After a mission…
Dick: I can’t wait to go home, have a bowl of cereal, and go to sleep.
Duke: Lucky, I have patrol in like, two hours. No sleep for me. What’re you going to do when you get home, Jason?
Dick: Wait! Let me guess. Crack open a beer, order in Chinese food, and fall asleep on the couch watching a gritty action movie.
Jason, fully planning on having a lavender scented bubble bath while drinking vanilla earl grey tea and watching Pride and Prejudice: … Something like that.
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honestly no wonder harrow forced ianthe to lobotomize her so she could save gideon. listen…LISTEN…if i was a secret-war-crime cult nunlet princess worshipped by my entire planet and the only person that (barely) kept me in check was my childhood nemesis—a butch a year older than me, towering over me in stature and physical prowess, and so hot it made my teeth hurt from how hard my jaw clenched in her presence, who wielded a two-handed seven-foot sword and had irritatingly huge biceps and told very lewd stupid jokes and also learned how to wield an entirely new weapon and be my bodyguard with startling accuracy in three months—only to have us finally learn to trust each other because we got invited to a magic murder mystery and then before the bubble burst i spilled the worst secret about myself that i was born because my parents murdered an entire generation and tried to Kill Her along with them and she just wouldnt die, and i told her this expecting a swift death i believed i deserved, only for her to fucking cradle me in her big butch arms and kiss me on my forehead with her soft butch mouth and just. forgive me for a shameful weight ive carried my entire life and then MAKE AN ACTUAL NECRO/CAV VOW with me despite every evil thing i have done to her……to have her tell me, in the end, bleeding and broken after putting up the most beautiful and glorious fight of her life, that she understands purpose and she understands duty and she knows loyalty more fiercely than ever now, that she knows who she is to me, that there is no her without me….to have her backed into a corner and make the ultimate sacrifice…..for me…..to recite scriptural wedding vows of eternity to me in her last wisps of soul-consciousness…..if i thought there was even a snowflake’s chance in the pyre that i could save her by turning myself into her very own locked tomb, i’d be begging ianthe tridentweirdius to crack my skull open and turn me to mush too, goddamn. i understand you harrowhark girl you don’t have to explain a thing to me. god said you couldn’t undo the lyctor’s bond bc it’d kill you. you told god and his angels that not even a lyctor’s bond could outshine the power of female spite and lesbianism and they didn’t listen. they didn’t believe you. but i heard you loud and clear and i was 17 and hormonal and hopelessly romantic not too long ago unlike those fucking dinosaurs and i’m saying it’s valid it’s what i would have done and really everyone should be thanking you for not being worse and more wretched about it, all things considered
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I see your "Hannibal killing Will's surrogate daughter who lured and ate people (Hannibal's style of killing) the way lambs get slaughtered for food,"
and I raise you "Will killing Hannibal's surrogate son who hunted and mauled people (Will's style of killing) the way animals get mauled when they infringe on each other's territory."
Do you fold?
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dont know if youve already seen this but i thought you might enjoy :)
Cain is so funny like it really wasn't that serious. Take five. Peace and love. Why is your first reaction to failure premeditated murder
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if only the inquisitor going into the fade and discovering that their actions didn’t have divine legitimacy actually held any narrative weight
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every single one of you fuckers that predicted that the season finale of loki was going to be as devastating as the good omens finale, go stand in the corner, because you somehow manifested this shit and now i'm crying.
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soap and ghost, after months of flirting, of having each other’s backs and saving each other’s lives, of knowing the other better than they know themselves, finally getting together
ghost letting himself free fall onto the bed, soap following, always following his lead. they barely pull apart enough to get their shirts over their heads, hands running over muscles and scars and holding close
soap kisses every new scar that’s revealed to him, from the thick keloid divot over his ribs from some kind of puncture to the innumerable slashes and stitch wounds holding his torso together until he’s mouthing over his collarbones; the tips of his fingers lightly caressing the edges of his mask
ghost who’s been so quiet, so overwhelmed by soap’s touch that all he can do is sink into him, panting gasping breaths, finally pushes out, “don’t ask me. please…”
soap freezes, mouth hovering over his skin. “ghost…?”
ghost’s face is tilted away, eyes held so tightly shut they tremor while the rest of his body stays lax beneath his. desperate. resigned. “please don’t ask me, johnny.”
soap lets his hand fall from the mask, coming to run soothing circles over his clothed hip. “why?”
“because i’ll say yes,” he confesses and it’s great and terrible; a warning and a relinquishment laid at soap’s feet. “i’ll always say yes to you.”
for a long moment, there’s nothing but their shared breaths, nothing but their hearts beating for the other. until soap finally leans down to press a kiss to the corner of his hidden mouth; his lips meeting faint raised scar tissue he might never see
“i’ll never ask.”
ghost’s eyes drift open and they catch on soap’s; on a sea of promise and fierce protection
“i swear… i’ll never ask, ghost.”
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