt wrong. It was something else. Something more. It had made him uneasy, and he got the feeling that something terrible had happened there. He didn't get a chance to investigate the gaping hole in the wall before he had been whisked away to another part of the dream.)

This time, he is in a brightly-lit white lab, and he has to blink stars out of his eyes at the abrupt change in lighting and color. He looks around; it seems like a typical lab, but everything is pure white, except for a green stain on the table. He can feel bile rising in his throat at the sight of the cuffs on the table, and though he still doesn't know what the green substance is, he gets the horrible feeling that it's blood. A lot of it.

He uses what little time he has to investigate the lab. There is an abundance of medical supplies, but many look unused, with the exception of the scalpels. The pit in his stomach continues to grow. Why were there so many? He reaches toward a vial of red liquid, wrong wrong wrong this is wrong, when the dream changes again.

Now he's in what is clearly a cell, except even the cells in Arkham aren't this bare. The only thing it contains is a familiar white-haired teenager, who is chained to the floor with cuffs that glow the same green as the vials of Lazarus Water that he's seen before.

Though Bruce has never learned his name, he has been in every dream, the one constant (besides the empty room, of course) in each one. The kid has never spoken, never done more than watch, but Bruce has always gotten the feeling that he was the reason for these strange dreams.

He knows that he should be more worried. If some kind of meta has managed to get inside his head, there's no telling what could happen. But he can't bring himself to be. Something is wrong, and it's not the teenager.

He can't help but think of his own children.

Something feels . . . off this time. The kid isn't looking up, isn't even moving - he seems limp, almost, as he kneels on the ground, weighed down by the chains keeping him there. Green blood - Bruce knows it's blood now, it has to be - drips from his still figure, pooling on the ground underneath him.

Bruce can't move. He desperately wants to, what could he even do? but it's like he's frozen in place. He can only watch as the teenager slowly, agonizingly, looks up at him, his bright green eyes dull and filled with fear and desperation and hope and -

Bruce wakes.

[gatoiberico]

morning coffee

[duketectivecomics]

‘Jason was Duke’s robin’ ‘tim was dukes robin’ YOURE ALL FOOLS

Steph as dukes most formative robin is RIGHT THERE

[sysig]

Even stardust shimmers, darling 🌟 (Patreon)

[capn-twitchery]

twitch please mr fires just got blasted by the forbidden magic alphabet can you have some sympathy

(context: i haven't stopped thinking about this ingame thing still. what kind of fucking duo is this)

[macaroniandpheez]

@dig-jules 👀😩