He never has, really - at least, not that he can remember. He never even had nightmares from the night his parents died. Maybe that's why; maybe he just subconsciously trained himself to not dream after that night, in fear of the nightmares that were sure to come. But the point is that he does not dream.
And yet.
The dream always starts out the same, every night, every time he closes his eyes and slips into the embrace of sleep. He's in a pitch-black room, one so dark that he can't see his hands even when he raises them right in front of his face. He knows, somehow, that he can walk for hours without coming into contact with anything - walls, furniture, anything at all to indicate that he was even in a room. Yet he knows that he is, although he's not sure why, as there really is no reason for him to know that.
The dream changes, after a while of walking. He knows that he won't find anything, no matter how far or how long he walks. This place is empty, desolate even. It fills him with dread every time. The change is never consistent, always bringing him to a different place each night.
(Once, it was a dusty old bedroom, one that made his heart ache, although he didn't know why. He had taken notice of the various space-themed decorations, the model rockets and NASA posters and stars on the ceiling. It was clearly a child's bedroom, but it hadn't been used in a long time. Another time, it was a darkened lab, illuminated only by the strange vials of green liquid lined along the many, many shelves. Bruce had wondered, after he had awoken, if it was Lazarus Water, but that felt wrong. It was something else. Something more. It had made him uneasy, and he got the feeling that something terrible had happened there. He didn't get a chance to investigate the gaping hole in the wall before he had been whisked away to another part of the dream.)
This time, he is in a brightly-lit white lab, and he has to blink stars out of his eyes at the abrupt change in lighting and color. He looks around; it seems like a typical lab, but everything is pure white, except for a green stain on the table. He can feel bile rising in his throat at the sight of the cuffs on the table, and though he still doesn't know what the green substance is, he gets the horrible feeling that it's blood. A lot of it.
He uses what little time he has to investigate the lab. There is an abundance of medical supplies, but many look unused, with the exception of the scalpels. The pit in his stomach continues to grow. Why were there so many? He reaches toward a vial of red liquid, wrong wrong wrong this is wrong, when the dream changes again.
Now he's in what is clearly a cell, except even the cells in Arkham aren't this bare. The only thing it contains is a familiar white-haired teenager, who is chained to the floor with cuffs that glow the same green as the vials of Lazarus Water that he's seen before.
Though Bruce has never learned his name, he has been in every dream, the one constant (besides the empty room, of course) in each one. The kid has never spoken, never done more than watch, but Bruce has always gotten the feeling that he was the reason for these strange dreams.
He knows that he should be more worried. If some kind of meta has managed to get inside his head, there's no telling what could happen. But he can't bring himself to be. Something is wrong, and it's not the teenager.
He can't help but think of his own children.
Something feels . . . off this time. The kid isn't looking up, isn't even moving - he seems limp, almost, as he kneels on the ground, weighed down by the chains keeping him there. Green blood - Bruce knows it's blood now, it has to be - drips from his still figure, pooling on the ground underneath him.
Bruce can't move. He desperately wants to, what could he even do? but it's like he's frozen in place. He can only watch as the teenager slowly, agonizingly, looks up at him, his bright green eyes dull and filled with fear and desperation and hope and -
Destiny [Bungie] | Original Game [Ghost/Limited Edition]
[top text] TYPVS ORBIS TERRARVM
[bottom left text] THESE WORLDS WERE ONCE OURS
QVID EI POTEST VIDERI MAGNVM IN REBVS HVMANIS, CVI AETER- NITAS OMNIS, TOTIVS QVE MVNDI NOTA SIT MAGNITVDO
[translation: bottom left text] What among human matters can seem great to him to whom all eternity and the extent of the whole universe are known
[bottom center text] PER AUDACIA AD ASTRA
[translation: bottom center text] Through boldness to the stars
[bottom right text] Then we dug in the unforgiving ground. We prayed for water and for food. The brave among us ferried broken stone out of
the blighted lands, and we built new walls - new temples - low and crude, familiar and comforting and safe.
But the eternal star song swept over us again, silent and swift
as a confession. Our bones ached with the memory. Our
blood stirred. We could not deny our destiny.
And so we began anew
HOME SLICE I HAVE A BIG ASK OF YOU! do you have a gif of Dan saying “I’d rather ghost.” from the phan cards against humanity video. i feel it would really help our community. (i need to use it as a reaction gif)
I got options my dude, I have the text staying and the text ghosting:
Find More: www.patreon.com/avijustfeet
I've added and modified some scenes to make it look better
"Like the first minutes on RE3 Jill is being hunted by Nemesis! she grabbed at a bar ase she tried to scape from nemesis (for now) vulnerable and unprotected, Ada Wong will to take advantage of our poor Jill!
What's the Ada's plan? simple, she'll use her favorites weapons: a feather, her fingernails. and her tongue, to make Jill fall or laugh so loud and then Nemesis can finish the job."
the premise : u apply lipgloss on felix because ofc he suits glossy lips except it takes an emotional turn???? because felix is perfect sorry. this is fluffyyyy and the sanest reaction to this man being ur bf (and these pics. these pics....)
“lixie, stay still,” you giggle, body nestled between felix’s legs. He's leaning against the bathroom counter, hands propped on the sleek ebony marble as you apply a shimmering lip gloss to his lips.
“but don't you wanna know what changbin said to me?”
“of course i wanna know what creative pickup line he used on you today. of course i do, baby,” you smile and he rolls his eyes at the sarcasm dripping from your tone, his tongue poking against his cheek before gliding in (fake) annoyance over his lips.
“but…” he muses, tilting his head to the side, his hands finding your waist once again (they've been away for two minutes too long).
“but when your mouth moves i can't technically apply lipgloss to it.”
“maybe you're just a bad make-up artist,” he teases, before quickly planting a kiss on your temple. “kidding baby. you're the very best at everything you do.”
“you're actually incapable of being mean,” you laugh heartily, your thumb swiping across his chiseled jaw.
“i am very much capable of being mean,” he pouts, his eyes widening slightly, golden light spilling into his pupils— it refracts into an arrow delving straight into your heart.
“you can't say this in the softest voice and expect me to agree.”
“i am very much capable of being mean,” he repeats, only this time his timber is many many octaves lower. his voice reverberates straight through your stomach, a deep melody orchestrating the untamed butterflies in your stomach.
“this is the equivalent of a kitten throwing a punch to me,” you pull his face closer, and he shakes his head, mouth shut tightly as you reapply the glitter infused gloss on his lips, going delicately over his cupid's bow. his eyes are boring onto you, yet you don't shy away from his gaze. it is a kind one— like a blanket knitted with love thrown over your body.
“done,” you whisper, hands trailing up to his hair, blonde silky locks akin to threads of sunlight. you think he must be favored by the stars— how they stored the sun inside every component of his being for him to keep safe.
“you have the prettiest lips,” your voice is suddenly hoarse, thumb grazing slightly over his lips, ones shaped like a heart— akin to the one freckle he has right underneath his eye.
it wasn't enough for him to have the kindest soul, no, love needed to be etched onto his skin too.
“felix,” you rasp out his name.
he catches your tears before you sense them falling, swiping his thumbs delicately on your cheek. “angel?”
“you're an idiot.”
“am i?” he brings you to his chest swiftly, your nose buried in the orange blossoms and sea notes of his skin— your home, the one you'd recognize in blindness, in despair, in safety, in love.
“i wanted to apply this lipgloss on you because shimmer would suit your angelic lips and then we'd make out. but you just had to be so beautiful and pure that it makes me wanna cry.”
“I'm sorry,” he says and you giggle, more tears spilling from your eyes.
“see, this is what i mean. why are you apologizing. this is so silly and you're so perfect and i can't believe you love me.”
“well i do,” he leans away, kissing your forehead tenderly. the sticky lip gloss lingers on your skin. “i love you so much, angel. i will only ever love you.”
“promise me?” you ask in a feat of vulnerability almost foreign to your being.
“i promise.”
you believe him.
“thank you. please don't put this lipgloss near anyone else or it'll make them cry too.”
“i think that's just you baby,” he grins, his thumb swiping over your thigh comfortingly, then, his nose brushing against your own. “kiss?”
you close your eyes, a sigh of relief, of longing escaping your body. “please.”
to be loved by felix— maybe you're the one favored by the stars after all.