#Life-after-death

[lackadaisycal-art]

Family Recipe

[ruporas]

kiss of the divine

[atfnews]

#Preterism, #

[clouvu]

Nothing in the world belongs to me But my love, mine, all mine

[noisilyscreechingsong]

Eyes

Dp x Dc Crossover Writing Idea

“Red Robin!”

When he backtracked to find the owner of the voice he was a bit surprised to find a young boy, maybe eight years old if he had to guess, dressed in a red sweatshirt that dwarfed him and a pair of gym shorts that had seen better days.

Not many Gothamites called out to the vigilantes, a silent agreement to stay out of their way and not to look too closely. This kid however stared up at him with bright blue eyes unafraid of getting the Red Robin’s attention.

A fan?

Before he even opens his mouth, the kid gives him a small, hopeful smile, eyes shining with something that reminds him of himself when he was that age and following Batman and Robin with his camera around his tiny neck.

“I brought you a gift,” the boy say with nervous excitement. He enthusiastically swings off the backpack he had on to dig through the contents, taking his eyes off the vigilante and showing his unwavering trust that nothing bad would happen to him while Red Robin was here.

The boy pulls out what appears to be a jar wrapped in newspaper, the worn page ripping in some spots to show the clear glass underneath. Small hands present it like it’s Red Robin’s birthday (which it wasn’t).

He takes it cautiously, the kid hasn’t been hostile but this was still weird, and pulls it closer with enough space so if it’s a bomb it doesn’t blow up in his face.

It’s got weight to it and the slight sloshing tells him it’s filled with liquid. He carefully unwraps the ‘gift’, keeping his eye on the boy who stands waiting anxiously.

Tim almost drops the jar as soon as he sees what’s inside. Only his reflexes from over the years held on and his expression turned neutral.

A pair of eyes sit at the bottom of the jar. The orbs were crudely extracted, tissue floating around them like a mane of hair around a head.

He turns the jar to see the irises and… he knew these eyes. The slimy green is filmed with death, but he recognized these eyes from the number of times the owner locked them onto him, the cruel possessiveness they possessed when they gazed at him. Never again apparently.

Tim doesn’t speak for a while, not knowing what to say, but also thoughts racing too fast to form any proper sentences.

“Do you like it?” The small, nervous voice interrupts those thoughts.

What an innocent question on an equally innocent looking face.

“How did you get Ra’s Al Ghul’s eyes?”

The teasing chatter over the comms immediately hushes into shocked silence.

“I took them from his body, so you knew he was dead. I burned the rest so you don’t have to worry about him coming back again. The Pit there is gone anyway,” the child explains easily, not fazed in the slightest from the words he speaks.

“Grandfather is dead?” He hears Damian whisper over the comm.

So many other questions were flying through Tim’s head. He looks the kid over again.

Black hair and blue eyes. In any other situation the kid might have been a possible Wayne adoptee. He’s not a clone from what he can see though. Despite the coloring he doesn’t really look like any of them. Pale skin like Tim, but has freckles. The same kind of nose as Damian, but wide, round eyes. Jaw kind of like Jason, but his body shape is too narrow. Bright, almost icy blue eyes like Dick, but eyebrow shape is flatter. Lip shape like Bruce, but from the kid’s anxious lip biting he could see the faintest trace of dimples.

“Who are you?” He asks instead of the other million and one questions.

The boy blinks almost like he wasn’t expecting the question. He’s cheeks color pink with blush as he grins widely.

“I’m Danny!” He introduces cheerfully like he didn’t just hand a vigilante a jar of eyes.

“Hi, Danny,” Tim greets almost dumbly. “Want to tell me why you gave me this?”

Danny scoffs his shoe against the pavement in what appears to be embarrassment.

“Well, I know when you ask someone for something, it’s nice to give a gift or something. Like I did something nice for you so maybe you’ll do something nice for me?”

He takes a moment to absorb that child-like reasoning.

“So you want me to do something for you and you thought I would like Ra’s Al Ghul’s eyes in exchange?”

Danny studies him and fidgets with the large sweatshirt sleeve.

“I just thought you would like proof. Like the whole ‘bring me the heart of my enemy’ kind of thing. Do you not like it? I couldn’t just take a picture ‘cuz I didn’t have a camera with me, I know you like photography. I can do something else for you if it’s not enough,” he offers worriedly.

Tim freezes.

“How do you know I like photography?” He demands.

Danny tilts his head curiously.

“Because Tim Drake likes photography,” he says like it’s obvious, “and you’re Tim Drake.”

Well. This is less than ideal.

“Red Robin, take him back to the Cave,” Batman instructs over the comms.

Yeah, he was getting there.

“Do you know the other’s’ identities?”

Danny nods and hums affirmatively. Tim waits.

“Oh! Yea. Batman is Bruce Wayne. Robin is Damian Wayne. Red Hood is Jason Todd. Nightwing is Richard Grey-“

“Okay. That’s enough.”

Tim glances around the empty alley they were standing in, checking to make sure no stray people heard. Luckily they were truly alone.

“Danny, do you want to come back with me?” He asks, but it’s not really a question. The kid was coming back regardless, it would just be better if he went willingly.

Unsurprisingly, the kid lights up like a little sun at the offer.

“Really?” He nearly shouts in excitement.

“Yeah, kid. I parked my bike a few blocks from here. You ever rode a motorcycle before?”

Danny shakes his head, nearly bounding on his toes.

“Not in this lifetime.” And wasn’t that odd wording? “Are we gonna grapple there?”

“Think you can hold on?”

“Yeah!”

He kneels down so the boy can climb onto his back and lock his arms around his neck and hook his feet together around his torso. Danny is worryingly light as he stands.

The kid is the picture of an excited and overeager child as they carefully fly over rooftops and then drive back to the Cave. Even when they park inside the safety of the Batcave, Danny’s eyes are filled with child-like awe and wonder, so curious and chattering with questions and wild imagination. It would be cute, endearing even, if the jar of eyes wasn’t sitting heavily in his pocket.

Alfred came down not too long after their arrival with a tray of healthy snacks and some waters. Danny happily munches on the apple slices as he wanders around where Tim can see him.

The rumble of the Batmobile can be heard almost an hour later after Tim has to tell Danny not to touch the weapons for the fourth time. The kid’s attention is drawn to the sleek black vehicle as it parks by Tim’s bike. He trots over with wide eyes as the doors open and Robin exits, then Batman.

Unfortunately, Dick is in Bludhaven and Jason is visiting Roy and Lian this week. Cass and Steph were gone as well and Duke was sleeping. It was just the three of them and this kid with Alfred as the only buffer.

Danny stares openly, curious, as the duo makes their way over to the computer where Tim has claimed his sit.

Tim turns the jar that he set on the table so the eyes are facing them and slowly leans back again, suddenly very tired. Damian flexes his hands into fists tightly while Batman is very still.

“Hi,” Danny chirps like nothing is wrong, oblivious to the tension in the air.

Batman takes a measured breath. Robin glares down at the child, but remains silent for now.

“Who killed Ra’s Al Ghul?”

Danny blinks blankly.

“Nobody.”

“You’re saying he just dropped dead?” Damian sneered in sarcasm.

“Death took him,” the child says simply as if that explained everything.

“How?” The word is demanded and emphasized.

“Like Death takes everyone. His expiration was overdue.”

Bruce frowns and Damian almost snarls.

“I demand you start making sense!”

Danny glares back in offense.

“I’m being very clear! Maybe you should ask better questions!”

The twelve year old growls at the smaller child and Batman has to place a firm hand on his shoulder to keep him from attacking.

“Danny?” Batman questions after a tense moment.

The boy’s arms are crossed in irritation, but he blinks out of his glare to stare up at the man.

“Yea?”

“How do you know our identities?”

“Oh, memories.”

Danny looked like everything he said made sense and it was driving Tim up a wall.

“Memories,” Bruce repeats.

“Uh-huh,” Danny nods confidently. “From the Lazarus Pit.”

A jolt goes through Tim as he recalls what the boy said earlier about the Pit.

“Didn’t you say the Pit was gone?” He asks before Bruce could continue his line of questioning.

Danny turns with a bright smile as if he was proud Tim remembered.

“Yea! Well, gone from this world anyway.” Tim was concerned. “I took the memories from it before sending it back where it belongs.”

“Okay. How did you know how to ‘take the memories’ and send it back? Back where?”

“I was born from it. Duh. It went back to the Realms or I guess you’d call it the Afterlife,” Danny actually rolls his eyes as if they should already know this.

“Born from it?” Damian asks with a wavering voice, hidden well from the child but not from them. “Nothing has ever been born from the Pits.”

“That you know of.”

And wasn’t that the kicker.

“So, to clarify, you come from the Pits. You know who we are because you took the memories from said Pits. Death took Ra’s because his time was up. And you took the eyes from his corpse to give to me because you thought I would like it as a gift so I would do something for you.”

Danny positively beams.

“This is why you’re my favorite!”

Damian grinds his teeth harshly.

“What is it you want Red Robin to do for you?” Batman asks in strangled hesitation.

“Oh!” Danny perks up like he remembered and hops over to Tim with pleading hands. “Can you please make me an identity? You’re really good at all that stuff and I was hoping you could find me a family. Someone to adopt me. A nice family, with a bed and family dinners and a dog. I always wanted a dog.”

Tim has the sudden urge to scream.

[tubbytarchia]

I don't know what this is all I know is that LimL Joel makes me really emotional

[symphonyofsilence]

What drives me even more insane about this scene is how you'd expect Gojo to imagine High school era! Geto in the crowd. Or at least not the cult leader, worst of all the curse users Geto Suguru. But no, it's the cult leader Geto. It's Geto as Gojo last remembered him. As Geto last was. Whatever choices Geto made, wherever his choices led him and them, however he was, whoever he was, traumas and messed up ideas and bad choices and ill reputations and scorns and all. Gojo wanted Geto Suguru there. Not any ideal version. Not any "what if" version. Not any "at some point in time before things went downhill" version. Not any "when your hands weren't stained with innocent blood" version. He knew very well what he wanted. And he wanted it all the same. He wanted Geto Suguru. However he was. He just wanted him to be there. He just wanted him to be.

And he didn't want him to help him, he didn't want him to fight with him even if they were strongest together and always fought together for a while. He just wanted him to be there in the crowd and cheer him on. He just wanted him to stand there and give him one of his sweet, heartwarming smiles that shaped his eyes into crescent moons. He just wanted him to be. Then even if Gojo had died in the end anyway, he would have been satisfied. It would have been worth it. Only if Geto was there.

[rumpled]

[convex-solos]

mors tua vita mea

[bluebells-and-dragonflies]

Imagine Astarion with ears so sensitive that he's never willingly allowed anyone to touch them except for you. Imagine laying next to him in your bed, facing him, lifting your hand up slowly for that first touch. His eyes on yours, the rapidity of the breath he doesn't need to take, but still does reflexively. Seeing that he's nervous, but that he's trusting you, feeling his shaking hand come to rest on your waist. The audible sound he makes- half a moan, half a gasp- when you finally brush your thumb over the soft skin at the tip of his ear.

You trace the long shell of his ear and watch his pretty eyes, deep red like velvet in the moonlight, flutter shut. He says your name softly, as close as you've ever heard him to prayer. You pinch his earlobe gently, and his hips roll forward involuntarily, the jut of his hipbone pressing against your thigh as he makes himself still. Heat flares low in your belly, but you tamp it down as quickly as possible- likewise, Astarion makes himself still against you. This isn't sex and won't become sex, you'd promised each other (though that's not to say that you won't explore this thoroughly during one of your hours-long lovemaking sessions. He is all about experimentation these days, after all).

You lay there, touching him in his most vulnerable place, with reverence and grace and occasionally disbelief that you could be here at all with this beautiful, horrible, ridiculous and wonderful man, that you could be trusted so completely. You take in his every shuddering breath, the flexing of his fingers in your shirt, the softness of his mouth when he presses his lips to yours and tells you he loves you. If you have your way, if he has his, if somehow your utterly insane lives hold together for a year or a decade or ten, it will always be like this.

[kanrix]

[fuckyeahthenotoriousbig]

[atfnews]

Where Do Believers Go In Death? This is an important question which is being asked of Preterists since we believe that all Bible Prophecy has been fulfilled. It is equally a question to ask a futurist as well. In this series of about six or seven lessons we will be answering some questions that futurists believe are tough questions. Click Here To Get A Copy of Our Book, "Have You Spoken In Tongues?"

[adickaboutspoons]

Y'all realize that there's more than a day between episodes 5 & 6, right? I get that it's weird that Pete and Lucius apparently hadn't told anyone about their engagement yet, but: 1) Ed's cheeks go from looking like this:

to this:

The bruise around his right orbital has completely disappeared, and the one on his left cheek is almost healed, the scab well on its way to a scar. That kind of healing takes at least a week, but it might be as much as a month. 2)

If this takes place the day after ep 5, they JUST went through the adventure of the Cursed Suit, which involved raiding 2 ships in 1 day. And they're already bored? (and spent the night after all that rearranging furniture?)

and 3)

It would mean that Ed was right about only having to wear the penitence onesie and cat bell for one day, and then the crew was apparently totes ok with not only letting him wander around bell-less, but have gone back to calling him Captain:

Edited to add: Ed's not the only one with dramatically altered scars. Izzy goes from looking like this:

to this:

I'm not saying it's a LOT of time, but it's for sure more than just one day.

[firstfullmoon]

“When Mary Magdalene meets the resurrected Jesus, she looks right at him, but does not recognize him, “supposing him to be a gardener.” Only when he addresses her does she realize who he is. She turns toward him. John does not describe the action, only the dialogue, so it is left to us to imagine what leads Jesus to say, in the Latin that has become metonym for the scene as a whole, Noli me tangere, usually translated as “do not touch me” or “do not hold me.” The noli me tangere encounter is another one artists cannot resist. There are myriad arrangements of Jesus and Mary Magdalene: his hand stretches out in refusal, she kneels, he bends, they both stand, they look at each other, one looks away. Almost always she reaches for him. Sometimes she makes contact. The multitude of portraits reflects the ambiguity of the simple phrase, which opens a range of possible relations. Perhaps he rejects her touch because he cannot bear the shock of intimacy, divided as they are by the fact of the resurrection. Perhaps, even as he speaks, he touches her, to hold her away from him. It’s possible, the philosopher Jean-Luc Nancy argues, to translate the phrase as “do not wish to touch me.” If you do, then it becomes an exhortation to love the death too, because it is intrinsic to every life. Meanwhile, Mary’s hands hang in the air. Resurrection is Dante’s eternal rotation, “spurred on by flaming love”: it is the ongoing allegiance to keeping in sight the appearance of disappearance. It is living as if. It is a game of hands, an everlasting reaching after what escapes, what you love.”

— Elisa Gonzalez, in “Minor Resurrections: On failing to raise the dead”

[thefirstpaleontologist]

Anatomy of Alastors demonic forms