#im. super sick

[biillylenz]

skibidi bishop

[reds-skull]

Both me and price looking at that pic of them sleeping: do it for them...

(This was supposed to be like. 2 panels rip)

[greenglowinspooks]

(DCxDP) The obligations of a rogue versus those of a parent

—

Tw: vivisection mention (not in detail), bad Fenton parents

Will be crossposted to AO3 eventually

(Pt. 2 here) (Pt. 3 here)

(Masterlist/subscription post)

—

It was a dark, cold, miserable night, and Scarecrow, Jonathan Crane, wanted nothing more than to be home, covered in blankets with the heater set to max as he worked on his most recent strain of fear toxin.

Instead he was at the docks, standing in as backup for the Penguin as he made a deal with some sleaze-bag smugglers. Something about some sort of body armor for his hired help. Crane hadn’t really paid much attention to the Penguin’s words, only caring enough to show up because of the reward.

But honestly, he couldn’t care less about the money at this point.

He was cold, and miserable, and his leg hurt something fierce (he’d had chronic pains ever since being mauled by Killer Croc some time ago), and he was so, so close to a breakthrough with his new toxin, and he really couldn’t stand the Penguin anyways. The only thing keeping him there was his reputation as a rogue.

Just as Crane was deciding that the whole ordeal wasn’t worth it, he heard the sound of a chase a few blocks down. With a deep, heavy sigh, he moved from the wall he had been leaning against, looming in the alleyway as he waited for the potential threat to reveal itself.

A few moments later, a boy came careening into the alleyway, sliding to a stop when he noticed the Scarecrow, his eyes growing impossibly wide. Beneath the mask, Jonathan grinned.

The boy swore, loudly, glancing between Scarecrow and the exit of the alleyway. As the echoing sound of footsteps grew closer, he chose to face the way he came, turning his back to Scarecrow.

What an idiotic way to get killed. Either the boy was a complete and utter fool, or there was something out there worse (to him, at least) than the Scarecrow.

Jonathan Crane tilted his head slowly, considering. He could just cut his losses and leave, Penguin be damned, or he could stay and see what had the boy so spooked.

Eventually, unfortunately enough, his curiosity won out. He shifted, bringing a hand to his side where he kept several canisters of fear toxin.

Crane had to bite back a groan when the boy’s pursuers entered the alleyway.

It was those damned idiots in white suits.

They had been tailing him for weeks now. They were easy enough to fight, but they were annoyingly persistent, and always seemed to have a way to find him. (Not to mention, the Riddler had strong opinions on their outfits, and if he had to hear the white-suit-in-Gotham rant one more time he was going to throttle him.)

Led by the men in white was a woman in a teal hazmat suit. Jonathan had seen her around, too, though less frequently than the others. He had honestly assumed that she was just a new C-tier rogue and avoided her like the plague.

Her eyes went wide as saucers when she saw Jonathan standing a few feet from the boy. No one moved a muscle.

“Danny,” the woman spoke softly. The boy, Danny, flinched, glancing between her and Scarecrow, “come on, we can talk about this. Your father and I only want to help you.”

He was running from his mother?

Scarecrow paused after that revelation, choosing to fully take in the boy’s appearance.

He was lean, almost gaunt, and wearing clothes several sizes too big for him, probably stolen. His entire body shook, from fear and cold both, and he clutched his stomach with one hand. At first, Scarecrow assumed that it was due to being out of breath, but as he looked closer he could see blood staining the dark fabric of the boy’s shirt.

He was injured, underweight, and running from his parents.

Something that felt a lot like rage swelled in Jonathan’s heart.

“Danny, you don’t get it! We’re so close now. We can fix you, and then we can go home, and everything can go back to normal,” she said, smiling in a way that was clearly supposed to be reassuring. She took a few steps forward, the men behind her clearly readying their weapons.

The boy backed away from his mother, inadvertently coming closer to Scarecrow.

He glanced up at Crane again, his blue eyes shining in fear, but not of him.

Sickening. Sickening.

In one fluid motion, Jonathan grabbed the boy by the wrist, pulling him behind him, and threw a large canister of fear gas into the group who had been chasing him.

The liquid in the container turned to gas as soon as it broke open, billowing out and filling half of the alleyway with a thick yellow smog.

The boy gasped, pulling his shirt over his face in a pathetic attempt to filter out the toxin. It would have to do, though, Scarecrow thought, rushing forward to force the boy’s aggressors to breathe in the gas.

The fight that the men put up was pitiful. The few individuals who didn’t breathe in the toxin immediately were clearly unused to fighting hand-to-hand, and dropped like flies in Scarecrow’s wake.

Just as the men began to spasm and shout in their terror, as if on cue, the familiar wail of police sirens reached the Scarecrow’s ears.

He heaved a heavy, irritated sigh, fingers twitching for a cigarette. He was trying to quit as of late, but he felt that after today, he might deserve one.

Though now was not the time to be thinking of cigarettes.

Jonathan approached the boy, mindful of any signs he might run off.

The boy didn’t seem to notice his approach in the slightest, just staring at the woman in the jumpsuit as she writhed on the ground.

Right. That would most likely be traumatic for a child to see, wouldn’t it?

Scarecrow moved in front of the boy, blocking his line of sight. The boy looked up at him now, his face completely blank.

“The police are on their way,” Scarecrow spoke, his voice low. The boy didn’t acknowledge him in any way.

“You don’t want to be here when they arrive, do you?”

After several moments pause, the boy shook his head slowly. He looked numb.

Dissociation, most likely.

“You’ll come with me, then.”

It was a statement, not a question, but he waited for the boy’s response regardless. As soon as he nodded in agreement, Jonathan lifted him up, carrying him out of the cold, miserable alleyway.

Scarecrow paused briefly to warn the Penguin of the incoming officers through the comm he had been given, and then he was off, weaving through the streets and alleyways towards his getaway car.

…

The drive back to his safe house was quiet. The boy didn’t look over at him once, instead opting to stare out ahead of him.

…

Luckily, they were able to make it back without detection. Jonathan ushered the boy into his small apartment, sitting him down on the dingy couch that had come with the lease.

“Wait here, alright?” Jonathan said, the boy nodding once in response.

With that, he retreated into the small kitchen, looking for some sort of warm beverage.

It was nearly three in the morning now, so coffee was out of the question. He was completely out of the hot chocolate he had bought for whenever Eddie or Harley came over for a visit, so that was out too.

He supposed the only option was his chamomile tea. Did teenagers like tea? He supposed it didn’t really matter, the kid was on the run from his parents in the house of a Gotham rogue. Surely he had bigger things to worry about.

Jonathan made the drinks quickly, leaving the kitchen with two mugs in hand. He gave one to the boy, who looked up at him in surprise, before settling into his own seat.

It was an incredibly comfortable old leather armchair that he had gotten some years ago and stubbornly held onto ever since. He usually had one of the rogues he was at least somewhat friendly with pick it up when he entered Arkham.

Whenever Eddie and Harley were over, they would call it his old man chair, and he would tell them to leave.

The two of them sat quietly for a while, drinking their tea slowly. It was clear that the boy was leaving whatever headspace he had slipped into, becoming more alert (and uncomfortable) by the second.

“So,” Crane began, pausing before speaking more quietly when he saw the boy flinch, “you knew them.”

It was not a question.

The boy nodded, curling in on himself. He held the mug close to his chest, no doubt soothed by the warmth.

“They’ve been following me around for some time now,” Crane continued, “and you’re going to tell me why.”

The boy looked up at him, a pained expression written all over his face.

“You won’t believe me,” he murmured, curling up even further.

His clothes were soaked. Jonathan should have put down a towel before letting him sit down.

“Sure I will,” he said, ignoring the blood and water seeping into his furniture.

The landlord would not be happy.

“It’s gonna sound crazy.”

“I’ve been to Arkham.”

The boy paused, before mumbling something quietly.

“Again? I couldn’t hear you.”

“I said,” the boy huffed, quickly changing his tone when he remembered who he was talking to, “they…think you’re a ghost.”

“A ghost,” Crane repeated flatly.

“I told you it was gonna sound crazy!” The boy protested, before wrapping his arms around himself.

“Well,” Jonathan hummed, “it’s not the strangest thing I’ve heard in Gotham. Explain it to me.”

The boy paused, glancing up at his face, no doubt looking for some sign of mockery. He found none.

Then, he opened his mouth, and explained everything he could.

Ghosts, the portal to another world, the GiW, his parents. It was all incredibly far-fetched, but also far too consistent to be made up on the spot, and Crane could tell that the boy genuinely believed what he was saying.

“…but, if you don’t believe me, fine. I know it probably sounds stupid and fake,” he mumbled, looking away.

“I’ll believe you for now,” Crane said. The boy whipped his head up, staring at him in shock.

“If I do trust that what you’re saying is true, though, then why do I show up on their equipment as a ghost? I’m not dead, and never have been.”

“Um,” the boy hummed, looking somewhat nervous. Understandable, really.

“Well, have you by any chance been involved in any lab accidents recently..?”

Jonathan Crane froze, his face dropping. The boy noticed his change in demeanor, flinching slightly.

“Penguin,” he hissed out, his voice slightly inhuman. “Cobblepot, that motherfucker.”

“Wait—calm down! The angrier you get, the easier you’ll show up on the radar!”

Crane glared down at the boy, seething with rage. He once again flinched, looking away from him. With an extraordinary amount of effort, Jonathan slumped back down in his chair, breathing deeply in an effort to calm himself.

When he cracked his eyes back open, the boy was openly staring at him, curiosity written all over his face.

As soon as he noticed Crane looking back at him, he glanced away, straightening in his seat.

“Well, you’ve given me a lot to think about. In the morning, we’re going to discuss this in a lot more detail,” he said, standing up with slow movements. The boy stood as well, hands clasped together.

“For now, though, you’re going to let me take a look at that wound of yours, and then you’re going to take a shower and go to bed.”

The rest of the night went rather quickly.

The boy was rather hesitant to show him his wound, instead assuring him that it had been properly sewn up and that he was fine. Crane was having none of it, though, and gave him a once-over just in case.

It was, very clearly, the kind of cut used during an autopsy. Danny didn’t offer any information, so Crane had to assume that he was either back from the dead, or he had been vivisected. Either was possible in Gotham.

At the very least, Danny hadn’t lied about the stitches, and the wound was already beginning to heal.

With that, Danny showered quickly (he leapt out with a shriek the moment the hot water ran out), and went to bed in borrowed clothes without much complaint.

Thus, Jonathan was left with cold water for his shower, and slept on the still-damp couch so that the boy could have a bed to sleep in. Somehow, he found that he didn’t mind as much as he thought he would.

[littlecrittereli]

Wanted to doodle some comfort bros to balance out the angst of my recent posts lol

Hey pookies! Just wanted to say I really appreciate all the love and support I've been receiving lately for Decoded! I always love your comments/asks/fanart/memes, it genuinely has been bringing me so much joy and I'm so grateful for it <3

I know I said I had a lot of art to post (and then proceeded to post none of it LOL) I'm just a little overwhelmed rn with some life stuff so sorry for the wait! I also have a lot asks that I haven't gotten to and I apologize for that as well!

Trying my best to keep up, but I haven't had a lot of time recently. Art's gonna be a little delayed, but don't worry Chapter 8 is still gonna come out this Saturday as scheduled!

[bruh-anator3000]

As much as Miguel loved to absolutely destroy you, loved how you cried beneath him and begged for mercy from the treatment you asked of him - there was something he loved even more.

He was obsessed with taking care of you after such rough nights.

Admittedly, he wasn't very good at it when you first met. He ran the next morning like the house was on fire the first night you two shared. But you gave him something wonderful, you reminded him there didn't have to be fear when it came to caring.

And now, well, he couldn't stop caring for you. Cleaning up the sweat from your skin with a damp rag and gentle touch. Cleaning off your tears and spit, kissing up every part of you as he wiped you down. His large hands warm and supportive as he helps you sit up just enough so he can lift a glass of water to your swollen and probably numb lips.

Miguel doesn't stop there, how can he? You've given him such a beautiful night, trusting him with your body and your pleasure, he owes it to you to thank you.

Next, he's rubbing some soothing balm over your legs, your arms, and anywhere he's bitten. He'll get up after kissing your forehead and promising you he'll be right back. He returns not a moment later with your favorite pajamas, helping you into them by lifting each limb with care.

He preferred to sleep with pure skin contact, but he knew how cold you got at night.

Even if you're back to yourself, Miguel doesn't quit. He's got a brush through your hair now, keeping it out of your face. And you can't help but laugh when he asks if you need him to do your skin care.

He's just so. obsessed. with you. He can't help it. Seeing you so happy is better than anything he could ever ask for. Knowing he could break you down and build you back up, your trust is within him completely. How lucky he was to have you all to himself.

His hands are all over you. Rubbing your back as he holds you close to his chest. Kissing your face delicately as he murmurs how much he loves you. Holding you close all night long.

Then leaving you to wake up alone, soft music you can hear him mumbling along to drifting in from the kitchen as the smell of your favorite breakfast wafts in.

He just loves taking care of you.

[demadogs]

We can’t take any chances. We need to assume the worst. The Mind Flayer is back.

Stranger Things season three (2019)

[ink-the-artist]

blood animals

[coolnonsenseworld]

Another day another sketch ✨ I always try to give Keith other colors than black and end up regretting

[chrisbangs]

BANG CHAN — Special MC KCON LA DAY 3 (230821)

[rotruff]

btw ur f/o would love to take care of you.

come down with something? they'll be there for you in any way that they can. they might not be a great cook, but they'll pick up anything you could ever need or want whenever you want. they might be the type who wants to keep a little space since they dont wanna get sick, but they'll leave little notes around for you or maybe a jacket or similarly comforting article around for you as a little reminder of their love for you. they'll help you pass time, whether that be through watching movies, talking with you, or just being a quiet presence nearby. whatever makes you feel better, they're happy to oblige. they just want you to feel better, even if they might not be a doctor or anything, they hope that they can be of service to ypu anyway.

just not feeling great? that's fine too, everyones got their off moments. (maybe if they're the more flirty type they make a joke about how it must be exhausting being the loveliest person in history.) they're more than happy to be a support for you in any way that they can in this time, whether that means just being there for you or stepping in to help you with things physically. whether you want them to just be by your side and keep you company or for them to help you out with things like showering or eating something, they'll be sure to put their heart into it. they care about you and your happiness means the world to them, they dont mind doing whatever it takes to help you feel a little bit better.

chronic pain or similar? oh yeah, dont even worry about it. even if theyre not super strong, they'll offer to help you around if you absolutely need to, though they might be a little bit of a worrywart about you getting some rest. you want any painkillers? they'll go running through a storm for it. you just want a distraction? they'll happily regale you with some story of theirs to help take your mind off the pain. you just want their company? they're already fitting themselves as close as they can to you. they know that, no matter how much they wish they could, they cant really take the pain away, but theyll do whatever they can to help take your mind off of it and alleviate some of that pain.

[critter-covenant]

"ooooh thank you! Thank you! Thank you!!!"

They'd be good friends I like to thinmk

[sharksandjays]

thrown to the sharks, no mercy no soul

abandoned to the dark, your path your toll

—

Im back!!!! Here is something I wanted to paint based off of a poem I wrote a few weeks ago. Had to draw Jay and a shark (aka my username lol)

Enjoy <3

[so-very-small]

“I don’t want to do this.”

“C’mon, you know weddings are fun! You’ll be fine.”

“It’s not the actual shindig that’s the issue; it’s the traveling four states over to get there. That drive is gonna take me like, twelve hours. Be glad you’re a borrower and don’t have to travel for cousins’ weddings.”

“Dude, you’re joking, right? Last year my brother had a destination wedding, two blocks down the street at that house with the big birdbath. It took me three weeks to travel there. I had to fight a CHIPMUNK.”

“Goddamn.”

“I wish I could have drove. The birdbath pool party reception ruled, though.”

“Oh, nice. Open bar?”

“Tinies don’t do that. It was Open Bottle. One open bottle of rum, and we were thriving.”

“Fuck yeah.”

[hajihiko]

Pat the heads that you have while you have them... (thx for all the stage play content + screenshots @kazuichikazuichi

[torrentialgoat-fr]

Birdie

Plus the dragon ^^ (abyss/phthalo/blush, starmap/bee/stained)

[skillbattle]

kirby posting