Reblog To Make Him Lose Another 200 Billion, Like To Make Him Lose 1 Billion

Down Bad in Distress

Bruce Wayne is kidnapped... A lot. And it's always so weird that only Batman is allowed to save him. That this dumb, charming, but kidnap-able Billionaire doesn't have a bodyguard.

Now, Bruce can simply go "Oh, we've got Batman. No need to worry for that!" But people are fussy nowadays. He underestimates just bow much Gotham loves their disaster of a prince with a golden heart. Even his company employees are begging him to hire a bodyguard. (This is from the many files being sent to his office, obvious recommendations on competent bodyguards)

Cut to the new bodyguard for hire—who was recommended by Alfred of all people (something about him being the disciple of a good old friend of his). The man was large. Fucking huge. Taller than Jason, if one would like to admit (Jason is his 6'4" baby and this fucking fridge if a man looked 6'6").

But he was all soft and warm. Like a golden retriever the size of a bear.

Anyways, Danny was a rather kind man. When he wasn't following Bruce around and playing bodyguard, he was indulging the kids. Entertaining them with the most obscure things and stories from his childhood. Better yet, Danny would be the kids' bodyguard rather than Bruce's whenever they went out.

It was a miracle when they realized that Damian wasn't reacting badly to the man. Very strange since Damian would think it'd be shameful for someone to protect him during the day. But then again, Bruce once saw Danny effortlessly pick up Damian so his son could coax a cat out of a tree. That was most likely the kicker.

Anyways, Danny looked and felt soft.

It wasn't easy for him to settle into the man's ever present presence, but it's been almost four months since Danny's been hired and Bruce doesn't even flinch when the man brightly greets him from the bottom of the stairs.

"Good morning, mr. Wayne!" Danny would say, all teeth and bright eyes in his suit.

"Bruce," he'd correct immediately.

And then Danny would pause, laugh, and— "Good morning, Bruce."

Then his kids would follow and Danny would affectionately greet them all, ask where they plan to go and if they needed Danny to follow.

His bodyguard was like sunshine and warmth incarnate.

But if course, Danny was a bodyguard.

There were instances where Bruce would have to take a second to remind himself that this man that would look down at socialites like he's ready to crush their hands is the same one who once gave him puppy-dog eyes to back up Damian when his son asked to keep the kittens.

That the same man who grabbed someone by the scruff of their collar like they were weightless was the same one who talked about poetry and literature with Jason.

That the man who once hauled Bruce off the ground and walked right out the gala when the smoke alarms blared is the same one who would gently coax Tim off the coach and into a proper bed.

But right now, that's not his concern. No. Bruce is more concerned about the fact that he's gotten kidnapped again.

Everyone was most likely alerted. They were. He could hear Red Robin, Blackbat and Spoiler talking over the comms, checking in on Red Hood and Robin in case things went off.

"B, don't move. These guys are more prepared than the usual ones." Tim's voice filters into the comms, evidently annoyed. "I've got Oracle checking if there are any bombs in the place."

Bruce stayed silent, watching the masked men and women walk around, guns in hand and crates surrounding them. He had been knocked out during a party. The last thing he saw was Danny's eyes—god, it frightened him a bit. How those pretty blues suddenly turned green like Jason's.

Then he was here. Most likely with a concussion.

"B?"

"I'm okay... Be careful..." He murmurs under his breath, hearing his children sigh in relief.

"Good. We've got Red Ho—What the fuck is that?" Barbara immediately cut herself off, her voice strained and pitched with surprise.

"Oracle?"

"Spoiler—Do you have a view on that?" Oracle frantically asked. "Shit—the cameras just went down. Guys?"

"is that—" Stephanie chokes out, "Is that Danny?"

Bruce froze. Danny?

Jason always knew that Danny was kinda off. The first time he met the man, it wasn't his size that Jason immediately noticed. It was how his eyes flashed green when they met his. At first, he felt threatened, ready to attack whatever the fuck thought it was a good idea to infiltrate his family.

But then... Then Danny smiled at him. Offered his hand with a kind greeting. Jason took that hand and... And felt calm. Like the buzz in his head melted away, like the Lazarus was cleansed.

And Danny most likely knew. Because the man was smiling in satisfaction, like he was pleased that Jason suddenly didn't feel starved and angry and hurt.

"I don't know what happened to you kid, but whatever the hell did, it wasn't good for you. Hopefully you'll get better now." Danny whispered softly and then withdrew his hand, tucking it behind his back.

Jason doesn't know what the fuck Danny was but the man was worth keeping around.

Admittedly, he turned to Danny a lot nowadays. Jason can't call Bruce all the time. No. His relationship with Bruce still isn't good enough to warrant Jason to call him constantly.

But Danny? Again, Jason doesn't know what the hell this guy is but whenever Jason was in trouble, he dialed Danny's phone immediately. And he came... Every, single, fucking time. No questions asked, just pick Jason up and patch him up like nothing.

Danny was a good guy. Like sunshine, like golden retrievers. All teeth with some fangs.

And that same guy just snapped a man's neck with his bare hands.

"Hood... Are you seeing this?" Robin asked beside him, equally stunned as they watched their usually kind and sweet bodyguard effortlessly tear through the group of men with his bare hands. There was already blood around. Everywhere, maybe. Some already on Danny.

"He's on a fucking warpath." Jason murmurs. Every bit of admiration he had for Danny just multiplied by a thousand when he watched him grab a gun right out of a guy's hand and slam it into their head. Fucking amazing.

If Bruce doesn't square up and ask this guy on a date, Jason would have to start planning to parent trap them.

Fucking shit, he needed this guy as a dad.

The doors don’t just open—they explode off their hinges, a violent crack echoing through the warehouse. Guns swing up, barrels glinting under harsh light, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except the figure in the doorway.

Bruce’s pulse slams against his ribs.

And then Danny walks in, dragging a half-conscious man by the leg, leaving a smeared trail of blood in his wake. He doesn’t even look winded.

Blood stains his usually pristine uniform—smeared across his face, streaked over the white of his shirt, soaking into his knuckles. His tie is gone. His collar is open, a few buttons undone, exposing a sliver of skin beneath the mess. There’s blood on his face, drying in streaks, and his knuckles—his knuckles are raw, dripping, alive. He looks… disheveled. Lethal. Gorgeous.

"HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! THAT'S DANNY!" Spoiler screeched, "HE'S BODYING THOSE FUCKERS! RED! RED, ARE YOU FUCKING SEEING THIS?!"

"SOMEONE RECORD THIS! SHIT! SOMEONE RECORD THIS!" Red Robin replied, equally loud and frantic as if trying desperately to find the old camera he used to stalk Bruce many years ago.

He doesn’t slow down. Doesn’t hesitate.

Danny launches the man he was dragging, sending him crashing into the nearest gunman with a sickening thud. Before anyone can react, he moves—crossing the room in impossibly fluid strides, twisting a wrist until a gun clatters to the floor, elbowing another man so hard in the ribs that something audibly cracks. A shot goes off, a wild, panicked attempt—Danny doesn’t even flinch. He snatches the arm holding the gun and bends it the wrong way. The scream is immediate.

Bruce’s breath catches.

Another man rushes Danny with a knife—big mistake. Danny catches his wrist mid-swing, wrenches it to the side with bone-snapping efficiency, then drives the same blade into another attacker’s thigh. The man howls, but Danny is already moving, slamming someone’s face into the nearest table hard enough to leave a smear of red on the wood.

They never stood a chance.

Two minutes. Two damn minutes, and the entire room is a battlefield of unconscious, broken bodies.

And Bruce cannot focus.

Bruce barely registers Jason swearing at him through the comms, telling him to get it together. He can’t.

And then Danny turns to him.

His face is splattered with blood, his chest rising and falling steadily as he steps forward. His hands, bruised and raw, reach out, and Bruce swallows hard.

Danny kneels, gaze flicking to Bruce’s bound wrists, and his touch—gentle, so gentle—works at the ropes with precise care. The knots had been tight, biting into his skin enough to bruise, to draw blood. Danny’s jaw clenches at the sight.

Bruce should say something. Should thank him. Should not be thinking about how unfairly attractive he looks like this—wild, wrecked, utterly devoted.

But he can’t help it.

He’s so gone.

"Mr. Wayne."

On instruct, Bruce corrects him. "Bruce."

And Danny pauses.

The chaos settles—not in the room, where bodies lay crumpled, groaning, and barely conscious—but in him. Just for a second. Just long enough for Bruce to see it.

Blue flickers into green. A warning. A promise.

Bruce doesn’t look away. Can’t. Even as Danny tilts his head, something unhinged curling at the edges of his smile. His chest rises and falls, slow, deliberate, the blood on his face catching the dim light. His knuckles, split and raw, flex at his sides before he exhales a laugh—low, sharp, guttural.

Almost a growl.

And Bruce—God help him—feels something thrill in his spine.

Then Danny takes his wrists. Carefully. Reverently. Those same hands that had snapped bones and silenced screams mere moments ago now hold Bruce’s bruised, bloodied skin like it’s something precious.

Then—cold.

Not warm. Not comforting. Cold lips, pressing soft against each wound, his touch featherlight against the raw skin. Bruce shudders.

Danny pulls back just enough for Bruce to see his lips—stained red with his blood. And he grins, sharp fangs more prominent than ever, his eyes molten with something Bruce can’t name.

"Bruce…"

Danny says it like a prayer. Like a promise. Like a goddamn claim.

Exasperated. Excited. Fond. And something else entirely.

"Try not to get kidnapped again, Bruce… Or I might just end up blowing up Gotham to get you back.

Bruce’s breath stutters.

Oh.

Oh, no.

Bruce is so utterly gone.

(Someone laughs in the background, shadows curling at their feet. Lady Gotham is pleased.)

Part 2 | Masterpost

Okay I JUST realized I never posted these on here—- BUT BASICALLY, about a year and a half ago I started doing these experimental black hairstyle posts that were threads long on Twitter, to give artists a source of inspo for their black ocs whose hair they wanted to try something new with! There’s more to black hair than just the selected styles portrayed in media, and I thought it would be fun to show people how much texture, shape, fades, length, and style can be combined when drawing black hair—-cause it’s a kind of manipulation our hair can do irl! The OG posts were lost with the hacking of my original Twitter account (@/bagels_donuts) but I’ve since reuploaded the whole thread to my new Twitter (@/ItsDonutsFR)! I hope artists on tumblr find these useful, sorry it took me so long to post them here😭🙏🏾 I’ll upload them all in parts!

Part 1: Long masc hairstyles + playing with fades

Vox Masterlist Blitzø Masterlist Verosika Masterlist

• Polite Smile - Lucifer, Alastor, Vox, Angel Dust || sfw

↳ p2 - Sir Pentious, Striker, Husk, Blitzø

• Green Thumb - Sir Pentious, Vox, Lucifer, Husk || sfw

• Meet and Greet - Velvette, Adam, Vox, Blitzø || sfw

• Morning After - Cherri, Angeldust, Husk, Vox || sfw

• Hands Off - Lucifer, Vox, Blitzø, Adam || suggestive

• On Top - Verosika, Vox, Beelzebub, Velvette || nsfw

• What a Headache - Stolas, Verosika, Vox, Blitzø || sfw

• On One Knee - Vox, Luna, Lucifer, Lute || sfw

Look Up

~~~

I don't usually dabble in realism - but this was a gift for someone very meaningful in my life. And some things just deserve to be painted as they are.

🙈🙈🙈🙈🙈

The yandere ocs as cat memes (some were cut off because of the format so press on them to see the text🥺)

Silas

Dr Kry

King Edmund

Jerry

Hedwig

(this got cut off</3 pls press the pics)

Derek: I can't believe I'm about to say this... but we need to rescue- *gags* Stiles: Uh-? Derek: we need to-dry heaves* Stiles: you-You don't have to say it. I- Derek: No no. I have to do this. We need to rescue pee-*loud gag*  Stiles: Derek, painfully: We need to rescue PETER FUCK Stiles as Derek bends over breathing heavy: Proud of you. I know that wasn't easy for you  Derek: I feel sick

(source)

DCxDP Fanfic idea: Rent-a-Scandal

Bruce's identity as Batman is outed on live TV. It was after Joker unmasked him, but thankfully, Clark was fast enough to throw on a spare Batsuit.

They managed to convince most of the public that Bruce had been working as a decoy to distract Joker so that "Batman" could find the rest of the hostages. Most.

There were those pecky few that saw right through their ruse. He needed to do another stunt that would install doubt that Ditzy Party Boy Bruce Wayne could never be Batman.

The thing was his usual antics weren't working. No amount of parties. No alcoholic induced stupidity. And not even multiple women hanging off his arm was making them move away from their observations. They were even catching on that all of those incidents were done on purpose.

He needed to do something fresh, something new, something that would completely overshadow the skeptics who were casting doubt on his facade.

But what?

"How about hiring someone to write up a scandal?" Jason recommended it over dinner. In front of him, he had a manuscript. For the first time, he was going to audition for the lead role in his school plan. Bruce just knows his Jaylad will blow the rest of the computation away. "You can have a writer who thinks you're trying to make some weird mystery party or something."

"It would never work. They would notice I used things I asked them to write as personal scandals. But thank you for the idea, Jaylad." Bruce beams at his son.

"Well...what if you hired someone trustworthy? Like Clark?" Jason counters, but Bruce is already shaking his head.

"Clark specializes in journalism, not public relationships. Besides, his full-time job doesn't give him time to type me up some scandal-"

"I have a guy," Alfred offers as he places an extra plate in front of Jason. At their bafflement, he gives them a secretive smile, much like the kind that would curve on a snake if it had the ability to do so. "He is trustworthy. I have his soul tied in a contact. He wouldn't be able to blab once I command it."

Jason slowly put down his fork. "I-

But Alfred was already moving away, waving a hand over his shoulder. "I'll ring the gent right now. He's your age, Master Bruce, which will mean you can make a new friend."

"Does he really have a soul?" Jason gasps as Alfred vanishes into the manor. Alfred's tiny face is white, which would have been hilarious if it was a white lie. The trouble is, Bruce isn't entirely sure Alfred is lying.

Not that he could tell Jay that. The poor thing was barely getting comfortable in the manor lately. If the boy thought the butler could steal souls, it was back to square one of earning his trust.

"No, no, no, Alfred was joking. He's likely calling someone he trusts-"

A boom bursts across the dining hall as a glowing green portal rips open and out steps a man close to Alfred's age in a purple coat. He's carrying a suitcase and has a typewriter tucked under his arm. A scarf is wrapped around his neck, where Bruce's eyes finally notice the odd grey tint to the man's skin.

He's obviously not human.

"Hello," the stranger sighs after running his green eyes around the room. My name is Ghostwriter, and Alfred Pennyworth commanded me to be your scandal writer. I brought along an assistant who will be playing the second part of all of the situations. This is Danny Phantom; he'll play your secret gay lover."

"Hi!" says a man around Bruce's age to the Ghostwriter's side, a little too cheerfully. He's not human either, as he's glowing like a lightbulb was placed under his skin. His hair was pure white, which also seemed to be glowing in a different shade, and his eyes were a color that was not humanly possible.

He also flouted while the writer stood in place. "Alfred owns my soul as well, but unlike Ghostwriter here, I didn't lose it to him in stripper poker."

"That man counts cards!" Ghostwriter snaps

Jason stood up from his seat, hands held up. "This a lot. I have a play to practice for. Figure it out, B."

His son grabs his manuscript, bows his head a little toward the guests, and scurries right out of the dining hall, leaving Bruce to his fate. Alfred pats Jason's head lovingly as he smiles and passes him through the door. "Oh good, you meet your ghostly pr and secret gay lover. We have a real show stopper with these two, Master Bruce."

You know, Bruce had a good run with the whole Batman thing. Maybe it was time to retire.

"Let's get down to business. What have you written so far, Ghostwriter.?" Inquires Alfred. He makes that satisfied snake smile when the writer glares at him with utter loathing before the man rolls his eyes and snaps his fingers.

In front of Bruce, a pile of papers appears covered in writing. He grabs them out of the air only because it floating dangerously close to his nose.

"I think the best course of action is to play up the fact that Bruce has a secret, then leak some photos of Danny in suggestive poses. You drop on in Wayne Tower's lobby after we allow the rumors to fester with paparazzi." The writer explains, waving his hand to his assistant, who seems too amused by what is being suggested.

"As Phantom or Fenton?" Danny asks to Bruce's confusion.

"Fenton. We want a scandal, not a diplomatic emergency." Ghostwriter scoffs.

Bruce's face screwed up. "What do you mean diplomatic emergency? How so?"

"Oh, I'm the Ghost King," Danny reveals casually as if those words meant anything to Bruce. "If word got back to the ghosts that I was fooling around with a human without the intent to make him my consort, well, things would get dicey."

Alfred's smile turned a tad bit darker. "We wouldn't want that."

Danny's face froze for a few seconds. He stared at Alfred with what could be considered terror and...attraction? He then smiled as softly as a flower. "No, we would not."

Ghostwriter flings himself into the chair next to Bruce. He grabs the meatloaf off of his plate with his bare hands, taking a bite with a sigh. "Don't worry, I've seen this story a thousand times. He may think Alfred is a silver fox, but by the end of it, Danny will be yours."

"What?"