The Moon Will Sing A Song For Me I Loved You Like The Sun!

Fine, but first...

Something flickered in Jaskier's eyes; the journey of a decision, start to finish, and then the bard huffed a breath, shoulders slumping.

"Fine. But first," he uttered, almost thoughtful, turning away.

He spun quick enough that all he had time to register was the flash of surprise on Geralt's face before he punched him, knuckles meeting his jaw in a move that undoubtedly hurt the musician more than the Witcher.

"Cock, bollocks and a Witcher's cunt!" the bard yelped, shaking out his hand. His captors hadn't even removed his rings and he was certain they were embedded forever on his fingers.

Geralt blinked slowly, one hand coming up lethargically.

"I'm not sure what I'm more surprised by," Geralt murmured, touching a fingertip to the blood dripping from his nose. "The fact that you just punched me, or that it was a decent hit.”

Jaskier stayed sullenly silent, clutching his hand to his chest with a scowl.

"Let me check your hand," Geralt sighed, reaching for him.

"Don't fucking touch me, you utter horse's arse!" Jaskier shrieked, slapping his hand away.

"Jaskier–"

"Don't Jaskier me!" the bard refuted again, and Geralt raised a brow, grinding his teeth.

"Julian, then?" he growled. "Sandpiper, perhaps? What should I call you if not your name?"

Jaskier fell silent, staring wild-eyed at him. "I'm not–"

"Stupid and kind hearted enough to take on Nilfgaard's purges?" Geralt challenged, voice soft. "It's exactly the sort of thing the Jaskier I know would do."

"You don't know me," Jaskier laughed bitterly, shaking his head. "What's my favorite color, Geralt? What flower am I allergic to, hm? What did I study at Oxenfurt, even? When's my birthday?"

"Blue. You're not allergic to any flowers; you ate dog’s bane, which is poisonous to everything. You studied historical poetry and the art of lyrical literature in your first year, song-smithing and composing in your second and the lute for three, alongside several other string instruments, but the lute is your favorite.

Your birthday is Belleteyn, and you tell everyone it gives you magical fucking skills, even though that's horseshit. You hate ginger root and some prick called Valdo Marx and being cold and the first song you ever wrote was called Dixie's Dandy Dally."

He'd started off angry, mettle meeting mettle, but by the time he was done his voice was level, almost fearful, chest heaving for breath as he met Jaskier’s stunned gaze.

"You talk. A lot," he ground out evenly. "So much I sometimes imagine cutting out your tongue. But when you talk; I listen. I've listened to you for over twenty years, Jaskier."

“You didn’t know me enough not to send me away,” Jaskier whispered, gaze falling. “You didn’t care enough.”

“I cared too much. And I destroy the things I care about,” Geralt answered. He reached out slowly, palm open; invitation. “If you’d let me, I’d like to try and fix what I’ve broken.”

Silent deliberation. After a moment, Jaskier heaved a forceful exhale and raised his bruising hand.

“Perhaps you’d like to start with my knuckles, then?”

No, Bruce! You can’t Adopt her.

This isn’t salt, Cupcake. But I’m going to do a quick drabble of this anyway because it’s an awesome idea.

The suit was a deep dark red. Darker than it used to be from what they had seen saw from the previous news reports reviewed. Her mask was black. Her eyes a startling blue and her hair a shade just touch short of being as dark as night. The girl looked to be no older than thirteen or fourteen.

Somehow she had shown up on the scene just before any of the batfamily could and immediately solve the riddles, freed the innocent civilization, dismantle the bomb with rubber duck and a hair pin, dodged the trap, and was now fighting off the Riddler and his men.

And as they watched her kick the Riddler in the face and then yo-yo away, only to spin around and do it a second time, all the batkids knew they’d have to step in.

“You can’t adopt her, B-Man,” The Redhood pinched his nose.

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Gang, sometimes you’ve just gotta read newsies fanfiction under the table while your fake grandma and her friends try to figure out hold old their kids are

My brosephs

I have been going on and on about wanting a tv show/book/movie about a psychic who has to pass visions off as just being really observant or someone who’s really observant and has to pass observations off as visions for literal years

Apparently nobody thought to mention that something like that very much exists and is amazing

Psych my beloved

YES i want to look hot. NO i don’t want anyone to be attracted to me ever. shocked and appalled that these two things cannot coexist

“Jason should have ducked”

Jason gave Bruce a gun to shoot him with.

Jason gave him three options but there are only two results. Either Joker dies and Jason is left alive or Joker lives and Jason is too dead to care. That’s not an accident you have to understand.

It’s the most miserable “win if I win, win if I lose” I’ve ever seen set up and it worked. The neck slice moment isn’t just written for shock value it’s a demonstration of the truth of Jason’s point. Sometimes refusing to choose one over the other is just a choice for the other.

Marinette Vs Santa: The Rematch

Seven people requested a continuation of the Part 1 and I just gave in. I hope you like. I’m not big on writing sequels. So please let me know if its good.

When the news broke that billionaire Bruce Wayne’s daughter Marinette was dating the Roy, the son of billionaire Oliver Queen, it was like the world paused.

It was bigger than Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie.

Bigger than the royal wedding; both of them.

Bigger than the twilight love affair.

The Angel Marinette, the newfound princess of Gotham, dating the wayward Bad boy Roy, the prince of Star City.

Roy was handsome, really smart, funny, had a kickass attitude, played guitar and soccer, and loved animals; at least that’s what Jason told her Because Marinette had never met the guy.

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Bartender: Alright, I need some ID.

Tim “baby face” Drake: No problem.

Jason “Built Like a Fridge” Todd: What the fuck, you’ve never ID’d me before?

Bartender: Because you’re like thirty!

Jason: I’m two years older than him!

The weirdest guy I ever met in a church was this boy who referred to “Buzz Aldrin and his husband” going to the moon. I was completely baffled, and when I asked if he’d misspoken, he got really angry and accused me of being deliberately ignorant of the facts. It turned out that he was somehow comvinced that Buzz Aldrin and Neil Armstrong were married. It took five Wikipedia articles to convince him otherwise.