#little-violence

[maeamian]

Part of the reason that Republicans are so desperately acting like they will never lose again is because they are deeply terrified that this is their last real chance to win. The big orange dipshit came in and gutted the party of everyone who wasn't a loyalist, which left it full of nasty little gremlins who have gaping voids where charisma and human decency is supposed to go.

They still hold a lot of power, but if we stop them this year the next presidential election may not be the Most Important One Of Your Life™, that's not a guarantee or anything, but if they don't win here and now their future looks grim, this dipshit is the only guy they have left and he's extremely diminished and has his brains leaking out of his ears at this point. We can beat him into the ground.

So that's what we're gonna fucking do. We're gonna break these fucking fash. They will crash upon us and we're gonna break their fucking necks. When they come for us they will lose because they're fucking losers and we have each other's backs which is something they fundamentally are incapable of comprehending.

[mipexch]

I WAS MADE FOR YOU // YOU WERE MADE FOR ME

[arillustrated]

something that i really like about blue eye samurai, now that im thinking about it, is that it discusses violence against women without becoming torture porn. like, in a lot of media that portrays women's issues, they show you that scene. like they give you this extended visual of a woman experiencing something traumatic and then laud themselves as feminist for doing so.

blue eye samurai doesn't do that. the whole show is set in a world that is extremely antagonistic toward women, and it makes a point to tell you that being a woman right now sucks, because they are property and are used sexually. but even though it doesn't shy away from this, it doesn't show you the violence itself, which you would almost expect it to because of how graphic the rest of the show is.

im thinking specifically of kinuyo. they very well could have shown us a scene of her being abused, but they didn't. they didn't show the abuse itself, but they did show how it affected her. they showed her seeing a doctor for her sores. they could have made this incredibly traumatic and grotesque scene a spectacle, showing us exactly how powerless she is and how powerful he is. they could have shown us this incredibly triggering event in full detail for our entertainment, but they didn't. they chose not to. and i think that's how it should be.

it is not necessary to have an extended visual and auditory reenactment of violence against women. we the audience understood the gravity of the situation and were able to empathize without needing that scene. having that scene would have completely detracted from the point they are trying to make. it would have turned something completely reprehensible that women everywhere fear because it's a very real issue into entertainment.

[deadsetobsessions]

Damian Wayne was like a duckling. A violent, stab-happy, danger-prone duckling, yes, but a duckling all the same. Which means when Danny almost got stabbed by a sleepy, instinct driven Damian, he was able to wave it off with a laugh. Damian, on the other hand, stared in horror at the butter knife firmly lodged in Danny’s arm.

“PENNYWORTH!” Danny jerked back at Damian’s scream. “RICHARD! FATHER!”

God damn, the kid had a pair of lungs on him. Danny’s wince was interpreted as pain to Damian, who gently grabbed his injured arm and started to pull him towards the kitchen’s marble island.

Danny blinked, non plussed as his hearing picked up a thundering of feet as the present family members scrambled towards Damian’s distress call.

“Wait, Damian, I’m fine. It’s-”

“You have been impaled, you imbecile! Had it been any of the other simpletons, they would have-!”

“Ouch.” Danny put his other hand in mock hurt over his slow-beating heart. He literally doesn’t care about the butter knife. He’s just impressed there was enough force in there to impale him. “Are you calling me names now? After- gasp- stabbing me?”

Before Damian could reply, the beginnings of regret, remorse, and guilt on his face, Alfred, Dick, and Bruce burst into the kitchen.

“What happened?!”

“My word, master Danny!”

“What is it?!”

“I’m fine. It’s like a small stab. Not even a big stab. I’m good.”

Dick paled, seeing Danny’s arm clutched in Damian’s hand.

“That’s- that’s a knife. In your arm. How is that ‘fine’?!”

“What happened.” Bruce asked Damian, gently removing Danny’s arm from Damian’s death clutch.

“I- I did not mean to,” Damian starts, guilt coloring his voice.

“He didn’t,” Danny cuts in. “I startled him and got stabbed for being dumb. I won’t fault him for having a defense mechanism like that, ancient knows what I might do if you guys startled me.”

The awkward silence that settled at his words made Danny twitch awkwardly.

“Uh, so, can I add this knife to my collection? Even if I didn’t get mugged?”

“Danny.”

“Bruce.” Danny stared stubbornly back. With his uninsured hand, he patted Damian on the head. He was going to enjoy the fluffiness before Damian’s guilt was no longer enough to hold him back from snapping at Danny’s hand like a grumpy alligator. Bruce loses, obviously. He’s a teenager who was also an ex-vigilante. Batman’s got nothing on a determined halfa.

“Master Danny, I must insist you refrain from getting stabbed. There is only so much gauze and antiseptic cream in the house.” Alfred returned- huh, when did he leave?- with a med kit.

Danny called bullshit because he knows there’s a whole ass medical bay beneath the manor.

“Sorry.”

“No need to apologize.” Alfred said, promptly beginning the extraction of the butter knife.

“Are you okay?” Dick asked, hovering worriedly. “He- are you…?”

Damian was allowing Danny to ruffle his hair, so…

“Yep, I’m good. This isn’t even on my top thirty most painful stabbings,” and it really wasn’t. That honor was given to the GIW and that one time Jazz accidentally stabbed him with her earrings. “That was pretty impressive, actually. It’s like, a butter knife. The other ones had pointy ends.”

“Do not clump me with those pathetic wastes of spaces. I am naturally superior and would… would never harm you on purpose.” Damian said, getting quiet at the end like he was trying to plead to Danny to believe him.

“Of course not. But- if you want help me keep the knife, you can hit me with a mug, it would technically be a mugging.”

The pun got the desired effect. Damian leaned away with a disgruntled look and Dick stopped hovering as close in order to let out a small cackle.

“Done.”

“You should go get changed, kiddo. We’re going to see Tim’s photography at the Gotham Gallery today.”

“Oh, for real?” Danny patted Damian’s fluffy hair one last time, pushing away from the counter. “Oh, I’ll clean up here first and-”

“That will not be necessary,” Alfred scolded, a mop somehow already in his hands. “Please see to it you are prepared for the day.”

“Thanks, Alfred. Can I keep the knife.”

“Very well.”

“Sweet. See you guys later?” Danny pranced off after seeing the nods.

——

“He’s… he got stabbed a lot. Before us, I mean.” Dick tapped a furious rhythm onto the counter. “Not that we’ve stabbed him until now but even once is concerning for a civilian.”

“He was used to it.” Bruce replied.

“Perhaps we should join Todd in his endeavor and ensure that his worthless tormentors are permanently out of the picture.”

“God, he said top thirty. He was counting.”

Damian silently withdrew a kitchen knife.

“No murder with my quality chef’s knives, Master Damian.”

“Tt.”

“Master Jason follows the same rules. Now, out of the kitchen. I may be old, but I remember the last time master Bruce and master Dick stepped foot in here and I will not have a repeat.”

[drenched-in-sunlight]

i love the DLC man

[mlpoutofcontext]

Edit of this clip

[weabooii]

A fight against futility

poor Junpei :'(

[forgetful-nerd]

I love Raph. No matter what size he is. He can be big or small doesn't matter to me.

HOWEVER,

I genuinely believe that the smaller a Raph is, the more feral they should be.

I need these short fuckers to be trying to bite off everyone’s kneecaps:

While these tall (-ish) fuckers are holding them up by the napes of their necks (Rise! Raph would be doing it to actually keep these two out of danger, but 2003! Raph would do it just to be a smug shit about it):

[bacchuschucklefuck]

sometimes I think abt how the months coming up to and the prom night in freshman year must feel to class swap sklonda. your perfect kid who has literally never gotten a single reprimand for anything does what can only be described as a quad crit crime combo and becomes a nerd punisher by the end of the night

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

YOU’RE AN ANGEL, I’M A DOG ; SATORU GOJO

synopsis; an upcoming exam has been stressing you out, and satoru’s pleas for you to take care of yourself fall on deaf ears. he takes matters into his own hands.

word count; 4.3k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, yan!gojo, as far as yanderes go he’s very mild i think (im sensitive u can trust me!!), mentions of blood, implied murder (not depicted!!), he threatens your professor w a knife lol, surprisingly fluffy??, gojo is soooo lovesick & smitten, he just wants his baby to live a happy life :( is that so wrong :((, also your parents love him <33 and he calls you honey <333 ideal man.

a/n; i blacked out & when i woke up this was in my drafts… mysterious. @kissxcore here u go alexis <33 one very smitten morally gray yan!gojo just for u!! i completely lost the plot halfway through but i had a lot of fun writing this!! :33 i don’t dabble in yan content at all so it was a fun lil challenge hehe, i hope it ended up . Somewhat .. decent…

satoru thinks you deserve everything good.

”haah…”

— the sigh spills into the air, like a dot of ink on paper, dripping with exhaustion; a palpable fatigue that has his heart clenching beneath his ribs.

just as he feared, you’re here. again. seated on the couch, in the living room, legs crossed and framed by flimsy strings of moonlight; illuminated only by the dim light of the laptop in front of you. carding through your hair, blinking sluggishly.

another sigh. deep, exasperated, from satoru this time. he keeps a single hand on his hip, brows furrowed in soft disappointment. 

”honey… what do you think you’re doing?”

you jolt, the sudden sound breaking you out of whatever trance you were previously in. when your gaze flits to his, craning your head to see him rest against the wall leading up to your bedroom, he thinks you look a little like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

it makes him smile. despite his disapproval.

”ah — satoru! it’s… um.” a moment passes. he can practically see the gears of your mind turning, searching for a good excuse. ”… not what it looks like?”

he clicks his tongue. ”nice try.”

then he’s walking towards you, in long strides, gliding across the room like a butterfly in search of nectar. from the sweetest flower there ever was.

even when said flower is still awake, past midnight, pulling an all-nighter despite his frequent advice not to. his very frequent, very thoughtful advice not to strain yourself until you just about pass out.

but you just won’t listen.

”’m disappointed in you, baby,” he huffs, just playful enough to ward off any genuine feelings of distress. he could never truly be disappointed in his baby. ”what did we say about studying this late, hm?”

a sheepish chuckle slips past your lips. satoru is standing in front of you, hands on his hips, raising a questioning eyebrow as you squirm. lighthearted, yes, but genuine. it makes you feel a little guilty.

”… sorry,” you breathe, closing the lid of your laptop. knowing he won’t let you stay up any longer. with the loss of light, your face becomes shrouded in darkness. ”just can’t sleep when i’m so stressed.”

at that, satoru makes a tiny noise — something worried, a little sad, from the base of his throat. a soft frown finds its way onto his lips, and he blinks the sleep away from his senses. plopping down beside you.

”i know. i’m not trying to lecture you,” he croons, reaching out to cradle the apple of your cheek. you melt into him like molten honey, easy and sweet. ”just worried. know you’re stressed.”

and he does. he does know — it’s all he’s been able to think about, these past few weeks. to his dismay, he’s even begun to grow used to this sight, used to finding you in the midst of working yourself to exhaustion. fighting the urge to sleep, slumped over your desk, or cooped up on the couch. staring into your laptop like it holds the secrets of the universe.

time and time again, he’s told you to take care of yourself. tried to coax you into relaxing, rubbing your sore shoulders and kissing the puffy skin beneath your eyes. but this exam is important — you’ve told him as much, more times than he can count. he doesn’t doubt that you’re right. 

of course you’d be stressed. he gets it.

still, though.

”but you know it’s not good, yeah? that it’ll just burn you out?” his thumb goes to smooth over the dark crescents beneath your eyes, gentle as a feather. ”we don’t want that, do we?”

you bite your lip. trapping it between your teeth. he knows you know. ”… yeah,” you admit, a flimsy little sigh on your tongue. ”it just feels easier to do this at night. don’t know why.”

”my little night owl.”

that makes you smile, a little, but it’s not enough to satisfy him. he curls an arm around your waist, and drags you into his lap; gentle, always gentle, like all that exists under your skin is made of porcelain. like the lines of your face form a string of words, a label of fragile: handle with care. he always does.

with his heartbeat by your ear, his warmth melting into yours, it’s easier to speak. a pressure on your chest that fades away. ”i’ll try not to do it again,” you murmur, biting back a soft yawn. nuzzling into his neck. ”promise. don’t wanna worry you…”

satoru softens. 

(always so good to him.)

”it’s fine, honey. i understand.” he smiles, smoothing down your spine, counting the bumps of vertebra that slide along his palm. ”don’t worry that pretty little head of yours over me, alright?”

in return for his comfort, you wriggle away, lifting your head to give him a smile. one of your many smiles, each one fervently cherished by him; the one you’re wearing now is tired, a soft curl of your lips, the kind that makes him want to lull you to sleep. just the sight alone makes the anxiety in his veins feel like a worthy investment.

he doesn’t tell you anything that could cause that joy to diminish. doesn’t tell you that he can’t sleep without you, that he can barely breathe knowing you’re this stressed all time. doesn’t tell you that he jolted awake with a sinking feeling of dread, a gaping pit in his stomach when he didn’t immediately feel the warmth of your skin against his. doesn’t tell you that he always, always assumes the worst.

satoru doesn’t tell you these things. it’s a safety measure, an act of love. a bundle of unvoiced syllables, woven into white lies, silky and sweet. tailor-made to put your aching mind at ease. 

satoru thinks you deserve everything good.

it’s a theory, of sorts, a train of thought. a hypothesis made manifest. after many years of pondering, he’s arrived at the following conclusion; you are all that’s good. therefore, it only follows that you deserve everything that’s good, all of it and more. satoru believes you deserve every single thing your little heart desires — and he’s determined to give it to you.

so he’s been worried.

it’s not that he doesn’t trust you. he knows you’ll ace the exam, knows you’ll do your very best, knows you’ll make him proud. you always do. you aren’t the problem, no, never.

he just doesn’t trust your professor. 

that unfair, stuck-up, incompetent professor who’d fail his students just for being a couple minutes late, who curates his exams to be as convoluted as humanly possible. you and your friends are starting to suspect he just likes berating people for a living. satoru knows it all, he’s heard it all, of course he has. satoru pays attention to everything, when it comes to you. he knows all about your professor, the man who’s been making your studies pure hell for the past semester.

it makes his blood boil. steady, ruminating, hot and heavy in his veins. a rivulet of lava.

(it was only a matter of time.)

satoru is a teacher too; he knows that type. one that has no business being a teacher, in the first place, one no student deserves to be subjected to. he’s met more of them in his career than he could even begin to count. the thought of one of his own students being at the mercy of someone so incompetent makes his skin itch.

and the thought of you, seated on the couch, crying and sniffling when he comes home because none of the exam questions made enough sense for you to even try —

it makes satoru want to claw his skin off.

it makes that tiny, tiny cavern in his heart extend, widen, like a maw, swallowing up his liver and lungs and sense of morality. an emptiness begging to be filled. 

there’s only one way to satiate it.

so he plants a wet kiss on your forehead, ruffles your hair, tucks you into bed and waits until you fall asleep. deep and heavy, a slumber you won’t wake up from anytime soon. he presses his lips to your forehead one more time — for good measure.

then he grabs his coat and slips outside.

the moon is visible through the window.

a thin crescent, nailed next to the dim stars, leaking a dream-like fluorescent shine; illuminating the office, so quiet he can hear those erratic breaths spill out, one by one. a heavy, heavy silence, thick enough to spread like butter over toast. 

(ah, that’s right — he forgot to buy the butter you asked for this morning. no wonder he feels so out of sorts. he’ll have to grab it on his way back.)

”who… w — what are — ?”

satoru stays silent. lips pursed, eyes keen, burning into the back of the man in front of him. close, almost chest to back, enough to have him scowling in displeasure. 

just being in his presence makes satoru feel a little sick. 

he keeps the blade pressed right beneath his adam’s apple, a silver glimmer in an office painted blue and gray. not enough to sink into his skin, but enough to have his heartbeat hammering, enough that satoru can practically feel those rapid flutters of life. brushing against his gloved hand.

he gets straight to the point. voice muffled by the fabric covering his mouth, low enough that it’s barely even audible. he’s careful, about this kind of thing. there’s a delicacy to the ill intent, something he’d be a little enamored with if it weren’t for the compass stuffed into his ribs — the compass that tells him this is wrong.

he just can’t bring himself to care.

”the upcoming exam.” his voice sends a shiver down the man’s spine. satoru can feel it. ”don’t fail a single student.”

silence. pure silence, suffocating them, tangling itself into the air. satoru can practically taste it — fear, familiar, that pang of panic. a ticking time-bomb. the knife stays pressed against warm skin, pushing, sinking, just a little, a drop of red against his pale throat. 

it’s enough to get your professor to make a little noise, one that vaguely resembles a whine. like that of a small animal, rolling over on its belly, eager to play dead. no word is spoken in reply, but he nods, just barely, a nervous tremble of his head.

satoru hums, approving. ”good.” he doesn’t loosen his grip. ”there’s a particular student i’m worried about. marked them down in the catalogue... i’m counting on you.”

another noise. a grunt of affirmation, a silent plea — satoru allows that fear to seep into his own bones, just a little, just to get a taste of it. cold on his tongue. he wonders if this is what helplessness feels like.

then he takes a step back. slow, tentative, dragging the knife with him. not before parting his lips once more. ”don’t turn around,” he warns. ”i’ll be back if there are any complications. this’ll be our little secret, hm?”

the man in front of him doesn’t say a thing. frozen in fear, paralyzed, not moving an inch. a fly trapped in his web. it’s a relief.

before he exits the room, satoru puts the final nail in the coffin. just in case. ”i happen to know what school your daughter goes to.” he waits for a flinch, and it comes almost instantly. like clockwork. “remember that.”

it’s an empty threat. your professor doesn’t know that, though. he doesn’t know that satoru knows his daughter, that he walks past her preschool almost every morning on his way to work. that she waves to him whenever he passes by, and that he makes it a point to always wave back. a little troublemaker; the rowdiest of utahime’s preschoolers. she has a bubbly laugh, and just lost one of her milk teeth. she was giddy when she showed him, a bout of giggles spilling from her lips as he cooed and ruffled her hair. 

he wouldn’t lay a finger on her. 

but your professor doesn’t know that, hasn’t got a single clue, and satoru delights in the fear that must be running through his veins. down his spine, crawling into every narrow of his skeleton, making a home for itself that he’ll never quite be able to root out.

a gulp. satoru hears it, in the quiet of nightfall, just before he shuts the door behind him. good.

the rest of the evening is a blur. satoru gets home, relieved to find you still asleep, and tucks you into his chest. makes a mental reminder to order your favorite take out tomorrow; a little reward for your hard work.

finally, he can sleep easy. knowing you’ll get what you deserve. 

three weeks later, satoru places his hand on the familiar doorknob in front of him, dragging his weight behind him. blinking sluggishly. 

there’s a sinking feeling in his chest, weighing him down — like an anchor tied to his liver. a compass, tucked between his fourth and fifth rib, one that’ll always stay lodged right there. he’s learned to grow used to it, a natural consequence, a sign that his humanity is still intact. 

that doesn’t make it any less bothersome, though.

(ridding the world of a pest shouldn’t make him feel dirty. especially when he felt nothing but contempt for the pest in question, for the way he whistled as you walked by, the words he spewed before satoru met his eye. vile. putrid. why should he feel guilty for wiping a stain off the pavement?

it does make him feel dirty, though. a sinking feeling in his chest.)

there’s nothing to be done about it. satoru swallows the unpleasant taste on his tongue, and drags the door open, closing it behind him with a softness he reserves for you alone.

and there you are.

on the couch, farther away, already looking his way — lips instantly curling up into what he knows will be a smile. this time, it’s laced with excitement. one of his personal favorites. his gaze devours the joy in your features, the glimpse he gets of your teeth, that familiar crinkle of your eyes. 

you’re smiling. at him. you smile and his world wakes up, it’s dyed in different shades of blue, it’s brimming with life and love and something too good not to kill for. you smile and everything is right, good, worth it. you smile and it's as if the blood has been washed off his hands.

suddenly, all is well again. satoru exhales a blissful little breath.

“‘m home, honey,” he grins, a light pink dusting his cheeks, hanging his coat up before turning to face you. arms wide open. “did you miss me?”

his heartbeat stutters when you practically engulf him, all giddy giggles and that perfect smile, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. “mhm,” is what you chirp, pressing kisses down his collarbone, and he has to bite down on his lip to stop the shivers trailing down his spine. he tastes iron, but laps it up with a coo. sickly-sweet.

“missed you too, precious,” he purrs. “sorry i was gone for so long — had to take care of something.” 

he cups the back of your skull with his palm, large and crafted just to hold you, and marvels at how much you trust him. how you’re melting into his chest, fitting into every crevice of his heart. he wants to keep you there forever. forever and ever, always within reach, always close enough to touch. 

but he also wants you to be happy. he wants to see you run away, wherever the wind takes you, if only so he’ll get to feel you jump into his arms again, when you’ve had your fill of the world. when you come home to him, where you both belong.

satoru would never cage you. never, never, never. he wants you to enjoy your life — confining you wouldn’t do any good, would only stifle that pretty smile he loves so dearly. he wants your world to be large, brimming with life, blooming with fervor, wants the air to be clear enough for your beautiful lungs. he couldn’t build a world for you, here, in this apartment. no matter how big or luxurious. 

so his only option is to bend the world into a kinder shape — twist and mold until it forms a path good enough for you to follow.

(it’s worth it, he knows, he’ll always know. it’s worth it to see that smile.)

“is that a new coat?” you ask, naive and innocent, and it breaks him out of his thoughts, attention wired to the lilt of your voice.

“yeah.” it’s stylish, expensive, a nice shade of black. he had to throw the last one away. “looks nice, right? i’ll get you the same one, pretty.”

“you don’t have to, toru!” you hurriedly exclaim, knowing he’ll jump at the opportunity to spoil you. “i like the one i have now!”

satoru pouts. a soft huff, right by your ear. “you don’t wanna wear matching coats?” he feigns sadness, scratching softly at your scalp, drinking up the little purrs that bubble up in your throat. 

and you giggle. you giggle and all he can think is worth it, worth it, worth it. a stained coat or two means nothing. the blood on his hands is just insurance. 

“well, when you put it like that…” you shift a little, curling your arms around his neck, breathing him in. he wonders if you can smell the cleaning detergent. “i guess i wouldn’t mind a new coat.”

and he grins. “right? want me to buy you new shoes while i’m at it? some jewelry?” he peppers kisses down your neck, amusement laced in his voice. “the whole store?”

again, those giggles. again and again. he laps them up like fine wine. “okay, that’s too much.”

“but you deserve it!” he whines, sickeningly sweet. sick to his stomach with love. “been working so hard, my angel.”

and, suddenly — you light up. his little firefly. brightening, inhaling a giddy breath. pulling away, a little, and he does his best to bite back the frown on his face. you’re practically beaming, sunshine personified, eyes glittering with giddy joy.

“right! i almost forgot!” 

then you’re skipping away, happily, to retrieve your phone. and he knows what you’re going to show him, but still feigns surprise when he sees the score on your exam, that perfect 100 on the screen. still makes an expression of shock that he knows will get you to laugh, still picks you up and spins you around and tells you how proud he is.

he almost, almost feels bad, seeing you smile so wide; at what you assume to be the fruits of your own labour. almost feels ashamed, knowing that perfect 100 wouldn’t exist without the knife at your professor’s throat.

but, then again, this is how it should be. those numbers are the fruits of your own labour, because satoru is a part of you. and you deserve it, deserve it more than anyone — he knows you would have gotten it, even without his help, if your professor was competent enough to see your brilliance. 

satoru smiles. he is proud of you. and this is exactly how it should be. he’s just bending the world into its rightful shape, cutting strings from a wrongly woven web, righting the wrongs of the people around you.

you, you, you. the only thing that exists.

all of him is for you.

”i knew you could do it. never doubted you for a second, baby,” he smiles, so wide his cheeks hurt, and you return it with a kiss to his jaw. 

”thank you. i’m just so relieved,” you exhale a breath, heavy, and it’s like he can practically see the stress melting from your shoulders and eyes. worth it, worth it, worth it. ”gosh. i’m gonna sleep like the dead tonight.”

”as you should,” satoru chirps, pinching your side. softly, brimming with fondness. ”but before that, we’re gonna celebrate. all day. and tomorrow too!”

another smile coaxed from your lips; this time, it’s a little bit shy. bashful, at the praise, his endless excitement. so precious he wants to kiss you breathless. give you all the air in his lungs.

so precious that he forgets about everything else. 

this is what you always do to him; wrap him up in a blanket of your love, cloud his veins with a nectar so sweet he takes the leap into your arms without a second thought. a foolish, lovesick butterfly, sticking to a single rose; dripping with honey, overflowing. the butterfly is too drunk on love to care. 

you’re his flower, his joy, the most useful form of anesthesia. with you in his veins, on his mind, your lips on his jaw — satoru can pretend that his hands are clean. that they always have been.

it all slips from his mind. your professor, the creep who catcalled you yesterday, that one classmate you’ve been complaining about recently. he forgets that they even exists, and satoru thinks that must be what love is: something that narrows your world down until you can make a home out of it. 

(something worth holding onto, no matter the cost.)

as always, it’s your voice that snaps him out of the trance he’s in. turning around at the sound of your call, the orpheus to your eurydice, too in love to save you from himself. you’re both getting ready to head out, dressing up for a well-deserved date. 

satoru feels himself smile. he does the dirty work, and you get to reap the rewards. heaven on earth.

“oh, by the way! would you want to have dinner with my parents tomorrow?” you meet his absent gaze with a tilt of your head. “they’ve been asking about you again. it’s such a headache, seriously.”

satoru giggles, barely containing how delighted he is. raising a playful brow. “oh? grumpy that you aren’t the favorite child anymore, hm?”

“okay, first of all —“ you stifle a giggle, pulling a drawer open, rummaging through it. freshly washed clothes. he washes most of your things. “you aren’t their child. and second of all —“

“— yet.”

a pause. 

satoru watches your gaze flick over to him, then back to the drawer, collecting yourself. a cute flush to your cheeks. “… whatever.” you clear your throat. “second of all — i don’t like how much they like you. what kinda spell did you put them under? it’s always satoru this, satoru that!”

a huff fills the air, and you mutter something that sounds a little like mocking, an obnoxiously imitated where’s satoru? that makes him chuckle into his fist. 

he shrugs. “i’m just a natural charmer, y’know? and, for the record; i would love to have dinner with them.” he sends you a wink, playful, and you roll your eyes. “are you joining us?”

a bout of laughter pushes past your lips, and satoru thinks he could die happy — just soaking up the joy that spills from out your throat. he wishes he could live in it, paint your house in it, wear it. he wants your joy to be all he ever feels. he feels sick at the idea of ever being out of earshot for it.

“yes, i’m joining you.” your scoff is dripping with humour. ”i’d hate to be the fourth wheel, but it is what it is.”

satoru stifles a grin. ”lucky me. three beauties all to myself,” he drawls, a seductive lilt to his voice, just to hear that little noise you always make with the back of your throat. vaguely disgusted.

”you’re so gross.”

a coo. like the buzzing of a bee. ”don’t be jealous, honey. know you’re my favorite, don’t you?” satoru smiles — more sincere than you’ll ever know. ”could never love anyone else.”

”so my parents are in second place?” you quirk a brow, amusement lacing your words, and he clicks his tongue. 

”well, they made you. i’d have to be a fool not to worship artists of such caliber.” 

”charmer.”

”yours.” the word is a knife at his throat, a stain on his coat, a love so heavy it’ll burn him alive. ”only yours.”

and again, you smile. all he can think is that you deserve everything, everything he could ever give you. it’s all he can think as you go about your day, as he leads you outside, as he watches that flicker of joy dance inside your iris. as he watches you walk wherever your heart takes you.

the thought remains when you return home, when you wrap yourselves up in blankets and he throws a leg over your waist and you curl an arm around his ribcage. it’s all he can think. 

satoru was born to be of service — to someone, to the world, to something or another. he was born to carry a weight on his back, so why not bear the weight of your burdens?

all he wants is to protect you. all he’ll ever need is that smile on your face. he was always bound to be just this: a dog at your heels, a halo around your head, the watchful eye keeping you safe from everything rotten in this world. he’s the butterfly, the spider, the web itself. and he’ll never let you be tangled up in it.

he was born to be of service to you. so service you he will, until it all comes back to bite him.

“satoruuu — stop stealing the blanket!”

he prays it never will.

[noir-renard]

they'll never believe him.

[raptorrobot]

DO IT FOR KICKS, DO IT FOR FUN !

[platoapproved]

It did not hurt me then. It did not shake me. I was too pale of soul, too numbed, too used to seeing all things as figments in a series of unconnected dreams. - The Vampire Armand

[captainzigo]

a continuation of my evil twipie AU (bit of a misnomer) if you haven’t seen it, check the tag. i’m really proud of it and there are some insanely good submissions from others

[tapakah0]

Pt. 6 | Pt. 8 Little addition

From this moment she's gonna wear her mask forever.

[methoughtsphantom]

halfas are the found family trope foster child

they all adopt each other. it’s the reason Vlad wanted so badly to have Danny as his son and the reason Danny immediately went with sure you’re my cousin now with Dani. it’s a survival mechanism from being so very few of their species. Sooo, halfa!Jason except he sorta isn’t yet cause Jason’s core is extremely ruptured from the lack of ectoplasm involved in his forceful resurrection. So when Danny finds Jason in his catatonic state he can’t quite tell the dude’s been dead and remains some, just that the guy for some reason seems very friend-shaped. Danny doesn’t mind his friend is braindead, and is also a john doe, he gives familiar vibes and that’s apparently enough for Danny to constantly find himself in the hospital doing his engineering homework on the room with the guy, and talking for hours about the updates on the absolute clusterfuck of the city and how he was from a freaking ghost town and he can almost even draw comparisons. he blabbers about how he’s not homesick enough times to even corner himself to talk about a ghost lore many times and how he’s just finding himself a little more prone to violence and in constant pain since none of the people he has adopted as his family are here with him and he can’t consider a place a lair if there’s isn’t someone of his in it.

But Danny could never drag someone with him just because of some it, after all it was Danny’s choice to come to Gotham to collage and not stay where at least his parents (good parents Jack and Maddie) were in Amity.

Ironically, Danny essentially can’t feel that his core has been spoon feeding ectoplasm to Jason. As months go on, the little ball of energy builds in anticipation practically vibrating in the waiting pulse of something (Danny doesn’t know but more often than not has he found himself laughing in happy confusion. it weirds him out in a good way) It’s really that he’s feeling the slow healing process of his friend (brother brother brother) ‘s core.Imagine it’s just about to properly, correctly heal when canon strikes back and Jason gets snatched by League assassins. Danny is left feeling like his core got torned out. His core had spend months helping another’s only to feel the other’s imprint and to not be able to protect it in return is— forget it being an obsession; thats like having your newborn baby being ripped out of your arms. An all assuaging feeling of helplessness that is devastating. Danny just beginning to feel like home lair when out of nowhere the rug is swept under him. Danny suddenly struggling to not flunk all his classes and beat every single liminal that he can feel crossing paths with him to the ground. Danny suddenly having his chronic pain (that hadn’t been so bad lately) dialed up to the point that there are just bearable and bad days.

The worse thing is he doesn’t know why.

Jason had only been a guy.

…

It’s only a three weeks before Jazz tells him she accepted a job offer in Gotham.

(and the guilt only makes him feel worse when he can feel himself feel better because of it)

…

now

whimsical time skip ✨

Danny is now on his feet again and friends with a Wayne of your choice (or maybe they were friends a little before Jay dissapeared and it was badTM cause Waynes? liminal 🥲) Danny definitely didn’t enjoy snapping off to his friend like that. anyways it’s been a year since that and he and his friend are having a grand time playing civvies, uhh let’s say dick because I want them to meet while ice skating, Also Dick because he definitely turns a blind eye when Danny goes airborne for a second there yep. He’s just having too much fun.

anyways as alwaysTM Danny doesn’t clock celebrities and like why would he, Dick is just the random guy who’s was fast to turn Danny’s slow day in the ice ring into a competition one day and brighten when Danny matched up his puns. So he totally doesn’t get why the guy’s so gloomy one day, anyways as you can figure, it’s Jason’s deathday and Dick is a deprecating bean, Danny tries to cheer him up by having him remember his brother instead and Dick attempts to, but even skipping through some photos in his phone make his eyes burn.

It is because of that that he doesn’t notice Danny absolutely freeze up at the photo of his friend Jay (Jay because he’s a John Doe, but that’s just too impersonal and so the first letter is J *wink wink*)

Danny absolutely doesn’t know what to do with this information, barely catches himself from asking Dick how did his brother die. Most importantly when because Danny just saw Jay—Jason less than a year ago, and this somehow doesn’t feel too recent.

Annd that how we find Danny digging into the Wayne second son tragedy. Staring at the date of death while the knowledge that they met almost six months after burns his forefront of his mind. Danny spends a day going over all the questions running through his mind over how the fuck he couldn’t sense Jay was a ghost—err was… in past tense?? what the fuck?? Danny would really like a refund on his ghost sense.

Anyways Danny goes check out the grave (now that he knows there is one) and boom although intangible he somehow triggers those shitty ass sensors/alarms that somehow didn’t go off when jason was literally digging himself out.

Obviously the bats get in the case immediately. And boy are they absolutely enraged that someone would steal Jason’s body.