#why is he such a sweetheart

[alienelvisobsession]

Ol’ toothless Elvis

From Linda Thompson’s book “A Little Thing Called Life”

[yakichoufd]

doodles inspired by that bobby/scott fic

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

i think that in small tightknit communities, all residents should receive a coupon book on their bday that allows them to commit [x] number of nonviolent crimes per year

[theghostinyourwalls]

I eat it up every time

[ratatatastic]

If you could be anyone of your teammates who would it be and why? Panthers Cut.

[szfiction]

This parallel makes me insane actually (and there is something incredibly Lawlu about it to me)

[grondds-and-roses]

My favourite thing about AOT is that when Eren first met Armin and Mikasa, he scared the hell out of them

Like imagine this: You just had the worst day of your life. A bunch of kids beat you up/ you watched your parents get killed then you got kidnapped and out of nowhere a creepy little kid in a red scarf shows up and he is like “yo, wanna tatakae and be my bestie forever :)”

[corpusdiem-seizethedead]

Fat Nuggets: *squealing inconsolably*

Angel: *appearing on scene, prepared to commit a murder* What happened??? Who hurt him??? I swear to satan if any of ya-

Husk: *casually turning the page of his reading material* I said he couldn't have two dinners.

Fat Nuggets: *squealing louder*

[undertheredhood]

pre-death jason anytime bruce is being annoying: the way you’re currently behaving is the reason why nightwing left you

[the-greatest-8]

Cody was in despair. He was ruined. He was as good as dead- and it was all his Generals fault. General Obi-wan Kenobi, who up until this point Cody could say with full certainty was the best thing that could have happened to him and his men- had picked up a new habit. It was driving Cody crazy. What was this nightmare that had Cody losing his mind?

His General had taken to biting his bottom lip, a subconscious, innocent habit born out of stress; Cody was the one stressed now. The Jedi in question was in front of him, staring intently at his datapad- most likely one of the millions of reports they had to swipe through. Cody on the other hand?

Cody was desperately trying to hold onto his sanity as he watches his General occasionally abuse his bottom lip; giving it a delightful red and swollen look. They were the only ones around, most of the 212th had retired for the night, and the skeleton crew remaining were far off closer to the controls. This did not help Cody with his wandering imagination.

As if sensing Cody's inner turmoil- and he realizes with a muted horror that he probably can sense it- the frustrating temptation looks up at Cody, confused. "Are you well dear?" The General inquires, a concerned expression making it's way to his face, his lips turning in a slight frown.

Cody desperately fights back the insane urge to kiss that expression off the his face- He needs to stop that thought there. Cody clears his throat, "I'm fine sir" he says, knowing damn well he is a liar who lies.

The Jedi hums for a moment, squinting at Cody as if to say he doubts that, and thankfully returns to his reading.

He is so screwed.

-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

[flashypunches]

( REUPLOAD I ACCIDENTALLY DELETED IT im so sorry )

You're someone who's held great resentment for your godfather.

For your first meeting, for his ego, for his murderous intent towards your father.

For his failure to provide comfort or understanding when your parents refused you as a son, when your friends have left you as a corpse.

You suffer through long years, sticking with him through thick and thin, because he’s the only one like you, the only other Death refused to take.

( The daughter he made, the cousin you mourned, Dani, is gone. She will not return to either of you. It is always his fault. )

Because he’s all you have left. The only one who wouldn't refuse you.

He moves you to a city that matches your dreary state. Vigilantes take residence, closing in on crime. Closing in on your godfather.

Vlad leaves. He doesn’t take you with him.

He leaves you his wealth, a place in a school that makes you miss home, and an order to never speak to the ones who made him run– the Waynes.

He doesn’t return. Never properly. You make due with phone calls and brief visits every now and then. You don’t mind, you preferred this more than his haphazard attempts at providing companionship when it was too late.

Your schoolmates does not like you. That is okay, even if it leaves you longing for friends.

( Sam and Tucker are in Amity and will stay there until they die. They would never come and visit a corpse like you. Not when you desecrate their friend's body, parading it around, like you're him. They know who you really are. They've always known, they just couldn't see sense before. )

But you find someone who could be one.

He is prickly, rude, disliked less, but disliked nonetheless. But he is the only other person who does not care about your worn out shoes, for your scars, your clammy skin, all the things that made your parents refuse you as a son, as sentient— or about you coming in the middle of the school year.

You care not about his attitude, desperation clawing at your mind for any form of socialization not from Vlad or who he calls company.

You make quick work of befriending him, a shared rivalry for an annoying schoolmate pulling you close together.

You learn his interests, his pets, his family. You know his name but do not ask for it. Willful ignorance could be considered bliss. Just for a moment.

He lets you stay at his house for a night, though his siblings push the matter more enthusiastically. You do not see his father.

( “He’s on a business trip.” Daniel blinks, looking up at his friend.

“Who?” he asks, despite knowing there’s only one person that Damian could be referring to.

Damian tsked automatically, “My father, you imbecile. He will return in two weeks notice.”

Daniel thinks of his godfather, of his various excuses over the years to many people, including him. But instead of telling Damian the likely truth, that his father won’t return, never like how his best friend wants him too, an “Okay” comes out in place of it.

Let him bask in ignorance, Daniel tells himself, Let your friend have this. )

His father comes back. You don’t call Vlad when he forgets you. For all he wanted you as a son, now he never tries to treat you as such.

You continue the cycle of avoiding an empty house, of sleep-overs, of waiting for something to happen.

And something does. Your godfather comes back. He lies to you that he won’t leave again. He says that he will stay longer, that the family who tried to run him out won’t succeed again.

You do not think of your best friend. Why would he even care?

Your godfather treats you like he had before, when you still had your friends, your home. Like you are a misbehaving child, and him, the tired parent.

( Shouts of an argument ring from an dead manor, before being shut out to the upstairs.

Daniel slammed the door, not caring if Vlad had heard it or not. Ancients, he'd forgotten how much of an utter fruit-loop Vlad was. He gritted his teeth, rubbing the bruise left on his wrist by the man.

Why'd he expect anything different? Vlad was just going to be his usual nutty self, and go back to treating him like he was still some misguided kid, that he would just come around to playing nice with Vlad.

The wood of the door was smooth, most likely sanded down from any splinters by the past families who lived here. Daniel moved his fingers along the grooves, faintly remembering how he had done this before, when he was better. He bit his tongue, ignoring the bitter taste of ectoplasm it brought forth.

He hadn't thought of who he was before since he'd ran. He hadn't been this angry at Vlad since he ran. He hadn't felt so like himself after he ran.

Daniel would be lying if that thought didn't make him feel just a little bit better.

He let his head fall into his knees, back leaning against the wooden door, limbs sagging. He did not cry, because the Danny from the empty home did not do that. )

It irks you, but not like before. Maybe you were doing something right if he’s treating you like this now, treating you normally. Maybe you’re back to who you were before, before the rejection scarred you.

Damian notices the change in your personality, as you notice his change in costume. He is on the rooftops, in the streets, cloaked in muted colors, not unlike your own old costume, and his family knows your godfather is back.

When you come back to school after a week of Vlad trying to bond with you without success, Damian doesn’t say a word about your godfather.

You don’t either. What even is there to say?

“Oh, I know that you are investigating my godfather, and that you’re a vigilante, surprise!”

You would have been killed ages ago if that was your response.

Your friend does not invite you over anymore. You know why, understand why but it still stabs your core, in the way a butter knife does to wood. Dents it but does not cut.

You repeat the loop of boring conversation, of stilted companionship. You grow tired of it, as you always do.

Vlad's signature is easy to forge. You get to skip your classes under the guise of it being a family emergency.

( Damian is near the gate when he gets off the bus. Daniel's ratty sneakers are hitting the ground, as he walks over to him.

The weight of his backpack feels heavy, the evidence that Daniel had stuffed inside not helping his back. Damian twirls around at his steps, a scowl already on his lips.

Daniel smiles back, readjusts the straps on his shoulders. He whispers to Damian, uncaring of the fight currently breaking out in the front, the fight that Damian is watching, "I'm getting out of school today, wanna come with?"

His friend tears his eyes away from the brawl, looking intrigued at Daniel's offer.

Damian considers the chance. The thought of having to sit through another day of school with only Jon for mild company sickens him.

"I suppose I can, though if this is a trap Masters, then let it be known that—"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it, you in still?" Daniel flashes his (only) friend a cheesy grin, ignoring Damian's eye-roll at his theatrics.

"..Yes."

-

The route to the local park is quick, though slowed by the need to be away from the public's eyes, lest they be caught right away in their venture.

Daniel gasps in a breath, ancients, did he need to jog way more. Damian easily strides beside him, the only sign that he was showing off being the smug gleam in his green eyes. Bastard.

The papers, the records, the flash-drive, all weigh down his back. Vlad has definitely noticed them missing, and he most definitely knows who took them.

But Daniel didn't care, not right now, because right now, he was spending time with his bestest friend in the whole wide world, and he'll deal with Vlad later. )

You drag Damian over to a secluded bench, taking no mind to the mutations Poison Ivy has given the plants near. The backpack is emptied, and you guide your only friend to the path that leads to Vlad's destruction.

The dread fades away, the high of adrenaline taking its place, at the crimes left behind in pieces, put back together in a backpack, and let loose into the hands of your only friend.

It feels good, like something’s been taken off your shoulders. You know that Vlad has anticipated you telling someone about what he’s done. He’s still not leaving.

Your high is running down, as you start to beg Damian not to arrest him, lying to your only friend that Vlad is a better man, and doesn't deserve to rot in a cell. You know that when you take a separate route to your homes, that he’ll tell anyway.

You can’t bring yourself to care. Vlad’ll just weasel out of it, as he always does.

He knows what you did, doesn’t bring it up, with the only sign being a watchful eye whenever you’re back in his grasp.

You get invited to a gala by your friend. You accept, uncaring of Vlad's reaction.

Your friend gets held ransom. No one’s worried, no one feels anything but annoyance. You stay away, not wanting to feel your core straining to help, to protect.

The Bats swoop in to help. You ignore the envy at their luck at having a team of other heroes to depend on.

( Your friend ) The Waynes send people after your godfather. He tries to bribe his way out of the charges, out of the jail cell that cannot hold him. They leave with him in tow.

You start staying overnight at your friend’s house even more. Damian doesn’t say a word about it.

His father does. His siblings do.

They talk about adopting you, they fight about Vlad, about what they are meant to do with your godfather, and what to do with poor old Danny. You don’t listen in much. They remind you of your parents, just a little bit. It hurts.

Vlad is let go. False charges, apparently. You know he just bribed the judge and juries.

He wants to talk to you, intent on having a conversation that lasts more than five minutes without shouting and tears ending it.

I'm sorry for not being there, please, give me forgiveness, are the only things you remember from the conversation. You do not give him what he wants, but the conversation doesn't end in slammed doors and withheld tears.

You sleep under his roof for the first time in weeks, the most civil conversation you’ve ever been with him looping in your mind. You even wonder if he’ll let you go to your friend’s birthday party.

You don’t sleep at your friend’s house as much. There’s not much need to anymore.

You wake up one night, to hear the sounds of ectoblasts and footsteps. They are on the roof, and you know what they’re here for.

You go ghost, going up the roof, watching invisibly as Plasmius shoots at the vigilantes who yell about something. You stay like that for a moment. You almost decide to let him go.

He's the only one you have left, to leave him, to abandon him, is to leave the last person in your corner. That thought is the only reason why you lift your thermos up, capturing Vlad in one fell swoop, before he leaves too.

The vigilantes are not pleased, as the Bat barks out orders to find you. You can imagine Vlad is the same, fuming at your disrespect inside the can.

With Vlad in your thermos, the Bats on your tail, there is no hope in your mind of getting out of Gotham with everything you need.

Oh Danny, what are you going to do?

[thejasontoddarchives]

It’s not often that Jason’s actions confuse me but

Red Hood (2016-) #51

[kitkraft1]

AHH I HATE JIMMY I HATE HIM

[not-with-you-but-of-you]

Milo Ventimiglia as Jess Mariano in Gilmore Girls | 4.21 "Last Week Fights, This Week Tights" (8/?)

[ghosttotheparty]

based on this post of mine bc i had thoughts // tw surgery mention, anaesthesia, hospital environment (not detailed its just there)

“And who are you?”

Steve pauses by the door, setting his jacket on the back of the chair next to Wayne. He looks over at Eddie, laying in his bed, covered in a blanket, his hair a messy halo around his head. His eyes are shining brightly, staring intently at Steve.

“He’s very high,” Wayne says to Steve, smiling softly.

“Yeah, I got that,” Steve says, watching Eddie roll slightly, groaning loudly. “Surgery went well?”

“Went fine,” Wayne says lightly, and Steve can see the relief in him as he leans back, eyes watching Eddie like he’s scared to look away.

“Eds?” Steve says, moving closer to the bed. “How was surgery?”

“Was fu-u-un…”

“Yeah? You had fun?”

Eddie hums affirmatively, and Steve crouches next to the bed, looking at him. There’s a bandage on his cheek, and the sight of it makes Steve’s chest ache, but Eddie’s eyes are shining brightly, glazed over as he blinks at Steve.

“Whoa,” he breathes dramatically, and Steve suppresses a smile.

“What?”

Eddie lifts a hand, and it lands heavily on the side of Steve’s face, making him recoil slightly even as he laughs. Eddie’s fingers press into his skin, kneading his cheek.

“You’re fuckin’ beautiful.”

Steve’s eyebrows fly up, and his face burns as he hears Wayne laugh quietly behind him.

“Am I?”

Eddie hums again, smiling brightly, deliriously, wriggling as he shakes Steve’s face.

“Pretty boy,” he mumbles. “Pretty, pretty, pretty boy.” He releases his cheek to boop his nose a little too hard. “Who are you?”

“I’m Steve.”

“Ste-e-e-eve…” Eddie blinks at him, poking his face again. “Stevie, Stevie, Stevie.”

“Hi, Eddie,” Steve says softly.

“Princess Stevie,” Eddie slurs happily.

“Princess?”

“Mm. Princess. Pretty princess.”

Wayne laughs quietly behind Steve, and Steve turns to glare at him over his shoulder. He’s rubbing his forehead and smiling amusedly, and Steve starts to open his mouth to speak, but Eddie grabs at his face again, pulling him to face him.

Eddie’s eyes are almost closed, like his eyelids are heavy, and his fingers are petting at Steve’s cheek and jaw, rubbing his stubble. (He hasn’t shaved. He’s been too stressed. He was planning on shaving tonight after getting firm confirmation that Eddie is okay, but if Eddie likes it…)

Eddie lets go of his cheek and boops his nose a little to hard. And then he does it again, and again, humming a song that Steve doesn’t recognize.

“Do you like boys?” Eddie asks abruptly, his fingertip lingering on the tip of Steve’s nose. Wayne barks out a laugh behind Steve, and Steve’s face burns, and for some reason, even though Eddie isn’t going to remember this and Wayne is right there, Steve says, “Yes, I do.”

Eddie’s face lights up, and he tries to sit up, but Steve gently keeps him down, murmuring a soft, “Stay here, Eddie.”

“You do?” Eddie asks hopefully, flopping back down and looking up at Steve, who suppresses a smile, nodding.

“Yeah.”

Eddie’s eyes widen and he turns his face into his pillow, reaching up to pull his hair across his face shyly, shifting and fidgeting and wiggling, and Steve gazes fondly, contently. He hasn’t felt this calm in a good long while.

“Can I have a kiss?” Eddie asks shyly, and Steve raises his eyebrows. “Please.”

“You’re high, Eddie.”

“I’ve been higher,” Eddie says, his voice slurring, mumbly. Steve just looks at him for a moment, watching his eyes shine. “Please? I’ll be good.”

Steve’s stomach flutters, and he exhales, hesitating before he turns to look at Wayne, who’s still watching, smiling absently with his face resting on his hand. Steve raises his eyebrows, shrugging weakly, asking silently what to do as Eddie’s hand touches his cheek again.

Wayne shrugs, his smile growing, and then he points to his forehead with another shrug, and Steve sighs.

He turns back to face Eddie, who’s gazing at him blearily, his eyes glazed over.

“I won’t kiss your mouth,” Steve starts, cracking a smile when Eddie’s lips pout, his lower lip poking out, shining. “But I’ll kiss your forehead if you want.”

Eddie beams.

“Yes, please.”

Steve smiles, licks his lips, shifting on the ground as Eddie smiles up at him.

“Don’t move,” he says firmly, and Eddie nods, his body tightening and his eyes closing. He’s still smiling.

Steve takes a moment to gaze at him. At the lines in his skin from his smile, at his dark eyelashes and chapped lips. (Which Steve will kiss when he’ll be able to remember it.)

He brushes Eddie’s bangs back carefully, and Eddie inhales, his smile growing even more somehow, and then he leans close, pressing his lips to his forehead softly, leaving a lingering kiss on his skin.

Eddie sighs, still lying stiffly, unmoving, being good like he said he would, and when Steve pulls away to look at him, his cheeks are flushed pink. A second passes before Eddie's eyes flutter open, and then he's smiling so brightly his eyes are squeezing shut, and he rolls away a little bit, letting out an excited squeal that makes Steve burst into laughter.

"Wayne," Eddie calls, rolling over and looking across the room at Wayne, who's laughing even harder than Steve, covering his face with a hand. "A pretty boy kissed me, d'ya see?"

"I saw, Eds, 'm happy for you."

Eddie giggles deliriously and rolls over again, wiggling, and Steve presses his face to the side of his bed, his face hot, because even though it was Wayne's fucking idea, he forgot Wayne was watching him press the softest kiss humanly possible to Eddie's forehead, was probably watching his gaze at him before it. But Wayne is laughing, amused, and probably relieved to be hearing Eddie giggle and squeal happily after worrying for so long.

"Alright," Steve says after taking a moment to collect himself, reaching up and pulling at Eddie's shoulder. "You're gonna pull your stitches, honey, lay still."

"Honey," Eddie repeats, his eyes shining brightly, the bandage on his cheek wrinkling as his cheeks squish up under his smile. "Honey, honey, honey, honey..."

Steve's face burns again.

"You're so sweet, Stevie," Eddie says lightly, his voice mumbly. "Sweet boy. Sweetheart. Cotton candy boy."

"Cotton candy boy," Steve repeats under his breath, and Eddie hums affirmatively.

"Cotton candy. Sweet. Hubba Bubba. Bubblegum baby."

"He's a poet," Wayne quips behind Steve, and Steve turns to glare at him, but he can't fully suppress the smile that's making his face sore. Eddie is still mumbling to himself, now reaching up to rub Steve's face again.

"Sweet like iced tea. Like a lollipop." He giggles to himself, pressing his fingers into Steve's cheek again. "Wanna lick you."

A laugh bursts out of Wayne, and Steve's face floods with heat.

"Oh my god."

Eddie giggles.

He asks to hold Steve's hand after rambling a little while longer, after comparing Steve to cake frosting and strawberries and honeysuckle blossoms, and Steve lets him take it, watches their fingers lace and twist together, and Wayne finally brings a chair over to him with Eddie doesn't want to let go. Wayne kisses Eddie's head when he says goodnight, and then he kisses the top of Steve's. It makes Steve's eyes burn and fill with tears that he refuses to let fall until after the door's shut behind Wayne.

Eddie asks if he's okay, eyes filled with concern, and his fingers tighten on Steve's. Steve wipes his face and smiles, telling him he's fine. No one's kissed me like that in a long while. Eddie sighs and relaxes, still gazing at him. Tells him Wayne does it all the time, and he'd probably do it to Steve if he wants him to.

"I can kiss you like that if you want," he offers kindly, sleepily. Steve raises his hand to his lips and kisses his knuckles.

"Tomorrow."

"Okay."

(Eddie doesn't remember anything when he wakes up the next day, but when he opens his eyes to find Steve resting his head next to him on his bed and Steve's fingers twisted around his, he certainly doesn't complain.)

[bookish-phile]

“Give me your eyes, sweetheart.”