#he will never ever live this down

[hailsatanacab]

A Persuasive Argument - dpxdc

"Great!" Danny says, clapping his hands together to get everyone's attention. The dinner table falls silent as everyone looks towards him. It's a full house today and, honestly, Danny's a little nervous. "I'm sure you're all wondering why I gathered you here today."

"It's dinnertime. In our house." Duke mutters, while doing a very bad job of concealing his yawn. He holds his fork poised over the braised beef, but, just like everyone else, still looks towards Danny before tucking in. It's intriguing enough to wait.

"Yeah, no one misses Alfie's dinner." Dick says, with a brilliant smile that Danny can't help but return.

"Precisely! What better time to talk to you all than when you're all actually here!"

"Wait, I thought you came round to work on our English essays?" Tim asks, blinking owlishly.

"I'm afraid I've lured you here under false pretences, Tim."

"This is where I live."

"I would still really appreciate help on that essay though, I mean, what the hell is Hamlet even about? I just don't get that old time-y language, like 'Hark! A ghost hath killed me!' - absolute rubbish, what does that even mean?"

"The ghost never kills anyone in Hamlet, he's there to tell Hamlet that he was murdered. Have you actually read it?"

"No, but it sounds like you have. Tim, I want this guy to help me with my essay instead. I know for a fact that you haven't read Hamlet, either."

"So? We don't need Jason, I've read the Sparknotes."

"Hi Jason, I'm Danny, pleasure to meet you, summarise Hamlet in three sentences or less."

"Am I auditioning to help you write your essays? I can't believe you’ve gone through your whole school life without reading it, it’s good!"

"Hamlet, along with a number of other classics, was banned in our house because it portrayed ghosts as intelligent and sympathetic beings rather than evil, animalistic beasts. I didn’t even get to see The Muppet's Christmas Carol until last year with Tim! It was surprisingly good, and I hate Christmas because everyone always argued and it sucked. But we're getting off topic. I—"

"No, no, please go back to that, because what the fu—"

"Boys, please." Bruce interrupts, looking to the world as if he wants to hang his head in his hands. "Danny, you were about to say something?"

"Oh, yeah, Mr. Wayne! Thanks!"

"Please, call me Bruce."

"Well, that very succinctly brings me to my point, because I'd actually really like to call you dad."

Nobody says a word. Nobody even blinks, all as shocked as the other, watching open-mouthed as Danny pulls his laptop out from beside his chair. Bruce can definitely feel a headache coming on.

"Before you say anything, I've prepared a 69 slide PowerPoint presentation on why you, Bruce Wayne, should adopt me, Danny Last-Name-Pending. Please save your questions, comments, and verdict until the end, thank you."

[swiggity-swexual-i-am-asexual]

As per usual, it’s DP crossover with (probably) DC, although you could probably adjust it for other fandoms

ANYWAYS

A little kid and his mother are trick or treating in another city, perhaps at some kind of event rather than knocking on doors, and the kid is dressed as Phantom. It’s very adorable, with his little ghost-shaped bucket and clearly homemade and already stained costume—listen, white only works if you can just fly over street grime or phase it out of your clothes—and his slightly I’ll fitting wig. The kid is SO happy to be out and about dressed as his favorite, and maybe even showed it off to Phantom back in Amity Park before his family left.

The hero, insert whoever you wish here, is probably in civvies and just enjoying the event. The kid, meanwhile, is so glad when people ask who he is so he can explain, and so- the hero gets to hear ALL ABOUT the local town hero who is probably pretty small time despite the kid’s clearly exaggerated stories. The hero certainly never heard of him, but the kid’s mom confirms that Phantom really was the town hero, despite some mixed reviews of the poor guy.

“Did you manage to show him your costume?” the hero asks.

“Yeah! We went down to the cemetery to leave flowers and I got to show him my costume.”

Wait. Cemetery? Maybe it was part of theme, because Phantom had to be named that for a reason, but… it sounded like…

The kid ignores the suddenly VERY still hero and instead turns to his mom. “Momma, do you think we should bring him candy? He doesn’t get to trick or treat like we do, and I can work super hard to get him a bunch!”

The kid’s mom just smiles. “We could, but maybe we should bring him something homemade. I bet he’d like something more filling, teen boys like him have a hollow leg.”

The kid wrinkles his nose. “Like Vernie with the pizza bagels?”

“Like your cousin, yes. We can make some cinnamon rolls and take them to his memorial, maybe bring some of the apples from your grandpa’s garden…”

The hero is pretty much forgotten as the two-part family wanders off, not quite intentionally forgetting the hero is there so much as the hero somewhat accidentally ended the conversation when they just froze and didn’t ask anything further.

Not that the hero didn’t want to. But they’d learn something very serious.

One—there was a small town hero they’d never heard of. Two—that hero was apparently a teen. Third—most pressingly, the teen hero was both beloved enough to have kids dressing up as him and dead enough to have a grave.

This… might require some phone calls.

[x-hollywoodghoul-x]

"See, it is a boasting point: I lasted like at least ten generations of bloatflies."

Oh, she didn't actually know the exact lifecycle length of a bloatfly, did she? That made her response to his throwaway insult even funnier.

"Yeah, ten months is real impressive, swee'heart."

The Ghoul drawled back, voice thick with sarcastic amusement. From context, he could infer what the raider had probably been trying to convey - and sure, ten years in the raiding lifestyle was actually quite a feat. Most folks died, or came to their senses and switched career paths, well before then. The ones that stuck around this long and had lackeys, well. They'd usually stirred up enough chatter for him to have heard about them by now.

Maybe this one would have a name he'd recognise more than her face.

"We had a sniper. He got greedy and got his head blown off. Bloaty style."

He was actually a little surprised that she'd admit that to him. Granted, it didn't guarantee she had nobody out there covering her and her two lackeys - but after her little speech about how she was such a generous boss who invested in paying skilled people what they were worth, it was rather ironic that she'd just had to put one down for getting greedy. Clearly there had been a disagreement over how much the sniper's skills had been worth.

"Shame," he commented, with the mordant humour of someone who'd just seen all the cards in his opponent's hand and knew he could take the winning pot.

No sniper, no problem.

Another clear reaction at his pointed choice of words. Instead of bristling at his blatent button pressing, however, the raider averted her gaze. Oh, that was interesting.

"I'm in a "I wanna fuck with the Enclave today" kinda mood."

She was really keeping her manners on, wasn't she? That was sensible, even if it wasn't very sporting. The Ghoul magnanimously decided to let the subject go. After all, he had more important matters to focus on than needling this stranger for the sake of seeing her squirm. And by the look that just crossed her face, she was already off her game enough that she'd forgotten introduce herself.

"Right. I'm Coop."

The Ghoul's expression went abruptly, unsettlingly blank.

He barely registered the names of the two men as she finished off her side of introductions; a haze of static was setting in, bouncing the old nickname around in his mind, turning it over. Trying to discern whether this was some sort of sick joke. Trying to discern whether or not she knew.

There was no way she could know. She hadn't delivered it like a punchline; she hadn't paused to take in his reaction, or given any indication that she'd expected there to be one. It was just a stupid coincidence.

Then, one of the newly introduced raiders (Pat?) raised his hand and actually waved hello at him. That was nonplussing enough to pull The Ghoul back out of his head, and watch as Coop and her other buddy collectively cringed at the social faux pas.

"... he's our Brahmin, ignore him."

Ah, so he'd been right. That one was the weakest link. The one who carried the bags because he didn't shoot as good or think as fast.

If this went to shit, Pat was going to make a good meat shield.

"As for my friend, if I went around giving the names of people I work with and for, wouldn't be good publicity, would it?"

The Ghoul's eyes narrowed knowingly. So this friend was the real big fish - and probably the source of all these promised caps, given this raider was so reluctant to risk being cut out of the deal.

"Oh, I get the feelin' your friend's had plenty of publicity already," he remarked, low and shrewd. Certainly he'd put money on them being someone more familiar than these strangers.

"You, on the other hand... Maybe you oughtta hire a publicist, 'cause I've heard a marked lack o' chatter about you."

Maybe because she'd been a lackey herself for most of her career, and some big-name boss had been taking all the credit. Or maybe because she just hadn't really done shit outside of scavenge easy pickings and mug some small merchants, and that was why she'd survived so long in the first place.

"You'll hear more from me if you join us. If not, find the answers out there. You'll find me too, if you ever need caps."

For all her purported confidence in what she had to offer, this woman really did seem set on giving him an easy out. Was that big ol' minigun of hers out of bullets from her disagreement with her former sniper, or something?

The Ghoul's lips quirked.

"Well, I'll tell you what," he started, with offhanded cheer, as he stepped in close enough to clap a faux-friendly hand on Pat's shoulder.

"Y'all are some of the politest raiders to ever point a gun at me, an' I'll admit that tickles me a bit, so -"

With the deft speed of a viper, he made his move. His other hand firmly clamped down on Pat's elbow - using his newfound leverage point, The Ghoul sidestepped behind his quarry, and smoothly twisted the young raider's weapon arm up behind his back to divest him of his nice looking gun.

"- I'll take it under advisement," The Ghoul finished with that same affected equanimity, releasing Pat almost as quickly as he'd grabbed him with a patronising little pat to the head.

Nothing personal, bucko. Just how the game goes.

He retreated with his newly procured gun - how good it felt to be armed again at last - and kept it pointedly levelled at Coop, while he gauged the reaction to his little breach of niceties. Just in case she wasn't feeling so kindly any more now that he'd robbed one of her own, or so inclined to let him walk away.

"Consider this my advance, for dealin' with your Dom Pedro problem," he gave by way of simple explanation, and tipped his hat for good measure - a sardonic little thank you for what he knew he hadn't had permission to take.

And if you have any sense, you'll realise how lucky you are that this is all I'm charging you for the mistake of unleashing me for a recruitment pitch.

He'd have shot and looted the lot of them, but, well. They had technically done him a favour, and they hadn't tried to threaten or extort him yet.

If this Coop was serious about being willing to let him walk away, with the chance of future jobs still on the table and no grudges held, then he had a feeling it was probably more advantageous to not completely burn this particular bridge right now.

Either way, he was definitely about to find out who this weirdly polite old raider actually was - folks always showed their honest character when things started going wrong.

@savingthrcw

"Please. Look at me, cowboy, I'm an old raider."

Was she trying to strike up a rapport with a bit of banter? Adorable.

The Ghoul gave her a yellowed, knowing smile that didn't meet his eyes.

Oh, kiddo, you don't know what old is.

An "old" raider was a spit in the bucket compared to him; the lifestyle killed most of the trigger-happy, caps-hungry idiots who gave it a go within three years.

And given he'd never heard of this woman or her little crew, he doubted she'd been in the raiding business that long.

"Ah, now, swee'heart, that ain't much of a boasting point - 'cause most of y'all don't last longer than a bloatfly, " he quipped back lightly, the faux-friendly tone of his voice belying the very measured way he was circling closer. The two lackeys accompanying Miss Minigun looked nervous about his approach, but they seemed to be holding their nerve so far, which was a little disappointing.

He was itching for an excuse to shoot something, and that was a nice gun the twitchy lad on the left with the bags was holding.

Go on. Give me a reason. I know you want to.

Miss Minigun was continuing her pitch, either unaware or unworried by the way The Ghoul was sizing up her people; making a note of which one was the weakest link in the three-person chain, which one would make the best meat-shield and give him the advantage he needed to quickly dispatch the others, if it came down to it.

"I'm still here because I plan and I prepare. Then I overprepare. You'd be when the 'over' bit starts. Which is what lets me be so 'nice' about it."

The Ghoul turned in a slow, thoughtful circle on the spot, peering out across the wide open field of the dark graveyard, making a show of looking for the invisible backup sniper team that must be making her so confident in her preparation skills.

If she truly thought bringing just two men and a minigun was enough to ensure her safety, well, that was actually a little insulting. Not that he was going to have any complaints about a mistake if it worked in his favour, of course.

"Here's the deal. Apparently a scientist stole from the Enclave and ran with his dog."

That got his attention.

...Enclave scientist, huh? Running away with a dog?

Oh, that scientist was definitely scurrying off with some kind of highly classified military tech that folks would pay a whole mountain of caps for. He doubted the dog was the stolen property that the Enclave was so pissy about.

"The Enclave got its panties in a twist, and offered a thousand caps to bring him back. But we both know they ain't gonna give that to ya. 'Cause you are a ghoul, and people are stupid about that."

The Ghoul's lips twitched; a small ripple of acerbic amusement.

Oh, you'd be surprised.

Sure, most folks were stupid, discriminating assholes. But most folks were also pretty quick to reevaluate their priorities, when the right leverage was applied - and his practiced brand of persuasion was pretty effective at making even the most proud and stubborn fellow suddenly experience the pressing inclination to be more accommodating.

After all, he wasn't just any ghoul.

"They'll want someone in a shiny armor to do it."

Well, there was what someone wanted, and there was what they actually got. He had a feeling the Enclave wouldn't be splitting hairs over the appearance of whoever bagged their bounty, when it came down to the urgency of getting their property back intact - and keeping it out of the hands of whoever this defecting scientist was undoubtedly angling to sell it to.

"Who'll really pay a lot is a friend of mine, if I bring the scientist to them."

...Ah. So Miss Minigun knew a higher bidder, and wanted to capitalize.

It didn't really matter who got the prize, in the end. It was probably just some new kind of fancy military-grade weapon for the wasteland gangs to squabble over and kill each other with, as if that wasn't all they'd been doing for the past 200 years anyway.

"If you are with me, it's a job worth 500 caps for you alone. You are free to go and check if anyone is offering more. But... if it's true that you are as good as they say, I'll throw in an extra 200."

The Ghoul arched a hairless, pock-marked brow at her, and gave a low whistle through his teeth - a deliberately performative display of amused surprise at the upfront offer.

"Wow." He drawled out, taking his time with the word, so that it was nicely marinated in sarcasm on delivery.

"Y'all really trekked all the way out here to dig ol' me up and offer 700 caps for some help with a bag n' delivery? My, my, someone's feeling in a real kindly mood."

He enjoyed the way Miss Minigun's face had twitched when he used that particular word, so it was pure vindictive curiosity to see what happened when he poked that little button he'd discovered again. Being called kindly had clearly touched some sort of nerve - maybe because she knew he wasn't using it as a compliment, maybe for some other reason. Either way, it was a flicker of an honest reaction, a hint of her true nature beneath this show of playing nice she was serving him right now.

I bet you're not so civilised when folks don't follow your little script.

The payday for this one must be big; if she was so willing to offer such a lump sum with a bonus tacked on top up-front, without even haggling, this so-called friend of hers must've quoted a much higher price than the Enclave's set reward.

A soft-footed scientist and his dog would be easy to track down, given they'd leave two sets of tracks, and have double the need to stop at the few places that supplied safe drinking water to travellers. Outsiders stuck out like a sore thumb from the locals at settlements, so it wouldn't take many friendly memory-jogging conversations to piece together where the target was going. Somewhere he assumed he'd be out of the Enclave's long reach, presumably, which helped narrow down the options.

It sounded like a lucrative deal. Which meant there had to be some kind of nasty catch, of course.

When something sounded too good to be true, in his experience, it always was.

"Not because I'm kind-hearted, but because that's what I call an investment. Paying skilled people the right amount instead of fucking them up... usually means they'll come back to work with me later."

Yeah, there was the flash of that metaphorical leash in the little tip of her hand. So this was supposedly about more than just one job, and she considered this an investment. A way to try and hook herself a notorious ally that was now conveniently the enemy of one of her latest enemies, and keep his services on a retainer to get a leg up on her competition.

...Did this raider really think she could convince him to drop the independent autonomy of his unaffiliated freelance status, and join her motley crew, by talking all nice-like and waving a big enough bag of money?

Well. She wasn't the first to make the assumption that he could be bought, and annoyingly The Ghoul doubted that she'd be the last, either. Even though his method of declining such offers had become increasingly emphatic over the years, there was always someone who thought they could change his mind.

"So take this as an incentive not to shoot me in the back whether you wanna do it or not, I'm worth more caps alive, 'cause they can keep coming and you never know when you may need a job."

The only original spin on this particular approach was that Miss Minigun seemed to be clued into the importance of emphasising she could take no for an answer. Her explicitly expressed preference for his answer to not be delivered with a bullet indicated that, on some level, the raider knew the fine line she was walking here. That she was ballsy enough to approach and ask for his allegiance, but not entitled enough to expect and demand.

"Pitch over. I won't lie, the fact that Dom Pedro will shit his pants knowing you're out and about? Makes me feel aaaall warm and fuzzy. It's good reason to try you first."

The bare-basic show of respect was a pitifully low bar, really, but enough folks had tripped over it that The Ghoul was, admittedly, kind of entertained by the novelty. And for a moment, it even showed on his malformed face - before he felt that all-too-familiar tightness in his chest, that burning itch in his throat.

An innocuous dip of his head obscured his expression under the broad brim of his hat; he raised a fist to his mouth and managed to turn his stifled coughing fit into a rasping, sardonic chuckle.

"Y'know... I didn’t catch your name. Or the name of this well-paying friend o' yours, come to think of it."

@savingthrcw

[bakudekublogblog]

the way katsuki just IS izuku's first love drives me nutty. like he just had a big ole crush on him with his huge-ass heart eyes and he chased him around with maximum puppy-love smitten energy

[fairsweetlonging]

okay but post-canon luo binghe suddenly being atticwifed by an overly jealous shen qingqiu and feeling euphoric bc omg shizun can't stand the thought of binghe being with anyone else and is locking him up to be his only thing in the world!! shizun wants only him and no one else!!! shizun is guarding him like vicious dragon guarding its precious treasure!! he's living it up being shizun's house wife only, doing nothing but serving his husband and proudly wearing the chain like it's a second wedding ring and basking in the jealous attention like there's no tomorrow

but then it turns out shen qingqiu actually got hit with one of pidw's wife plot-pollen that made him act so jealous and crazy, and when it's over (either by papapa or time), shen qingqiu profusely apologizes and says he'd never do such a thing to binghe and it wasn't like him at all and binghe stands there like "oh..."

[laurents-secret-diary]

oh damen we're really in it now.mp4

[team-118]

that's the thing. he's the one you forget to count on. he's perfect but it's a front. he's happy but it's a lie. he cut the damn line and he's still alive down here. he's 9, he's 19, 21, 27, with the weight of the world on his seemingly bulletproof shoulders. he's braver than anyone should have to be. he takes responsibility to a fault. he's cursed but the universe doesn't scream. he's a wonderful partner as long as he doesn't look it in the eye. he's falling backwards into a pool of his own blood and he's dancing in his underwear in his living room. he's gonna be better. for christopher? no, for himself. he's golden and glowing at sunset on the court, he's singing karaoke and djing with drag queens, he's falling to fucking pieces and then he's putting himself back together. who the hell is that? eddie diaz, new recruit. we don't bet against him.

[fisheito]

rereading the nuca pink doujin and seeing yakumo tear himself apart re: his snake form vs his human form all this agony and self-doubt and silent suffering and fear of rejection like "if i looked less human would u hate me" , "if u saw me in my true form wouldn't that be horrible. terrifying. disgusting" , "if i admitted i want to swallow you whole would you think worse of me"

and i imagine him asking something like this to the crowd of clan members , who are , undeniably,, a group of Kinky Fuckers

they all smile with the serenity and carefully masked excitement of a horny olivine. masterful beautiful reassuring expressions (errr..... masked to different degrees depending on the clan member)

[wordsofwilderness]

what would be james' reaction to REGULUS getting flowers? is it a whole reversal of roles

Ohhh I have thoughts!!

the original post for context

The first time Regulus gets James flowers, James' brain malfunctions completely. James.exe has crashed unexpectedly. Regulus immediately starts panicking about whether he accidentally got flowers James is allergic to or something.

But it doesn't last long before Regulus ends up pushed against the nearest wall. James has been reduced to default settings. Words might not be in those, but fucking Regulus senseless certainly is.

The flower bouquet is long forgotten on the entryway floor.

And of course, Regulus brings it up whenever James as much as tries to argue about Regulus' reaction to James' flowers.

[allthegothihopgirls]

i think it would have been funny if tim, after discovering his bisexuality and thinking that was the 'unique feature' he brought to his iteration of robin, mentioned this to the rest of batfam, only to find out they've all been some degree of queer this whole time.

[ohitslen]

Sharing a meal

I wrote something for this below the cut if you’re interested :)

They never eat anything too tasty, surviving with packeted rations and canned food in their journey. Sometimes they would stop at a little restaurant and eat a nice meal; it really tasted like something gourmet after days of going with grain bars and dry jerky.

There were fleeting moments in between conversations in which one of them would remember some dish, from back in the day when things were easier and they didn’t worry about too many things. They never went deeper into the topic, just mentioning how they missed a good meal.

Staying at an inn or any motel was an expensive thing to pay for. However sometimes they had some extra money from an odd job Vash did or from Wolfwood’s undertaker services, and they would always rent a room as a treat for themselves.

It was a surprise when they entered the room and saw a small kitchen. The space was a little too cramped but it had everything they needed, it was like a deluxe room when they though about all the places they had been at. None of them had a kitchen at all, maybe they had a tiny stove or a mini fridge, perhaps a table sometimes but never the whole set together.

They both looked at each other to confirm they really were seeing the thing, smiling excitedly.

They could make a meal for themselves.

Vash knew how to cook, he had done some work on kitchens throughout his life. A few times he helped Rem when he was a child, he knows how to defend himself. Yet he didn’t know any recipes by heart, not any that would be inside their budget at least. He could get creative and probably whip up a thing or two if he was given enough time.

“I know what to do” Wolfwood said with a smile that irradiated a melancholic warmth interrupting his thoughts . A smile Vash had only seen when he talked about the things he loved.

Vash didn’t suggest anything in the end and just followed what the other man told him to do.

He went to buy all the things Wolfwood asked him for. Vegetables and some thoma meat. There seemed to be some spices in the room so he only bought garlic and onion as per Wolfwood’s request.

When Vash got back, he found Nick at the table arranging the ingredients the kitchen already had. He was already showered, hair messy and with droplets of water hanging on the tips. Getting closer, he could smell the soap, the cheap shampoo and the lingering scent of nicotine that never seemed to go away. He was changed into a black, long sleeved shirt and a pair of loose dark blue pants.

His overall appearance made Vash think how the edges of the man were less sharp, he seemed more relaxed and at ease, even if it wasn’t entirely the case. He just looked, soft.

“Hey welcome back, did you bring what I asked you for or will I have to use your meat for this?” Wolfwood greeted him without looking up from his task, the ingredients being the most interesting thing in the world it seemed.

Something warm pooled at the pit of Vash’s stomach, he didn’t know why that was and didn’t bother to think about it either, just enjoying the feeling.

Smiling, he placed the bags on the table in front of Wolfwood, taking out its contents. “I’m sure I brought everything yeah, I hope my life can be spared”.

The priest snorted at him and grabbed a potato that was rolling off the table. “Aight then, make yourself useful and start washing these and then chop ‘em to reasonable bitable sizes”. Losing no time, he took the meat and was cutting it while giving out the instructions.

While Vash was washing and chopping, the other was already preparing the meat putting it in a pot with boiling water. Once Vash was finished with all he was asked to do, Wolfwood ushered him to take a shower while the food was done, wanting to have more space in the narrow place. Vash did as told in that as well.

The shower felt great, all of the gross stickiness from the sweat and other things were finally washed off from his body. He felt light and a thousand times more content.

As he opened the door the smell hit him in the face, a delicious scent that surely tasted even better. Wolfwood was stirring the pot, poking some of the potatoes to make sure they were on the right term, and they seemed to be as he turned off the stove.

Vash got closer, mouth already watering just from the thought of how it’d taste “That smells so good! What did you make?” He asked with a big grin plastered all over his face.

Wolfwood pointed at the table with his hand, signaling him to sit down a little dismissively while he looked for the bowls on his own. It seemed like he was the kind that with less people on the kitchen when he was there, the better. “Just a broth, nothing too wow it’s something easy, and on budget”. Vash hummed with wonder and served two cups of water to busy himself with something.

Wolfwood poured the two servings of the broth, it was still hot and the bowl must surely be scalding. Yet Wolfwood’s calloused hands never flinched, placing their food on the table without much trouble along with a pair of long spoons.

“Be careful or you will murder your tongue” he warned and Vash chuckled.

“Thanks for the heads up chef, ‘preciate it” the other just scoffed at the title and sat down across him .

They both mixed the broth while blowing at it in hopes for it to cool down a little. However seeing how they were both starving and didn’t care too much about getting burnt or not, they just started to dig in.

Wolfwood was eating eagerly, having spoonful after spoonful of his food. He was beyond delighted. It had been a long time since he had the chance to prepare the broth he used to have back at the Orphanage.

“It’s…delicious” he heard Vash say in a low and calm tone. When he looked up to see the man, he was shocked to find him with reddish eyes that were glistening with tears. It didn’t seem like when was doing a show or anything of the sorts, he just seemed…at peace.

It wasn’t anything extravagant, quite possibly one of the most simple dishes Vash has ever eaten. It was made with the things that they could afford with the little money they could spare, the ingredients were definitely not of the best quality, the vegetables could have used a little more time on the pot. And it was delicious.

Vash felt incredibly warm inside, similar to how he felt when Wolfwood greeted him when he got back, just a thousand times stronger. The first sip he had of it tasted like the best thing ever cooked in his whole life, something he would have every day of the year for the rest of eternity. He didn’t know why that was at first, but after having a second spoon of it he could tell what it was.

It tasted like home.

The flavor of it, it was homely, the savor of melancholy. It tasted like their conversations about missing the past. The tang of the times they would have a peaceful night in the desert grilling worm meat around a campfire. It reminded him when he got sick and an old lady had given him a bowl of soup. It tasted like the first time Rem had given them a try of what meat and vegetables tasted like. It tasted like all the things he missed, and the things Nicholas most likely missed too.

The familiarity of it made him feel fuzzy and full on the inside, and he couldn’t stop eating. He was slow while doing it, wanting to savor every bit of what he could have while it lasted. It was rich, it was simple and it was perfect.

“…You want some more?” At some point, Nicholas had already finished his own bowl and brought the pot over to serve himself again. He looked at Vash with something soft in his eyes the other could not name, his voice was gentle and gravely, sweet and easy on his ears just adding more to the warmth inside of him.

“Yes…yes please” Vash answered, voice cracking a little. Nicholas served him, the sound of the liquid being poured soothing his soul.

Vash ate again, and Wolfwood was looking at him. The priest was taking small sips of water from his cup, always holding it against his mouth even if he wasn’t drinking anything. Vash didn’t really notice when he had started tearing up, thick streams of salty water running through his cheeks, a pool of them welling up at his chin and falling down the wooden table making a puddle of happy tears.

Vash enjoyed the heartfelt broth. He was happy, that bit of simplicity was enough to make him forget of everything else and just focus on that moment.

It was so mundane. Vash smiled with overflowing tears in his eyes while Wolfwood just watched with a fond smile of his own behind his empty cup of water.

At that moment, they were not in a random room at a random place. They were in a place where they had brought their home to, sharing a meal with each other.

[mintflavoredfemurs]

Idk just thinking about Killer and his acknowledgment of Nightmare but also his acknowledgment of the fourth wall/player but also his personality disorder with Chara and Sans in the reigns of his mind and Oh God !!

Killer belongs to Rahafwabas

[the-algebra-thing]

runaans character is sooo sososo fascinating to me. and I don't even see much more of myself in him than I do any other character that's not the draw. there's just something so compelling to me about how it must all fit together for him: his massive respect for all life/talented assassin career thing from bloodmoon huntress, and his relationship to rayla, and her parents, and his prejudice against all humans, etc. and I feel that this is all going to come together to form such an interesting mindset to study/internal conflict in general in season 7. the idea that he's been gone—half-living trapped in an altered state of consciousness utterly corrupted by an insane depth of love twisted into gut-wrenching guilt, at that—for the two years in which elves and humans have begun to try to coexist for the first time in centuries, missed all that time and gradual change completely & dumped into a completely new political landscape, contrasted with his position as king killer, contrasted yet again with his position as father to one of the most relevant and devoted catalysts to this world-bending change is going to blow up in his face sooo bad as soon as he puts on his slutty little shirt and starts listening to the story. and I think the entire thing is just the most uniquely enthralling quagmire I've ever encountered

[wesavegotham]

These fanon Tim Drake takes/fanfictions that paint him as the ultimate victim during the Morrrison era were always annoying, but if you're looking for a character to write fix it fanfictions about because they got abandoned by their family when they went through a lot of losses and lost themselves in the process, ran away from everything and only had the batfamily try to bring them back home ages after they had already run away and only after first blaming the kid and then not prioritizing bringing that kid back, then Damian from 2018 to 2020 is right there?

Where are my 1000+ fanfictions about that?

[isatoru]

if your f/o is oliver aiku and he finds your little anime porn blog it's so over for you

[transmasccofee]

thinking yet again about Saiki‘s’s final choice in the series being “I’d rather live with my powers than die without them” bc that is seriously the single best ending of a disability narrative I’ve seen. Fuck.