#i might keep him

[bluedoodles]

Skrunkly

[chloesimaginationthings]

He has no mouth but he must scream in FNAF..

[mangozic]

michael distortion what a goofy guy

[guchaigue]

me and my husband i pulled by being weird and off putting

[what-am-i-doing-in-this-fandom]

Yeah, I don't know about you, Fidds, but I'd fold at this 🙏

Previous!!

Next!!

First!!

[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.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Actually, the bars aren't so bad anymore.

Think you can fix him? Read about his care instructions over at Tiger Tiger)

[forgettable-au]

FORGETTABLE-AU (Page 61-64)

* I-I don't think we were talking about the same thing...

[BEGINNING] [PREVIOUS] [CONTINUE]

[semiferalstreetcoyote]

fuck this stupid fucking game

[anne-is-confused]

holdin' out for a hero

[zylusmusings]

"what's wrong, sweetie?" the leader of onychinus, most loathed creature of tarus city, looks and sounds almost unrecognisable as he stares down at his sniffling beloved, with crimson eyes that twinkle with specks of admiration, yearning and concern. his strong arms, so used to battles and defending himself from acts of violence, now cradling a treasured lover ever so kindly and tenderly. his voice, often rough and speaking out of pain and anger, is no louder than a decibel and soft enough to lull an infant to sleep as he speaks to her.

his calloused fingers comb through her hair, and he reminds himself to ask her another time if he could braid her hair, just like when they were in the grasslands. but not right now, not when his other hand is occupied with rubbing the small of her back in soothing circles. his actions has practically turned her body into putty, melting it deeper against the mould of his body as she lays atop him, face buried into cotton of his shirt. she looks so vulnerable at this very moment, a little different from the fearless hunter everyone is accustomed to seeing. he feels the atoms of anger (on her behalf) and natural protectiveness form in his chest as he tries to think of what possibly could have upset his lover tonight. this damned world is undeserving of her, he thinks, so he tries his best to fill in the cracks the world has left her with.

"everything has been so tough." her tiny voice answers. in the midst of everything ever-changing, sylus seems to be the only constant she had. it feels like as everything is against her, he is the only one for her. "i'm so scared," her voice barely audible, yet sylus doesn't miss the crack at the end of her sentence. instinctively, his palm stops its ministrations of gentle circles. his knuckles now bending ever so slightly to clutch onto her back more protectively.

"what can i do to make you feel better, sweetie?" his voice low, the vibrations grumbling from his chest against her own. almost desperate to make her feel better, he starts peppering kisses into her hair. it's a win-win, sylus thinks. while she finds some comfort in his affection, he gets to indulge in the faint smell of her strawberry shampoo and the way she melts further into his body. it causes his hold to tighten around her. "what can i do to make you feel... less afraid? safer, if you will," he asks, noting her admission of fear.

she pauses, as if to think, then moves to rest her chin on his chest as she stares at him for moment. they simply gaze into each other eyes, a silent language both of them are fluent in. sylus doesn't want to get ahead of himself, but could it be that her eyes are mirroring his; the way it screams of pure and true love. sylus knows without a doubt that he'd love her even if it was never reciprocated, so when the familiar gaze is reflected in her eyes, a breath gets stuck in his throat. he clears his throat, fingers brushing away a lock of her hair, "what is it, beloved?"

she stays silent for a moment more, and sylus bears in mind the way he grows a little nervous under her loving gaze, though he tries to mask it with a raised brow. "well?" her hand finds his own that tucked her hair away, bringing it to her cheek. like clockwork, sylus moulds his palm against her soft cheek, his thumb grazing the smooth skin.

"i think i only feel safe with you." it knocks the wind out of him. sylus is self-aware of his reputation- once, he was the creature so feared by humans that it caused much self loathing. and even now, people fear him as the infamous figure of danger in the n109 zone. sure, it is for different reasons now, but sylus has always felt to be synonymous with monster. "with me?" he repeats, a crease forming between his brows as his heart begins to pound against his chest. she simply nods and confirms, "yes." one word to cause a visceral reaction in his heart.

she doesn't say anything more and doesn't elaborate and sylus is too taken aback to push it further. thinks he needs a moment to himself to take in this revelation. a monster like me... that is what makes her feel safe? he sighs, shakes his head as if to deem herself almost foolish for feeling as such. there could be trillions of creatures in the entire universe, and she would be the sole one who'd find safety with him.

and if sylus hadn't already made it his mission to keep her in safety, he makes a silent oath with himself at the moment. he'll protect her until his dying breath. this woman shall never have to worry for as long as she decides that he lives.

he pulls her in impossibly tighter. "that's the first time someone said those words to me," he echoes words he has said before (albeit she doesn't and won't remember a thing) and he reminisces the memory for a bit. the same way she sees the beauty in him, the similar softness she so graciously graces him with - such a stark contrast from what others are to him. it reaffirms him though, that she is his one true soulmate, across all universes and through time. he'd burn the world for her take a claymore to his chest, if ever need be. in the previous and present life, she would always be kind to him and he would always be hers.

she hums, then nuzzles her nose against the crook of his neck where she presses the petals of her lips against his warm skin. "well, everyone else doesn't know you like i do." she mumbles, and sylus chuckles.

the whole world can cower in fear and misjudge him, for all he cares. he is simply sylus in her eyes, "i don't want anyone else to know me like you do."

[ohitslen]

Average university experience

[local-hellhound-steals-spaghetti]

Watching Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron again as an adult is so great because not only do you appreciate the nostalgia and joy of it, the stunning 2D animation mixed with early 3D techonology and well written tight story with a main character that never speaks.

But also you appreciate that the plot relies on horses, despite not being typical talking horses in cartoons, being extremely intelligent to the point that they are aware of their captivity and exploitation. And it involves a hyper intelligent horse dismantling (or, at the very least significantly delaying) American colonialism's expansion into the west.

This horse also very likely killed many colonialists when they were either launched at high speeds from his back, kicked in the head or blown up in a train explosion.

Good for him.

[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.

[the-woman-upstairs]

Really fucked up that, when they’re young, Patrick and Art are SO tactile with each other, so comfortable sharing the same space. Art lets Patrick touch him and move him and physically overwhelm him and easily acquiesces to it, if not outright enjoys it.

Then in the present, they’ve been so far out of each other’s orbit for so long, held such animosity that when they have their moment alone in the sauna, Art physically recoils from Patrick’s close proximity! It’s so painful to watch because even as Patrick’s goading him, it’s so obvious he wants to be able to get back into Art’s space. But Art has erected all these walls around himself, he refuses to give Patrick an inch or even admit to missing how close they used to be!

AND THEN we see Art and Tashi later and he wants her to hold him, to be gentle with him, and just TOUCH him. Like, he does miss that kind of close physical contact! He either doesn’t know how to ask for it or is uncomfortable being that openly vulnerable. Worth noting that he pretty much always defers to Tashi in regard to initiating physical intimacy (with their first kiss, though he does state his desire, SHE has to be the one to make the first move). And it seems pretty obvious that Tashi herself isn’t comfortable providing that intimacy, whereas Patrick actively seeks to provide it (the hug/forehead kiss after their win together in the early years, dragging the stool closer to him).

Art has tried very hard to act like he doesn’t need physical affection and even though his discipline and devotion to Tashi has made him a stronger tennis player, it’s made him a hollow person, which, in turn, has kept him from becoming a GREAT tennis player.

All of this, of course, is why the ending hits so damn hard.

[an-established-butt-dent]

Solas and Inquisitor Lavellan