#please someone take it and run

[starppleb]

So ghosts can insert themselves into digital spaces. And be trapped there...

Did we already think about Danny getting stuck in the Digital Circus? (A fast sketch for fun)

What if Danny was exploring some weird places online and kinda got sucked into a circus and now is struggling?

[ceruark]

DANCE WITH THE DEVIL.

synopsis: yan! hsr men as slasher movie killers… and “love interests.” [blade, boothill, aventurine, sunday] words: 3.1k cw: yandere themes: obsession, stalking. slasher elements, gore. a/n: happy friday the 13th to all who celebrate

BLADE is already pretty much like Michael Myers from Halloween: large man, terrifying presence, unfathomable kill count, and cannot die. No matter what you do, no matter how many times you or the other survivors find a way to kill him, he keeps coming back, and with renewed vengeance every time.

The first time you’d been subjected to his knife was at a summer camp. Having gone there every summer for years growing up, you grew attached to the place and decided to pick up a role as a counselor in the summers following your high school graduation, and they passed peacefully. However, in the few months leading up to your college graduation, misfortune befell the small town where the camp was located. Someone’s grave had been dug up, and just weeks after that, people started turning up dead, their bodies littered with so many stab wounds that some were unrecognizable.

Given the ongoing investigation, the counselors and other camp staff requested that the summer camp not reopen, but the owners and even some parents insisted they stay open, and so despite your better judgment, you returned. You needed the money, and you knew how to defend yourself— if anything happened, you could keep yourself and your kids safe.

At least, that’s what you believed. When the man appears in the doorway of your cabin, his stocky figure silhouetted by the moonlight and leaving two red eyes gleaming down at you, you know there’s not a chance in hell you’re making it out of there alive.

You’d thrown yourself at him, yelling for your kids to escape through the back. He’s been merciless, sinking his knife into your flesh over and over again, but you persevered and fought back until you were sure every single one of your kids had made it a good distance away from the cabin. At some point you’d collapsed, from exhaustion and blood loss.

The doctors said it was a miracle you survived. They had your house guarded since he hadn’t been detained, but once word of his death by police gunfire got around, things calmed down significantly. You relaxed over the years, letting your guard down and believing that things could return to normal. Serial killings all over the nation popped up, but you worried not—after all, the killer you were concerned with was dead.

One of the survivors reached out to you five years after that fateful night, wishing to get together with the others who lived to get drinks and properly move on from everything. It was, of course, a set up; Blade had returned, and the man who invited you believed he’d be spared if he got the rest of the survivors together in one place.

He’d been the first one murdered that night. 

Once again, you narrowly dodged death, just barely managing to get yourself to a hospital before you received one stab wound too many. Time goes on, and no matter how many times they put a bullet through his head, he manages to come back. The list of survivors has grown, but the list of victims is now countless.

You’re in your thirties when the police reach out to the adult survivors. There’s a new survivor: a five year-old girl by the name of Yunli. Her parents had been ruthlessly slaughtered, but he hadn’t touched even a single hair on the young girl’s hair. She didn’t have any living family, and so, you agreed to take her in. 

Life is easier with Yunli in it. A bright, spunky little thing, she brings joy to your days and some semblance of a family that you’ve been too scared to seek out. It’s nice to have the sound of laughter filling your home.

That same laughter has you smiling tonight, the girl’s giggling floating down the hallway and into the kitchen, where you’re washing dishes. A quick glance at the microwave’s clock tells you it’s close to her bedtime, and she’s far more energetic than she typically would be at this time. You wipe your hands off on a dish towel and walk down the hall toward her room, wishing to find out what’s working her up at this hour and wanting to tell her to wind down before bed.

You knock lightly before turning the knob. You get the door open a crack before the sight on the other side of it leaves you frozen, horrified.

He’s in Yunli’s room, kneeling before her as she shows him the many dolls you’ve bought her. His knife is on the floor beside him, and the eyes that have haunted your dreams for years pierce into you, pinning you where you stand.

The girl seems… happier with you, than she had been with her parents. Perhaps he’ll have to be kinder to you this time.

BOOTHILL gives me Texas Chainsaw Massacre vibes in terms of how he kills and the brutality of it all, but not personality-wise. No, I actually think he’d be quite personable with that southern charm of his— so of course, no one would ever expect him to do anything unspeakable.

You and your friends are on a road trip when the car breaks down in the middle of nowhere. There’s nothing but fields of crops as far as the eye can see, and the only sign of civilization is a barn, some stables, and a few coops with two houses near them about a mile away from where you’re standing.

You all make the trek, hoping to be able to get some help from the people living there. Worst case scenario, if it’s all been abandoned, you can squat there and look for tools to help you fix the car. But to your surprise, when you knock, a kind-looking man with wild white and black hair opens the door, and after hearing about your situation, is more than happy to be of assistance.

He tows the car onto his property and takes a look at it, determining that the entire engine needs to be replaced. Given his distance from the nearest auto shop, he says he’ll leave for town Sunday afternoon and get the part on Monday morning. It’s going to be an all-day trip, so he likely won’t be back until early Tuesday morning.

You’ve got a couple days to get to know him, in the meantime. Your friends absolutely adore him, pointing out how good of a guy he is, some even pointing out how attractive he is. You scoff one night as he’s making dinner away from where you’re all sitting, as one of your friends starts a bet on if any of you will be able to sleep with him before all of this is over.

Sunday afternoon comes all too soon, though, and none of you get very far with him before he’s heading off in his truck toward the nearest town. You’re a bit shocked that he would so willingly leave a group of strangers in his house unattended, but you chalk it up to his kindness that seems to be boundless.

You should have been far more concerned.

You’re all woken up that night by the sound of a chainsaw revving, shortly followed by one of your friend’s horrible shrieking. The room devolves into panic and chaos as you watch her get torn to shreds by the very man who invited you into his home, now donning a mask of what you hope is animal skin.

You all flee in different directions, but he knows the property better than you do, and sure enough, your friends are picked off one by one until you’re the last one standing. You narrowly dodge some of the traps he’s set up and take refuge in the stables, struggling to keep yourself together as you hear your friend’s cries in the distance. 

While looking for something to defend yourself with, you find a box hidden in a pile of hay. It’s locked, but you force it open, dumping its contents on the floor. A pistol, a few handwritten letters, and pictures of a woman and a young girl. You place the pistol beside you before your curiosity takes over, causing you to slowly go through and study the pictures.

In your distracted state, you failed to notice that he’d gotten into the stables. You jump to your feet when the chainsaw revs just a few feet in front of you. You turn off the safety and raise the gun, your hand steady and your shot clear.

He’s lost so much in his life, and it’s driven him to madness. And you, you remind him of something— someone precious who he lost to illness, to the cruelty of life.

He can’t lose you again. He won’t allow you to leave.

And that’s not something you’ll realize until he’s staring at you from the barrel of a gun you believe is loaded, laughing for a reason you can’t understand.

AVENTURINE stepped right out of a Scream movie. He’s a classic Ghostface-type killer, phone calls and everything. He’s certainly got the charisma needed to make the intimidating phone calls, and I feel like he would enjoy stalking and toying around with his prey a bit before going in for the kill. 

You could probably argue that he’s not the type to want to make things messy, but I feel like in this case, he would be using this as an outlet, meaning all his kills are brutal and gory. (Creative, at times, too. The police will give him that.) There’s just something so comforting about being covered in blood, the warm liquid almost serving as a warm embrace.

For him, there aren’t any better targets than his close friend group. He knows all their darkest secrets, and has no problem using his knowledge to torment them and easily back them into a corner, too panicked to see him coming until it’s too late. These people have always been fake, anyway, and he knows they’ve always looked down on him. Can you really blame him for taking out the trash?

And then, of course, there’s you. You’re not a saint by any means— no, you’ve got your fair share of skeletons in the closet, and each secret you divulge to him because of the trust you foolishly placed in him is sweeter than any death he could imagine giving you. Maybe that’s what draws him to you so much; where everyone else wears a mask, there’s something about you that’s genuine, and it’s a side of you that you’ve entrusted to only him.

So when the killer finally shows up on your doorstep, he’s the one you turn to. As you’re on the phone with the killer, responding to his taunts in an attempt to figure out where exactly he is in your house, you’re texting Aventurine on the side and sending him what you believe is your last goodbye. 

“Do you want to be forgiven?” The disguised voice on the other line croons into your ear. “Do you think you should be?”

You’ve just pressed send on your message when a hand seizes you by the back of the neck and throws you to the ground. The impact of hitting the hardwood floor distracts you from the sound of a phone buzzing nearby. You scramble backward, attempting to get to your feet as you do, but the masked man grabs onto your foot and sinks his knife into your calf, ripping a pained screech from your throat.

He drags you back toward him before settling on top of you, his legs straddling your waist rather suggestively. He sinks his blade into you and drags it across your skin slowly, the scorching pain leaving you writhing and crying out in pain.

He flees once he hears sirens in the distance. The police find you on the floor of your living room with four stab wounds and multiple cuts. Aventurine shows up not long after them, disheveled and worried and flashing the police the text you sent him. They allow him to ride in the ambulance with you, admiring his intent to endanger himself if it meant saving you.

You’re so frazzled that you don’t even notice he showed up at your house way sooner than he should’ve, as though he was already nearby. You just blindly turn to him for comfort, clutching onto him for dear life. It’s cute.

He runs his hands through your hair soothingly, shushing you and gently rubbing your back as you sob into his shoulder. You shouldn’t worry so much, dear. He’s here now, and he’ll make sure no one else lays a finger on you ever again.

You don’t realize your grave mistake until you’re standing in Jade’s basement, her brutalized body at your feet and a metal pipe in your hands. You can defend yourself all you like, but it’s far too easy for the masked killer to evade your swings and land his blade in your shoulder, your stomach, your thigh. All places that won’t kill you, of course.

When you finally collapse to your knees, sobbing hysterically and succumbing to your fate, the killer unexpectedly drops to his knees beside you. He wraps his arms around you and presses his chest to your back, trapping you in his hold. You shudder as he runs his blade along your face and neck, smearing your own blood across your soft skin.

“It’s okay,” he coos, and the familiar voice makes you freeze. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

The mocking laughter that follows makes your heart drop, and the rest of your hope vanishes.

SUNDAY is definitely involved in some Children of the Corn type of shit. Some supernatural slasher stuff where there’s a cult behind everything, and he’s at the head of it all.

Ena is not a kind god. Countless generations of Oaks have tried various methods of worship and offerings, but none work quite as well as the human sacrifice. This is something Mr. Wood had taught him from a very young age, explaining to Sunday their history as he methodically cut up whichever poor soul had wandered into their humble, hidden town that week.

As head of the Family, he’s exemplary. No one has ever wielded a blade quite like he has, his hand always steady and unflinching. His blessed hands bring prosperity to the land that has never been seen before, Ena’s favor raining down on him and his people. He is as revered as their god at this point, and there is nothing his people would not do for him.

The road trip you make every year to your parent’s house for Thanksgiving was a long one, and a sudden downpour along the way has you rolling to a stop in the nearest town. You plan to just take shelter at a restaurant and grab a bite to eat while you’re there, then fill up on gas and be on your merry way once everything clears up. 

Everyone is so kind, though. The locals in the restaurant make conversation with you, asking about your life and cooing at you once you explain that you’re on your way to visit your family. You spend most of your time talking to the people at the table next to you, a man and his sister, and you get so lost in conversation that you haven’t even realized night has fallen. You pay your bill and are ready to head out when the man stops you.

“You should stay the night at one of the inns,” he advises, a delicate hand placed on your shoulder. “There are still storm clouds, and it could start pouring again at any moment. It would be unfortunate to have to travel through that, especially at night.”

You check the forecast, and to your dismay, he’s right. With his help, you check into a hotel across the street, and you thank him for his assistance before you turn in for the night.

Your peaceful sleep is soon disrupted by a rag being held over your mouth and nose, startling you awake. At this point, you’ve already breathed in the chloroform, and you barely have time to register the formless figures around your bed dressed in shades of white and navy blue before you pass out.

You wake up in an underground cellar, stone walls encasing you in cold nothingness. There are four other people in the room with you, also bound and gagged and staring back at you with wide-eyed terror. There are screams of pain echoing down the stairs from somewhere above you all, the sound of synchronized chanting doing little to mask it.

It’s not difficult to guess what fate awaits you.

Young children dressed in extremely formal clothing bring you all food and water. They’re sweet to you all, terribly so. You’re not sure how long you’re down there, but the time you have left is counted down with each person that is taken out of the room. There are new people brought into the cellar, but once the original four you were with are gone, you know your time has come.

The next time the shapeless people in robes descend the steps, they reach for you. You’re injected with some kind of sedative before you even have the chance to lash out at them, and the blindfold they place over your eyes seems pointless, since you black out, anyways.

When you wake, your arms and legs are bound to some kind of marble slab that you’ve been laid on. You’ve been stripped, and your skin is covered in some kind of oil. It’s cold, and the vulnerability of being exposed just makes your situation all the worse.

Your breath hitches and your pitiful, muffled cries for help stop when you feel something sharp prick your skin. Sunday lightly applies pressure to the knife in his hand, carving beautiful patterns along the surface of your skin. With his free hand, he traces a gloved finger over the beads of blood the blade leaves behind, his touch so devout it’s downright sinful. The sight of you brings him pause, the knife stopping all too suddenly.

It is the first time he has hesitated during a ritual.

Perhaps… you’re not meant to be sacrificed. No, surely something as divine as you is meant for much more than that. Perhaps Ena has lured you here just for him, a reward for his unwavering faith, steady leadership, and all he has done for their people.

“As the highest among us,” Mr. Wood had said the day he named Sunday the new head of the Family, “you have first pick at reaping Ena’s blessings.”

Ena is not a kind god. But perhaps, just this once, they would allow him to be selfish.

[strong-with-the-sarcasm]

DP x DC prompt #3:

Many people believe that Pandora is the ghost of an Amazon, the guardian of hope trapped in her box. This is all true, but they’re missing something very crucial about her- she’s the Ancient of Peace.

Is it ironic? Yes. Is it Apt? Also yes.

The Amazons do not desire war, but they train all their lives to fight.

Pandora embodies the Latin phrase:

Si vis pacem, para bellum

If you want peace, prepare for war.

Peace was never in the box, because Pandora is the concept of it given corporal form, much like the Ancients of Time, Weather and Dreams.

Hers is just a bit harder to figure out past first glance.

Prior to being given her box, Pandora excelled at diplomacy, because she was raised to believe that drawing a weapon should be the last resort, unlike her modern day sisters. Given that brawling is a way of bonding with ghosts, it’s become skewered, that belief. Yet, Pandora never raises her weapon first.

When the Justice League demands a meeting with the King’s council… well…

[ihni]

What if ...

... Hopper and Neil Hargrove had been in the army together?

I don't know anything about the army and all I know is that the war at least Hopper went to was the one in Vietnam, but let's play with the thought that the two of them were there together. And did NOT get along, like at ALL; Hopper thought Neil was deceitful and untrustworthy, too proud and manipulative. Overestimating his own importance and competence, and too happy to cause pain in others.

They both survived the war and went back to their own lives, only like 20 years later or so, the Hargroves show up in Hawkins and Hopper meets Neil Hargrove again.

Despite telling himself that they're older now; that they're adults who have had time to grow into themselves, Hopper STILL doesn't like Neil. Like, his skin is crawling when he sees the man, even after all these years. But it's not like he has a good reason to dislike him now; outwardly, Neil Hargrove seems to be just a normal family man, setting down in Hawkins with his family. No one else has had any complaints. And either way, Hopper can't explain it, it's just a feeling. He just doesn't LIKE him.

And the thing is, that the guy has KIDS now, too. Or - as Hopper learns, as soon as he gets the documents he pulled from California - a son, at least (the girl being Neil Hargrove's new wife's kid). And by the file that Hopper has to pull some strings to get his hands on, the kid is shaping up to be a bad seed, just like his dad. Reports on fights, trespassing, shoplifting, underage drinking, reckless driving.

Hopper doesn't want that kind of bad influence in his town. So what, if he wants to nip it in the bud? So what, if he pulls the kid over as soon as he gets the chance, just to get a feel of him? The kid is tense, obviously hiding something, and speaking so respectfully that it borders on sarcasm - strike that, it's definitely sarcasm.

So what, if Hopper feels the need to put the fear of god into the kid? He's here, and his father is not - Hopper can't touch Neil, who never officially puts a toe out of line, but a teenager with a bad attitude? It's basically Hopper's JOB to do something about that.

So he goes hard on the kid. Tells himself it's for the kid's own good; keeping him on the straight and narrow and teach him what's right and what's wrong. And hey, if he gets to bring the kid home to the Hargrove doorstep sometimes and look Neil Hargrove in the eye while he lets him know what his son has done now (Not so perfect now, are you Hargrove?), well, then that's just a bonus. Perks of being the Chief of Police.

It becomes personal, in the way that he will take any chance to gte on the kid's case for SOMETHING. But also the opposite of personal, because the kid - Billy - isn't really a person in his own right in Hopper's eyes. He's just an angry kid. Neil Junior. A chip of the Hargrove block. He is simply a means to an end. The best way to get to Neil in a way that doesn't seem unreasonable, or petty, in the eyes of everyone else.

And of course, I want the Moment of Realization. I don't know where or when; maybe Hopper stumbles over Billy's car parked out at the Quarry, or maybe he nabs him after a party, or maybe he sees him out walking by the side of the road late one night and pulls up next to him.

And maybe that's the time when Billy has had ENOUGH. When he either gets angry and starts yelling, 'What do you have against me, man?? What have I ever done to you?", or maybe he tries to run because he can't do this right now, or maybe it's a Bad Night and he's tired and terrified and he breaks down crying (but tries to hide it).

Maybe it's all three.

And, I don't know, but maybe Billy's hurt and wincing and Hopper notices, and maybe when Billy refuses Hopper (not very gently) demands to see, and -

Maybe there are bruises. Maybe there's a burn scar somewhere on Billy where he couldn't have put it himself (like between his shoulder blades), the one you get from a red-hot lighter. A mark that Hopper remembers from his time in the the army, from when a buddy of his made a bet with Neil and lost, and Neil let his lighter burn for a long time and then pressed the hot metal against the guy's back. That too scarred, and it looked just like this.

And maybe that's when Hopper lets his memories boil over, and his voice is rough when he asks what happened, who did that, and maybe that's when Billy mutters something about Hopper and Neil being army buddies and Hopper doesn't have to worry, Billy isn't a snitch, he can keep his mouth shut.

And that's when things slot into place in Hopper's brain, and he realizes that the kid is just a KID, that the anger comes from hopelessness, that the attitude is a mask to hide his fear. Because even now, he's cowering in Hopper's grip - but still keeping eye contact, back straight, hands to the side. Learned behaviour.

And that's when Hopper realizes he has Fucked Up.

[skylersprompts]

DC x DP Prompt *31*

Dan… no, Bruce often thought back how his life had started. A young kid – not older than four years of age - had died in his sleep. His soul was leaving for the realms. And the Ancients had asked him if he was ready for redemption. Ready to live a new life, with all the happiness and pain it had to offer. He said yes, because nothing could be worse than rotting in the Thermos.

He had been wrong.

He had been shoved in the dying body of a little kid, his memory's of his past life simplified, so that his new brain could still grasp them without hurting him. He knew that he had been Dan once. Now he was little Bruce Wayne. He wasn’t allowed to ever take a life while he had his free will. He wasn’t allowed to ever tell anyone about his past live. He wasn’t allowed to use his powers, should he ever find the strength to reach his core again. The Ancients had made it clear that they would otherwise take everything from him. He remembered that his original, Phantom the Ancient of Balance had been against this, but he had been outvoted. If he should be able to heal his obsessions and never kill somebody, he and his family would share an afterlife together. His obsession unwrapped itself. Without being able to reach his core it was easier. His core was mending itself back together, his broken obsessions healing. From Danny's side he got the obsession to protect and belong in his fraid. From Vlad he got the obsession for control and family. And everything seemed to be perfect in the beginning. He had his Mother and Father. They were all safe. And he had as much control as a small child could have. He really was striving.

And then his parents died.

It broke him, not completely, but enough. And then he became the Batman. Being a hero, while also having something that was so vampire-esque was almost like a homage to whom he had been made of once. And even though he didn’t have a family anymore, except for Alfred, he at least could protect other people and gain some control back.

Than he got Dick, his first Robin. And everything was wonderful again, he healed again. Then he found Jason and he was brought into his little family and he loved it so much. All of this was worth it. Having his two sons and his father in all but name by his side was so much better then the Thermos.

He had been wrong again.

Bruce need for control and protect made him sometimes a bad parent, he knew this. But he never wanted to push his children away. He needed to find Jason and apologies.

And then he hold the broken body of his son.

This time the crack was bigger. Because he should have been able to protect his family. Because it was all his fault! He wanted to hunt down and kill the clown, he was holding onto a thread. He knew he would lose everyone if he let himself slip, but it was so hard.

And then Tim came into his life, holding him together, even though it shouldn’t be his job. But he healed, little by little. Until the Red Hood came. Until Jason came back and asked the impossible.

He couldn’t damn everyone and Jason to be erased. He couldn't lose his family, his son again.

[blackbatcass]

listen I know it’s kind of corny and inaccurate to act like every single person in the dc universe knows each other and is besties but it IS endlessly funny to me to follow the web of connections and see how many degrees removed from each other everyone is.

like look at the arrowfam okay. ollie and dinah are together, ollie is homoerotic best friends with hal, dinah is homoerotic best friends with babs. roy is dating dick, has a kid with jade, and is basically an adoptive father to both grant emerson and rose wilson. connor is dating kyle and is constantly followed around by eddie fyers. mia is friends with a lot of the second gen teen titans kids, had an on-again-off-again thing going on with steph for a while, and is currently dating sienna. emiko is besties with courtney and some of the other recent teen titans. sin has a small army of protective aunts from the birds of prey. the real question is how far does it go before ollie puts a cap on the number of people who are invited to family brunch on sundays

[lichqueenlibrarian]

IM WHEEZING

JIMOTHY

[qcomicsy]

FAM!!! JUST BECAUSE DICK WANTED THE MAN WHO KILLED HIS PARENTS DEAD DOESN'T NOT MEAN HE WAS A VIOLENT ROBIN!!!!

HAVING ANGER ISSUES DOESN'T MAKE YOU VIOLENT BY DEFAULT

FAM WE WERE JOKING– FAM–

[aquitainequeen]

'Why are you doing this?'

'An animal caught in a trap will gnaw off its own leg to escape.'

'What will you do?'

[weloveakechi]

Picture this: violin prodigy Goro Akechi, loved and admired by hundreds but still somehow not satisfied by any of it

Then there’s Akira, a thief, lurking in the shadows there to steal the violin, to take back what should have been his. His plan is perfect except Goro shows up and starts practice unexpectedly

And when Goro starts to play Akira cannot stop listening. It is love at first note, not that he realizes it yet. All he knows is he needs the player to go with the instrument to really ruin Shido

He leaves calling cards, critiques on Goro’s playing, his outfit, his music choice. He’s trying to push him away. But Goro is only more determined to do well. He tweaks everything, puts in more effort, refuses poor song choices

It is a dance between them. Threats and notes and then a rose during practice. A bouquet after a performance. Candies and tissues when something goes wrong

And for Goro, he lives for those notes. They’re the first genuine interactions he’s had since before he can remember. No one has ever spoken to him that way before, in writing or otherwise.

They drive him. He has to be better. The best. Perfect. He puts everything into his performances, eyes raking the crowd for a face he only knows as a mask on a card. Heart racing to see the next response to his words put into song. He pushes and pushes and pushes. Leaves a note of his own at last, with a score he has been working on. A song for this phantom Joker. His feelings made into music

He plays that piece that night.

And the letters stop

And he cannot stand it. Without a true audience what reason does he have to play?

So he goes to destroy the violin and walks into the performance hall only to hear it singing beautifully

There, in the same mask drawn on all his cards is Akira, playing the same piece he’d written, each note lovingly pulled from the strings

[emizzzleblur]

so I asked my friend to give some more drivers fanfic tropes:

part one of drivers as tropes :)

[bittersweetresilience]

say hi to me i don't know, i just remembered being so much brighter, i guess

cigarette ash like wildfire burning holes in the nighttime open scars feel like barbed wire white lies flying high like a ceasefire dropping flags on the shoreline this is as far as i can feel right 'cause what you don't know can haunt you

and all we ever wanted was sunlight and honesty highlights to want to repeat let's get away from here and live like the movies do i won't mind when it's over at least i didn't think for a while

don't drag it out living like that doesn't mean a thing

so let's, make a great escape and i'll be waiting outside for the getaway it doesn't matter who we are we'll keep running through the dark and all we'll ever need is another day we can slow down 'cause tomorrow is a mile away and live like shooting stars 'cause happy endings hardest to fake

and i wanna let you know i wanna let you go but i just can't bring myself to speak but this is how it goes the end credits, they roll this bridge was built over kerosene but we can watch it and all i ever wanted was sunlight and honesty highlights to want to repeat let's get away from here and live like the movies do i won't mind when it's over at least i didn't think

so let's run, make a great escape and i'll be waiting outside for the getaway it doesn't matter who we are we'll keep running through the dark and all we'll ever need is another day we can slow down 'cause tomorrow is a mile away and live like shooting stars you can wish away forever but you'll never find a thing like today

[phantoms-planet]

I see so much bad parent Fenton that focuses on Maddie almost exclusively, and I get it, but I want a fic where Jack is the worst.

I want it to hurt more because Danny would think Jack was more likely to accept him. His father is sweet and overzealous and caring.

His dad can't be the man shooting at him with an intensity he hasn't seen before.

His dad can't be the one his mother has to run and hide him from.

His dad can't be the biggest threat because his dad never registered as a real threat to begin with.

Because Jack is kind and silly and loving.

Jack can't be the vindictive monster hunting him down with a deep prejudice. He just...can't be.

[opikiquu]

aventurine pl. Plea s e . PLLEEEEEEASE

[strong-with-the-sarcasm]

You Choose: 2nd Rec List

[We got several to choose from.] [Yes, DPxDC will be the main rec, but to mix it up let's add another fandom/tag, shall we?]