Hey there Brace Face, I mean Metal Mouth, I mean Train Tracks, I mean Zipper, I mean uh- Lou.

Louis: Oh thath rith! Thath’s really rith! UGH...

Dp x Dc wherein learning magic is similar to learning how to play music. 

So basically, the creation of a summoning spell is like a full composition/song made of smaller components or ‘notes’ for things like gravity shifting, and geolocation, and transportation etc. which is why Magic can be taught and spells can be man-made. 

Danny, however, is the equivalent of having Perfect Pitch. He can compose entire songs of spells without really thinking about it due to his royal titles (ambassador/king/high prince) but doesn’t really know how to be specific which lands him in some trouble with Clockwork. His portals are coming along a lot better with the help of Wulf but its critical that Danny learns how to control the range of his magic *something something, for the timestream something* *blah blah according to the will of the ancients blah blah*. 

So put on the course to learn Magic, Danny decides to hunt down the House of Mystery and study up by himself. He’s doing community college online, what could a little bit of Magic self study really do to his schedule? This place has literally every magic resource he could need! 

Turns out he has a roommate in the House of Mystery- John Constantine does not take well to the fact that half of the spells Danny is creating are causing him issues with the JL. Random shit appearing, random shit disappearing, portals everywhere and don’t get him started on the fucking ICE present on every bloody thing the magic reaches. Not to mention there is no reason a normal human kid should be able to have this much power behind his spells. 

John attempts to teach Danny the basics like a little kid gets stickers placed on the keys of a piano. The problem is Danny has the ability to compose entire scores of Magic all on his own, and absolutely abhors the training wheels John is putting on him. 

Danny: You’re patronizing me! 

John: You deserve to be patronized. 

Just like, Danny learning Magic in various ways that you might teach kids to play musical instruments from the various Magic users in the JLD. Causing chaos along the way, found family, the whole nine. Stickers on the instruments for notes, taking away guitar strings that are ‘more advanced’ and replaying Twinkle, Twinkle little star over and over again. 

Danny can play the Magic equivalent of Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake but cannot play Chopsticks. 

Transformers Prime Incorrect Quote

Optimus:And this is our medic, Ratchet.

MC:...

MC, with their whole chest:UPGRADES PEOPLE, UPGRADES!

Ratchet:???

Rafael, the only other person who's watched the movie:*Trying and failing to keep upright, he's laughing so hard*

cause you're classic, and i'm reckless

by firenati0n on ao3

T | 5.4k

tags: actor au, first kiss, fluff, alex pov, banter, falling in love

“I've, actually, uh. I've never done this before.” At this, Henry stops short, takes a second as his gaze moves up and to the left, trying to recall something. “I've seen your films. You most certainly have done intimate scenes.” Alex clears his throat. He hopes his nerves aren't completely obvious, the slight waver in his voice about to give him away. “Yeah, well. Never with a man, so. Not at this scale, anyway.” “Would it help to, er, practice?" Henry winces a little as he says it, which does not inspire confidence. But Alex is shocked nonetheless. What the fuck?

xoxo roop

P.s. this was absolutely inspired by THEEEE ryan gosling/rachel mcadams MTV 2005 video. You know the one.

also tagging some folks who expressed interest in this don't mind me <3 ilysm

@sail-not-drift @onward--upward @suseagull04 @littlestar2911 @welcometololaland @dragonflylady77 @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @ninzied @sherryvalli @piratefalls @indestructibleheart @onthewaytosomewhere @heybuddy-drabbles @priincebutt @cactusdragon517 @junebugclaremontdiaz @kiwiana-writes @rmd-writes @eusuntgratie @cha-melodius @bigassbowlingballhead @getmehighonmagic @celeritas2997 @nontoxic-writes @porcelainmortal @4rthurfox

so i've seen a lot of people headcanon wars' hypothetical dark world form being some beautiful, majestic, possibly otherworldly creature

but hear me out.

goofy hermit doodles!! because uhh why not!!

The Grommr Profile of Dorian Grey

Dorian finished the last chicken wing, delicately wiping his hands with a napkin, before dabbing at the sides of his mouth. “And one hundred!” He beamed at the camera, and rubbed his middle, not-so-subtly lifting his t-shirt to reveal taut, flat six-pack abs. “Guess that will sort me until dinner,” he said with a wink to his audience.

He looked at the comments on his livestream. Most were in awe, as usual, at how much he could eat while maintaining his stick-thin figure and classically handsome good looks. Others, frustratingly, accused him of being a fake - of using some contraption or camera trickery to make the food disappear, of editing in CGI food, of bullimia. He'd done live shows, week-long streams, streams in nothing but his boxers, but nothing would ever convince some of his viewers.

One in particular caught his attention: lol, why are you all commenting like he'll respond? everyone knows he films these over like a week and then edits it together after

Dorian gritted his teeth. “Actually, user WelcomeToMyFistedMind, comment at fifteen thirty-two and eighteen seconds, this is very much live. And actually, I don't think I am done quite yet.” He stood and walked to the kitchen, coming back with a box of two dozen donuts he'd bought for tomorrow's stream. He sat back down and pushed the first one into his mouth, grinning around the custard that oozed out.

Forty-five minutes and twenty-four donuts later, Dorian flashed one last smug grin at the camera and closed twitch. He leant back, lifted up his t-shirt and ran his fingers lazily up and down his treasure-trail, following the center line between his abdominals. Despite the literal pounds of food he'd eaten in the last couple of hours, his stomach was as flat as ever, his twinkish frame showing none of the effects of the food he ate day in, day out.

His channel, MukbangBangYoureDead, had exploded in viewers ever since he started it a few years ago, until he was now one of the most famous mukbangers on the internet. He could not only eat more than all of his competitors, he made it look easy, and all without gaining a pound.

Of course, he had something that they didn't - the deal. He'd been hesitant at first, didn't believe the strange visitor that had come to him one night could or would deliver on its promises. But here he was, years later, making tens of thousands of pounds a month, all without consequence.

Thinking about the deal, he opened Grommr on his phone and brought up his profile. He whistled as he saw the updated weight - 576 pounds. He'd been flirting with 570 for a while now, and was pleased to see how far he'd stepped over that threshold. Time, he thought, for an update for his loyal fans on that platform too.

He pulled his trousers off and threw them to the side, leaving his t-shirt on. He walked to the mirror and admired his toned, pencil-like legs, his lightly muscled arms, the way his t-shirt draped from broad shoulders and tight pecs over his narrow waist, and his large bulge constrained by a designer jock-strap in bright yellow. He raised his phone up and took a picture, and proceeded to take his shirt off. He raised one hand to a lightly-haired pec and gave it a squeeze as he took a second picture. Finally, he lay down on his bed, snaked some long-slender fingers into his waistband, and raised his phone to take another photo from above.

He uploaded the pictures to Grommr without even looking at them - he knew there'd be no point, that they'd look completely different in just a moment or two. They appeared one by one as they uploaded.

Each showed a behemoth of a man. In the first the man stood in a mirror, wearing a t-shirt that cut into fat hanging from his sides and strained to cover large, pendulous breasts. His gut hung out and down, covering his genitals - a small pop of yellow beneath his love handles was the only hint that he was wearing any underwear. The man's face was huge and round, his features almost amorphous. Small, piggy eyes sat above bulbous cheeks, which merged into a ring of fat around his head, his chin a mere dimple in the fat around his neck. Even in the still image, it was clear that the man's arm was straining against its own weight to hold the phone up.

The next photo was much the same. The same morbidly obese figure stood in the same mirror. This time, the pitifully small t-shirt had been discarded to reveal cascading flesh hanging to the side, lying on the mountainous belly. One hand grasped one of the tits, bloated fingers digging into the soft flesh.

In the next, the figure was laid prone. Gravity had pulled down on the soft flesh and caused it to drop down and pool around the figure. The moobs lifted up towards the man's non-existant neck and chin, his gut spread out, his face expanded in all directions. New rolls and folds had formed - where arm met shoulder, where joints bent, or where his gut bunched up against itself. In the brighter lighting, painfully red stretch marks bloomed across the man's skin, circling his thighs, his love handles like loaves, across his dropping breasts. The man's left hand struggled to reach around his gut to grasp at the waistband of a straining jock strap, within which a small bump suggested some long-forgotten nub of a cock, sunk deep within the fat that spilled out around the underwear’s pouch. The man’s face was red, and seemed to strain as he struggled to maneuver his own flesh.

Dorian watched on in boredom as the first few comments rolled in. The usual adoring fans, begging to know the secrets to his titanic weight, proclaiming they’d soon look the same, asking to meet up. He would wait until a few of his regulars sent their customary tips, then go on with the rest of his day. In the meantime, a couple of the comments caused a smile to spread across his angular face.

MayContainDonuts: MealWithTheDevil looking great as ever! I don't know what it is, but he always looks so much like that one mukbang guy? Obviously fatter, but just the eyes and nose and stuff? I wonder if they're related?

BloatGoat: Do you mean MukbangBangYoureDead? If you can find some of his old photos the resemblance is uncanny. People used to think they were the same person but obviously not. Definitely could be related!

Dorian smirked and went to close the app, stopping only to check a small notification that popped up at the top of his screen. There would be routine server maintenance the next day, and the site would be down for around eight hours, starting mid-morning for the UK.

Dorian sighed. He hated server shutdowns, and this would be the longest he'd experienced yet. Still, he had a while to prepare. He'd have to cancel some lunch plans, but he could make up some lie about being ill. He got dressed, stood up and left to go buy enough food for tomorrow.

Dorian paced around his flat nervously the next morning. He checked his watch - 10:01. He quickly tried to bring up Grommr - sure enough, he was met with an error message about the server being down. It would start soon enough.

The first sign of it was his t-shirt. Previously loose, after about five minutes he found he was having to fuss with it to get it to sit right. another five minutes and it had begun riding up around puffy lovehandles and a firm paunch, while his sweatpants were starting to slip down an expanding rear. Another ten minutes and he took the t-shirt off, freeing a large beer gut that bounced when he walked. His sweatpants had grown almost skin tight around hefty thighs and would soon be too tight for comfort. He knew that this was only the start.

The hunger started then; sickly, stabbing pains in his newly expanded gut. He put two pizzas in the oven and sat with a donuts while he waited, knowing that soon his body, and his appetite along with it, would soon be able to accommodate all the food.

Just under thirty minutes in, Dorian's gut started to rest on his lap when he sat. He leant back, the swollen sack of fat at his middle dragging along his lap as he did so, and his cock began to harden. He reached a hand up to scratch the pink stretch marks beginning to form below his budding moobs.

While stuffed to the point of breathlessness just five minutes before, his stomach was still expanding, and he could feel the gnawing hunger begin to creep back in. He belched and stood, tottering slightly at the near-total shift in center of gravity since he’d sat down. He peeled off his sweatpants, struggling past his wide arse and flabby thighs, then gathered as much food as he could in his arms, using the top of his gut as a shelf and cautiously made his way back to his sofa, where he collapsed down, put on a trashy movie, and continued to eat.

Dorian continued to grow as his pile of junk food diminished. He savoured the feeling of soft, supple skin sliding past skin as he swelled - his growing tits pouring out onto his behemoth gut, his underbelly coursing forwards across rotund thighs dimpled with cellulite, his fat pad oozing around his perpetually hard dick. He knew to wait though; the bigger he was, the hotter his eventual orgasm would be.

Dorian looked down and surveyed himself. His body was beginning to be defined by rolls upons rolls. He estimated himself to be around the size he reached last time there was some server downtime; his profile had put on at least a hundred pounds since then. He lifted a heavy arm and used a hand to probe his plush flesh, sighing at the way his newly chubby fingers sank into the fat.

Still, the hunger increased. Dorian tried to lean forward to grab his phone, but found his own sheer bulk resisted him, pushing him back. He spread his legs and allowed his gut to fall down between them, the shift pulling his body forward in his seat and causing a dull ache in his lower back. He picked up his phone and with clumsy sausage-like fingers brought up a delivery app. He allowed instinct and hunger to take over - spring rolls, beef, chilli beef, sweet and sour chicken, duck pancakes, chilli chips, everything he saw he was ravenous for. He'd not been this big before and the hunger was deep. He pressed order, only briefly worrying about how he'd answer the door when he had no clothes that could hope to fit him.

Dorian’s body continued to expand. There was an alienness to his new size; his thighs had to splay around his hanging gut, his arms sat uncomfortably on top of thick pillows of fat at his sides, each joint filled with lard, and most of all was the awareness of gravity, how it pulled at his body and how his body answered in kind by dropping down and down.

Half an hour of nagging hunger later, his doorbell rang. He threw himself forward, but fell back to the sofa. Even that unsuccessful effort left him winded. He rolled to the side, fat cascading over fat as he did so, and staggered to stand sideways, his arms shaking as he heaved with all his might against the sofa. He grabbed a blanket and draped it over him; it barely covered his torso, but it was the best he could do.

How had he never realised how easy walking was before? Now, every step needed to be purposeful and required a conscious effort to propel his weight forwards. He had to wheel each thigh out and around past the other, each one a lead weight to be lifted. Dorian reached the door panting and sweaty, his hips burning with the beginnings of pain. The delivery driver looked on in shock, and then in slow horror. Dorian didn't care, he just grabbed his bags and slammed the door, before making his slow way back to his seat.

As he fell back, the sofa made a loud crunching sound and he felt himself sink deep into the cushions. He shuffled over the other side as best he could, each movement sending shockwaves across his body. He piled his bags into the crater left on the other side of the sofa and ate directly out of them, the table now wholly unreachable.

Dorian suspected he stopped growing around the time that he'd finished his food. If nothing else, the hunger had stopped. His torso had become a series of rolls, each one wrapped around his entire body and piled on top of the next. His limbs had become huge sacks of flesh, spreading out beneath him, the only evidence of his joints small, soft dimples in the thick casing of his body.

Dorian knew he'd waited long enough now. He pushed a stubby paw into the deep fold underneath his gut, reaching for the hard nub of his cock not yet swallowed by his fat pad. It was no use however, the heavy weight of his belly pressing down and closing off his own groin from himself. He leant to the side and spread his thighs, freeing up access and shifting his weight off from his lap, but still his fingers had to squirm past sweaty flesh into the small crevice left of his crotch. He grasped at the hard head of his cock, finding it in a shallow depression of flab nestled in dense pubes. With two fingers he did his best to jerk himself off, but to no avail - there was simply not enough cock left and not enough space to handle it in. Desperate for release he began to thrust, rocking his pelvis back and forth, so that the thick shaft of his penis slid within his own blubber, fucking his own body. He closed his eyes and ignored the tortured groans of the sofa below him as his pleasure grew. It only took a few minutes for him to cum, semen coating his fat pad and thighs as he yelled out.

Dorian slumped back, gasping for air, and exhausted, drifted off into a sleep.

When he woke up, it was dark. He could still feel the weight of his body pulling down. This wasn't right. As slow as it took for the weight to pile on, usually it melted away in seconds once the servers were back online, which should have happened hours ago. He checked the time - 23:24. Had something gone wrong?

He checked Grommr - the site was back up. He tried to log in - nothing. App - no. Browser - no. He tried to type his password in again, fat fingers mashing against the keyboard so that he had to try again slowly, deliberately. Nothing worked. He felt his heart pounding somewhere beneath his bosom.

Finally, he noticed an email in his inbox.

Grommr admin team - lost profile

During our recent scheduled server update, a small number of user profiles were unfortunately lost. We are sorry to tell you that your profile was one of those that we have not been able to recover. We are doing everything we can to recover lost profiles, but we are sadly not…

Dorian stopped reading. He looked down at the acres of flesh that were now his body. He lifted an arm up and let it fall, watching it shake and wobble in the dim light. What would he tell his family? His friends? His fans? This couldn't be happening.

Through his panicked breathing and heavy heartbeat, another feeling began to grow - Dorian Grey was beginning to feel hungry.

Can I kiss you?

[DP x DC fic]

[Love at first... murder? - part 1]

Next >>

Ao3

---

“—so sorry! I swear I didn’t mean to kill him! It was an accident! He just jumped me out of nowhere and I have had bad experiences with clowns in the past so when I saw it was a clown trying to kidnap me I kinda just panicked and punched him! I swear, dude, I didn’t mean to hit him so hard—“

Jason, much too calmly, likely in some form of shock, rises from the crouched-down position he had been in to check the clown corpse’s pulse.

He had seen the poor, still rambling, twink getting grabbed from a distance and was about to step in as Red Hood, not even having been aware it was the Joker who —shouldn’t he have been in Arkham? There has been no announcement of him breaking out yet— had grabbed the guy until he had run close enough to the scene.

Which was after the guy had already been startled so badly by the Joker trying to kidnap him that he sucker punched the Joker into the wall of the alley so hard the clown died.

Said twink then realized what he had done and that he had a witness, that witness being Red Hood himself, and had started his frenzied speech on how it was an accident and to please don’t take him to jail he’s only just started his scholarship at Gotham U. and he can’t have murder on his track record yet.

Breathless, Jason looks at the nervous twink in front of him, who's still trying to plead his case, and who just obliterated the Joker with a punch.

Before his brain can catch up to his mouth, he’s already cutting the distressed monologuing off.

“Can I kiss you?” He blurts out.

Danny, taken off guard, breaks out of his panicked—oh, Ancients, I just killed someone— stupor and lets out a startled laugh.

“Take me out to dinner first” came the automatic joking reply, Danny still largely in shock of what he did.

Jason, either not picking up on the joking tone or ignoring it, nods seriously, already trying to come up with the best place for a dinner date with the cute twink to thank him for his service to the city.

Danny, who has calmed down slightly by now, glances between the red-helmed vigilante and the clown corpse. His gaze lands on Red Hood and he hesitantly speaks up again.

“So, uh, what happens now? Do I need to go to the station to make a statement orrrr?” He pauses awkwardly.

Jason, who’s still trying to figure out whether the Bat Burger would be a good place for a first date or not, doesn’t reply.

“I’ve got school in the morning and I only have like,” he pauses to check his phone for the time, “3 more hours before I have to be up for my first lesson. Soooo, I’m just gonna go. That cool?”

Again, he waits for a reply. But it doesn’t come.

“Right. Cool cool. Uh, see you later? Mr. Red Hood dude sir?” Danny gives a clumsy and awkward salute before turning tail and speed-walking away.

It’s not until 30 minutes later, once Jason has finally decided on the perfect place to take the guy to dinner to, that he realizes the twink is gone.

Fuck, he forgot to ask for the guy’s name.

…

And number.

Quick little and silly thought that it might not be everyone's cup of tea (so if you don't agree and don't like it please don't kill me) I think Nicholas Galitzine could be the right call to have someone play Jason Todd on a movie. Like, I think he has kinda the features of what Jason would look like older in his 20s , and Nicholas has prove to have a very good acting skills and to be very good with very emotional and troubled characters, so he would do justice to my angsty boy.

Like, idk, he just gives the vibe that he could really do a good job.

jjk men tropes

Businessman! Gojo Satoru who’s forced into a contract marriage with you through no will of his own. you’ve watched him from afar for years (you could even go as far as to call yourself one of his admirers) but he’s never paid a glance in your direction. that all changes when fate throws a wrench in both your lives and has you preparing for a wedding that you neither want nor need. Gojo Satoru is incredibly good-looking, to his credit, but coming into contact with his arrogant attitude always leaves a sour note in your mouth. he’s nothing like you dreamt he would be in your head: charming, clever, and playful. where had you gone wrong in analyzing his personality? it was those deceptive blue eyes, wasn’t it? they had reeled you in and left you paralyzed, unable to pull away. so you’d made up a fictional world in your head with him as the star, and now that he hasn't lived up to your expectations, you’re finding yourself sorely disappointed. the only thing that can come out of this is Satoru's stubbornness when it comes to suddenly changing your mind, despite his previous nonchalance. maybe it's because he finds that it's not so bad having someone to come home to and eat dinner with and open the wine bottle for and kiss awkward goodbyes to. and maybe the two of you could do this for a little longer than what the contract had stated and maybe he'll give you a kid just so that he can have some memory of you when you leave and maybe he'll be able to convince you that he's not all that bad. (maybe he'll be able to convince you to stay.)

Tattoo Artist! Geto Suguru who has been your best friend since preschool. he’s reserved and shy, different from your usual types, and he spends most of his nights in, drawing elaborate sketches in his notebooks or enjoying movie nights with you. on days where you can convince him to come out with you, the two of you end up drunk at karaoke bars, singing your hearts out. it’s the first time you’ve noticed just how beautiful Suguru can be, especially the way he doubles over laughing after hearing your singing, and the way he outdoes you in every song with a voice that could drive women to their knees. he's not the type to say his thoughts aloud or even the kind to admit his own feelings to himself. if Suguru is good at one thing, it's running. but he hasn't run from you yet. he tells himself that he's just waiting for the right opportunity to let you down and leave, and he tells himself that it's not because his heart clenches at the thought of your eyes filled with tears, hands tugging at his shirt, begging him to stay. Suguru has been here long enough to know that everyone that you needed left the same way: by walking straight out the door without a second thought. so since you were kids, Suguru, only two years older than you, would look out for you like an older brother might, squaring up to the bullies on the playground in elementary and knocking out your persistent ex-boyfriends when you two were a little bit older. he wishes you would read his mind and make the decision for him. everything would be a little simpler if you knew what he was thinking and made him promise to stay before he could even take the first step to leave. (the same way a younger version of you had made him pinky promise on the playground to never leave.)

Boxer! Fushigoru Toji with bruised knuckles, various scars, and a set of washboard abs that you frequently dream of doing your laundry on. he dedicates his fights to you and promises to win in your name, regardless of those around you who call him a foolish romantic. his lopsided smirk, cruel and dangerous, is enough to shut their mouths as soon as they meet his dark eyes. knowing that boxing isn’t really your style, the two of you met at a bar where Toji worked part-time as a bartender and full-time as an arrogant flirt. it had been that troublesome smile that drew you in. danger was never something you balked from. rather, the opposite; it had butterflies swarming your stomach, unable to tell if they were from fear or excitement. it had you swaying on your feet from lightheadedness, caught between good for your heart and bad for your health. but when he takes you on his motorcycle, that seals the deal. it doesn’t matter that he refuses to put a label on your relationship. and it doesn’t matter that he refuses to make you two exclusive. what matters is that you wake up in his bed on sunday mornings and have breakfast with him until he has to leave for “business.” what matters is that you’re the only woman on his phone because Toji’s reluctantly told you that he’s an orphan. what matters is that someday he’ll call you his and that day will come soon. you know it will. you just have to be patient. (someday he'll say he loves you back.)

Ex-Lover! Ryoumen Sukuna who just can’t seem to let you slip from his fingers. he’s possessive and he’s obsessive, but he can’t let you go, and he doesn’t care what anyone else says but you’re his and god forbid you see anyone other than him. if you’re on dates with other guys, Sukuna will have them running for the hills with a mere glance in their direction, and if you’re a little frustrated by that, then it’s no worries. he’s here to cool your anger. he’s here, so you can vent your frustrations and tell him you hate him and call him all those names. he loves when you lie to him. he wishes he could hear it all the time. he thinks you’re so cute when you’re pretending to be mad at him and acting up for attention. oh, you’ll get that attention, all right. Sukuna won’t let you get away without it. then you’ll be on you’re knees, begging and pleading for a second chance, just like his pretty porcelain doll should be doing. he’ll hold you tight and whisper fervent promises of how he’ll never let you go ever again. and it's so romantic in his head; picturing the fear that'll widen those doe eyes, the shortness of breath you'll feel when he tells you his plans like a cliche villain, the irregular beats of your heart that he'll relish in hearing. you know he’ll never ever let you escape from his fingertips like that again. and you'd sooner kill yourself than be stuck with Sukuna a second time but he doesn't know that. (if he did, he'd burn the entire world to bring you back.)

Colleague! Nanami Kento who is so uptight that you can’t help teasing him on every off chance that you two find your paths crossing (which happens to be more and more frequently these days, you must admit.) he’s been in love with you since the day you stepped into the office, your sharp look matching the sleek dress pants that you wore that day, but hasn’t yet found a way to express it yet, other than asking if you liked love in your coffee the first day that you’d been assigned a desk beside his. you’d given him a blank stare that he seems to have interpreted as a death glare and he’d profusely mumbled apologies under his breath, vowing never to speak to you or look in your direction again. however, somehow, through some magic, you’d both reached this in-between point of talking where you weren’t quite friends yet, but you were definitely acquaintances. acquaintances and colleagues and why was he so desperate to put a label on his relationship with you? he's always been able to draw the line first and maintain his professionalism, but you're always leaning over to laugh at jokes that your other colleague makes and he thinks it's so distracting the way your eyes light up and crinkle at the corners. and one day Kento finds that he suddenly has a great sense of humour and a penchant for making you laugh the way your other coworker could never. (it's not a competition. but if it was... Kento would win in a heartbeat.)

Benni claimed this mission was impossible, and Hunter took that literally 😏

DP x DC - Jason Todd was once Danny Fenton

Danny Fenton Is Evolving! *do dodo dooo* Your Danny Fenton Has Evolved Into: Jason Todd

——————————

(In this AU, Danny would’ve gotten his powers in middle school rather than high school - he would have just turned 12 at the time)

As a preteen (almost 13) Danny runs away from his parents who want to rip him apart.

Tucker recreates his identity as he rushes to Gotham.

That identity was Jason Todd. Similar events play out, and Danny begins to lose contact with Sam and Tucker. Before he cuts them off entirely to protect them, Tucker asks him to steal the wheels off the Batmobile for shits and giggles (the excuse was he could sell them for good money).

He could see Sam shaking her head at their stupidity, but she’d be laughing all the way.

Jason Todd is caught by the Bat himself, and as a result, he throws a tire iron at his head only to get picked up by the scruff and babied by the Waynes.

Danny gets thrown back into vigilantism as the second Robin. He’s rough on people because he’s only known how to fight ghosts, and ghosts aren’t as predictable as people.

He gets comfortable, he’s happy, he gets to connect to his human half more!

He gets into a fight with his dad Bruce. Danny, in a fit of anger, storms out of the cave only to fall right into the Joker’s hands and beaten to death at fifteen.

Or, rather, hit so hard he gets knocked out and sustains lethal wounds to the point his core stops his human bodily functions so it can focus on fixing the internal damage (stopping his heart, breathing, etc.).

He gets buried shortly after being found.

Jason Todd digs himself out of his grave after a few years.

Jason Todd hides from his father Batman and the League, the latter being oddly obsessed with getting their hands on him.

Danny Phantom takes up patrolling Crime Alley, Batman thinks he’s seeing the ghost of Jason Todd - and he’s not that far off really. It was only after the Joker threatened to kill Robin and Red Robin that he lost it.

Now he was standing in front of all of the Birds and Bats, Phantom form, guilt starting to tear at his core as a he looked over his family.

The was silence in the warehouse, other than the clanking sound of Danny dropping the crowbar that he used to break the arms and legs of his killer nemesis.

“Jay…?”

ETHUBS + 8, you know what to do with this

Send me a pairing + a number! || Accepting

8. A kiss in grief, Bdubs/Etho, 936 words

Among the sound of breaking blocks, running water, and falling gravel, the survivors' communicators pinged in tandem. Etho dared to hope that his partner had earned his keep. Lizzie was gone, a glaring red smear in chat announcing her demise the result of fall damage, and from where Etho was, trapped in a cave system far underground, he had no way of knowing if Bdubs contributed.

He waited a moment. There'd be a sign, Etho was sure, a message, a bold confirmation that the deed was done, maybe even an echo of boisterous, proud, manic laughter. It was what Etho wanted, however impossible; Bdubs, head held high as he mined the survivors out of their cavern and proclaimed that he was one of them once more.

The communicator pinged again.

BdoubleO100 was slain by Grian

And that was that.

Ren had him by the hand as they dug their way out of the cave, Cleo at his back with fleeting, encouraging touches whenever he drifted a bit too far. They kept him moving. They kept him talking, offering condolences and advice, plans and promises. They got him above ground, cheering at the sight of the sun and heaving lungfuls of fresh air, but Etho found it no easier to breathe.

The grounding hand was back, turning him gently, stopping him before he could get any closer to where he last recalled the reds congregating.

"Where are you off to?" Cleo asked, but something in her voice sounded like she was already well aware, "The session isn't over for another hour."

Etho's mouth dried. "I, uh. I don't think this is something that can wait, Cleo." "Sure it can," Cleo said, not unkindly, but straightforward in a way that had Etho's guts in knots, "What're you going to do if you walk straight into the reds?"

"I won't," Etho reasoned, "I won't, they- there's no reason for them to double back, right?"

"Depends on where he- where the fight happened. I'm not letting you join them," The hand on Etho's shoulder squeezed, "We can't lose another, is all I'm saying. I can't."

Cleo stared, and Etho stared back until he couldn't stand the mirror he found there any longer. Her loyalties never truly faded, and if it wasn't for the need to press forward, to carry the memory of allies long since fallen and survive, she'd be as stricken as Etho.

Etho took her hand off of his shoulder and gave it a squeeze, "I'll be back," He promised, "It's only for an hour." Outside of the session, the reds couldn't touch him.

Cleo looked him up and down, as if appraising whether his word could be trusted, until finally, "I'll hold you to it." She pulled on his hand, and when he leaned in, she kissed his cheek over his mask. "Give him that for me, then?"

It was the least he could do for her.

For Bdubs, when Etho finally found him, Etho would do much more.

"Of course you had to go and die somewhere this inconvenient," He said, short of breath from scaling the mountain Bdubs had been climbing when he died, an attempt at levity that fell short.

Bdubs was curled up on his side, the jut of two fatal shots piercing the gaps in his armor. Etho eased the arrows out of Bdubs' back so his body could be laid flat, and a shuddering breath tightened his stomach as he covered Bdubs' eyes with a softly-placed hand, sliding them shut.

It didn't suit him, the image of a warrior fallen on a battlefield. "You don't wear anything this heavy back home," Etho said as he loosened buckles and untied straps until the diamond plate could be set aside. Etho paused, and after staring for a moment, he shrugged off his coat and laid it over Bdubs' chest like a blanket. "Yeah. Yeah, you look more comfortable already."

Nothing answered. The sun was setting, and with dusk would come fresh dangers, but Etho laid down beside Bdubs and watched the sky darken.

"You know," Etho mumbled into the empty air, "I meant everything I said this morning." He turned his head. Like this, it was easy to imagine Bdubs was just sleeping, that any moment he'd crack a smile and agree, be proud of himself for winning Etho's admiration, "You were the best teammate I could have asked for. And when I-" He swallowed, cleared his throat, "When I said we wouldn't be friends, I- man, I hoped- I wanted so badly for it not to be you."

Etho rolled onto his side and ignored the way it made the suspiciously warm streaks on his face change course, "And now it's my fault you're not here. Heh, can you believe that? I'm gonna be kicking myself for ages. You earned that life and I didn't pull the trigger fast enough."

Etho closed his eyes and breathed, deep and chilly, pulling his mask down on the exhale. The snow fort was always cold. Bdubs wasn't, though, the brief immersion of being home gone the moment Etho reached a shaky hand to rest across Bdubs' waist. "It's still your life, I think, I'll keep it safe. Get a win maybe, give you something to really be excited about."

Without his coat, the snow seeped into Etho's clothes, leaving him cold and wet as he sat up. The sun had set. Session hours were over.

Etho leaned down, and kissed Bdubs' cheek. Then, his lips, and if a few tears dripped onto his face in the process, at least he wasn't awake to notice.

"Goodnight... partner."

TK/Carlos + Looks

↳ 2.12 The Big Heat

random hc but. crowley being a plague doctor in the 16th/17th century bc he's supposedly "tempting people into death" but he can never, ever bring himself to actually do that so he ends up soothing their pain as best as he can and comforting them in their last moments. one night, after he held a little girl's hand as she passed away, he sits down at the banks of the river thames, with his plague mask discarded on the dirt, and he starts out over the water with tears in his eyes, wondering what the fuck is actually the point? it's not the first time he's asked himself the question nor the first plague he witnessed but, here, now after personally witnessing hundreds of deaths every day, he really wonders what actually is the point of him? why does he exist and why should he keep existing. why does he get to live when so many others don't? how is that fair? how is any of it fair? that's how aziraphale finds him, as he just got back from an assignment somewhere or other and hears crowley is in town, so he discreetly looks for him and finds him there, sitting in the dirt, now with his head in his hands, his shoulders silently shaking and is obviously immediately worried but doesn't know how to comfort him or what's allowed so he just sits beside crowley and watches him try to pull himself together. aziraphale's heart breaks, he put what happened together from the mask and the robes and he obviously knows about the bubonic plague but was convinced it was hell's doing and couldn't have even imagined crowley was out there everyday, helping people under the guise of hurting them. is he surprised? no, of course not but it still hurts to see crowley like this. but he's afraid to cross their unspoken rules so he quietly waits crowley out. he watches the water and doesn't dare look at crowley as he lifts his head and takes a few shaky breaths in. after a few minutes of breathing, crowley croaks out "her name was mary" and nothing else, and aziraphale understands, god he understands. it's one of the things they never speak about after it happens but aziraphale can't forget the night he sat with crowley for hours, till the sun came up, as he cried about a death of one little girl. he holds it close to his chest and never, ever forgets.

I just got hit so hard with a ler mood (switch? Idk) aaaaaaa