#But inside I'm just that fucking sweating guy meme

[apatheticsunday]

Gotham TikTok

AKA "Danny moves to Gotham and records TikToks with absolutely deranged captions. He films Get Ready with Me in Gotham videos, fit checks, and even A Day in the Life of a Ghost in Gotham! Except everybody is freaking the fuck out in the comments" prompt idea!

No, you don't understand, I'm obsessed. Like, what if Danny's idea of "safe" is just... anything that doesn't actively try to kill him? So Metropolitians, Star City, and Central City citizens are literally biting their nails and sweating bullets every time he posts, because what if he gets merc'd by the "Eight Heads in a Duffel Bag" Red Hood?? And that's one of the nicer villains in Gotham. And Danny's just like wow, this place is niiiiiice, I haven't even been murdered yet!

Maybe Jazz took a 12-year-old Danny to Gotham to escape their parents. Gotham's cheap, dirty, and doesn't ask questions: it's the best place to go to disappear because damn near half the city's population are either super villains, hostages, dead, or vigilantes. She gets a job at an understaffed hospital as a clinical psych intern. She enrolls Danny for online schooling because she's scared a public high school would be too easy for their parents to track.

Which leaves Danny alone for hours. He makes a TikTok account called "Danny Phantom" because, c'mon, he's a kid. And, like most kids, he doesn't really comprehend the idea of a digital footprint or that his account is public, accessible by literally anybody.

He's also a little shit. So, the first TikTok he uploads is of a man getting carjacked, but the caption reads: love to see people helping each other. remember it's always okay to ask for help! it's okay, I don't know how to parallel park, either :)

And you just see this guy in a mask shove a businessman away from his car, gesturing with his gun, before getting into the driver's seat. Except the car is parallel parked so the carjacker just slowly inches back and forth between a Prius and a Honda until he can wedge himself out of the parking space. And then gets stuck in stand-still traffic. The TikTok goes viral. It's talked about on the Gotham news and Gothamites are losing their shit, pointing out the exact moment you can see the carjacker start to soundlessly cuss through the car's windshield or the way the businessman is just... standing on the side of the road, watching with a deadpan look.

Danny doesn't know about it being on the news, but he sees all the comments, likes, reposts, and feels something. He wonders if this is what Ember feels every time people listened to her music. So, he keeps posting. Usually, it's short three-second videos of a hilariously unexpected situation with an even more deranged caption. But then he's accidentally caught in the reflection of a store front while recording and doesn't know, posts it like he always does; only for this TikTok to go viral, too. Because "Danny Phantom" is a child??

He doesn't notice the shift in his comments, but the public opinion quickly changes from wow, Gothamites are just like that huh lol to what the FUCK, kid, get inside!!! anytime he posts.

Except Danny never gets hurt. Even in the most dangerous situations, when you'd think this kid is a goner for sure, he's just happily yapping in the background. He's so different from Gothamites because he lacks that dead-eyed, despair-inducing aura of someone who's lived in a hellmouth their whole lives. (A couple people post that Danny kind of reminds them of Golden Boy Brucie Wayne, all air-headed and unrealistically optimistic, and suddenly there's memes of "what happens when you've never gotten shot in Gotham" or "how i act when Commish Gordie accuses me of shoplifting again" with them side-by-side.)

And then Danny's posts go viral again and again. Danny doing a fit check with a blond-haired woman with a checkered outfit, she ruffles his hair and kisses him on the cheek. A picture of him wearing an old jean jacket with a bright red lipstick smear on his cheek is trending for weeks. Spoiler, fully suited up in an all-purple vigilante attire, and him shoving gas station hotdogs in their mouths. He even has videos of him clearly in Killer Croc's lair, with comments of are you in the sewers??? DANNY??? and he responds, no, i'm in mom & dad's basement :) (Waylon Jones is actually sitting behind him in one of the videos, intently watching a TV show on an iPad.)

Everybody adores Danny - Rogues, Gothamites, even the Bats. (There's at least six videos of Nightwing teaching Danny how to do backflips, handstands, and other acrobatic moves. Even the youngest Robin has been caught on camera quietly talking with Danny, a shocking lack of violence that left half the city's population suffering from cuteness aggression for the kids.)

So, yeah, Danny belongs to Gotham.

But the internet is widely accessible and Danny made it so, so easy to find him. Jazz obviously didn't know he was posting videos of himself publicly; she was too tired after back-to-back 12 hour shifts at the hospital that she hadn't even checked social media in months. Otherwise, she would've told him to be careful, to never show his face or post his real name on the internet. Then again, Jazz would never have expected all of Gotham (and Superman himself, totally endeared by the kid after Kon and Jon showed him a couple TikToks) would beat the absolute shit out of anybody going after Danny.

Imagine GIW's surprise when they track down Amity's former residential Ghost only to find an entire city frothing at the mouth to protect their Phantom.

[innitnotfound]

Me, talking to my brother about DRV3 once more: So, do you have any characters you particularly like?

My brother (in more words or less): Uhhhh I really like kokichi

Me who knows damn well what happens in both chapter 3 AND chapter 5: 👁️👄👁️

My brother, bless his heart: I don't really like Kaito tho :/

Me who knows damn well what happens in chapter 5: 👁️👄👁️💧

Me, talking to my brother about DRV3: So, who do you think is gonna die in chapter 3?

My brother: I don't know... But I hope it's either art girl (Angie) or the karate girl (Tenko)

Me, knowing damn well what happens in Chapter 3: 👁️👄👁️

[greenlikethesea]

Wip meme - werewolf

(Sweating!At!implications! Don’t care if proved wrong.)

@sparklyslug IT'S BREACHING CONTAINMENT

blushing as i'm writing this -- this is filthy nasty werewolf porn, just straight up monsterfucking. deeply sorry if you think of me differently after this. here's a bit of it:

If you had told Eddie, like, two hours ago that he’d be getting his brains fucked out by a wolf man – that wolf man being the guy he’s ass over tea-kettle for, who has been a werewolf this entire goddamn time – he’d tell you that you were crazy, just absolutely batshit. Sure, he can verify that interdimensional beings exist, that there’s a whole world beneath the town he grew up in, but there’s a difference between knowing about unimaginable horrors and fucking them. However, his horny lizard brain has knocked out his sensible brain and is now piloting the SS Munson, full speed ahead toward rough and tumble sex with his best friend turned monster.

“Steve, fuck,” Eddie groans when, somehow, Steve picks up the pace. Whatever rational part of him is still kicking around figures that, yeah, Steve’s got superhuman strength, so of course that would extend to his sexual stamina, but this is beyond anything he’s ever experienced. He’s going to be loose for fucking days, bedridden, unable to sit or do anything productive, and he could not care less. Bring it on, baby. Liquid diet, bed pan, what the fuck ever. “Fuck, fuck, oh –”

“It’s…good?” Steve pants, those alluring eyes heavy lidded and dazed, like he’s waking up from a nap instead of rearranging Eddie’s insides with his cock. “You…feel good?”

[rpmemesbyarat]

RP meme from the "American Psycho" film (trigger heavy)

"God, I hate this place. It's a chick's restaurant."

"Are you freebasing or what ?"

"They don't have a good bathroom to do coke in."

"You're a fucking ugly bitch. I wanna stab you to death and play around with your blood."

"I believe in taking care of myself, in a balanced diet, in a rigorous exercise routine."

"I always use an aftershave lotion with little or no alcohol, because alcohol dries your face out and makes you look older."

"And though I can hide my cold gaze, and you can shake my hand and feel flesh gripping yours, and may be you can even sense our life styles are probably comparable, I simply am not there."

"Don't wear that outfit again."

"Come on. You're prettier than that."

"You don't like this, I take it."

"Do you know anything about Sri Lanka ?"

"This is crazy ! You're a fool.

"I mean, can you talk to these people or something ? I'm not getting anywhere.

"You're fucking me, and we haven't made plans."

"I'm on a lot of lithium."

"What could you possibly be up to tonight ?"

"Wear something fabulous."

"I just want a child."

"How on Earth did you get a reservation there ?"

"It looks so soft."

"Impressive. Very nice."

"You're sweating."

"Why don't you get a job ?"

"You got a negative attitude. That's what's stopping you."

"You gotta get your act together. I'll help you."

"You reek of shit. Do you know that ?"

"I don't have anything in common with you."

"I have all the characteristics of a human being-- flesh, blood, skin, hair-- but not a single, clear, identifiable emotion, except for greed and disgust."

"Something horrible is happening inside of me, and I don't know why."

"My nightly bloodlust has overflowed into my days."

"I feel lethal, on the verge of frenzy."

"I think my mask of sanity is about to slip."

"Mistletoe alert."

"It's a Vietnamese potbellied pig. They make darling pets."

"How you been ? Workaholic, I suppose ? Haven't seen you in a while."

"I like to dissect girls."

"Did you know I'm utterly insane ?"

"I've got a tanning bed at home. You should look into it."

"Do you have a dog ? A little chow or something ?"

"He was completely naked and standing up on the table."

"Where do I send the bastard ?"

"I hope I'm not being cross-examined here."

"It's just strange. One day, someone's walking around, to work, alive, and then-- Nothing. People just disappear."

"That's a very fine chardonnay you're drinking."

"You have a very nice body."

"Not quite blonde, are you ? More dirty blonde."

"Don't you wanna know what I do ?"

"How much did you pay for it ?"

"I don't want you to get drunk, but that's a very fine chardonnay you're not drinking."

"It was too artsy, too intellectual."

"You can practically hear every nuance of every instrument."

"Look at the camera."

"If they have a good personality and they are not great looking, then who fucking cares ?"

"There are no girls with good personalities."

"A good personality consists of a chick with a little hard body who will satisfy all sexual demands without being too slutty about things and who will essentially keep her dumb fucking mouth shut."

"The only girls with good personalities, who are smart or maybe funny or halfway intelligent or talented-- though God knows what the fuck that means-- are ugly chicks."

"Listen, what about dinner ?"

"I've seen you looking at me. I've noticed your hot body. Don't be shy."

"I've gotta return some video tapes."

"I never knew you smoked."

"I'm not sure, but I don't think dyslexia is a virus."

"It's a fucking milligram of sweetener. I wanna get high off this, not sprinkle it on my fucking oatmeal."

"Can you keep it down ? I'm trying to do drugs."

"Sorry, dude. Steroids."

"I'm into, uh, well, murders and executions, mostly."

"So, where do you work out ?"

"You think I'm dumb, don't you ?"

"There's something sweet about you."

"Would you like to accompany me to dinner ? That is, if you're not doing anything."

"Let's not think about what I want. How about anywhere you want ?"

"You look great. Very fit."

"You can always be thinner, look better."

"What do you really wanna do with your life ? Just briefly, summarize. And don't tell me you enjoy working with children, okay ?"

"Well, I'd like to travel and maybe go back to school, but I don't really know. I'm at a point in my life where there seems to be so many possibilities, but I'm-- I don't know-- I'm just so unsure."

"Do you have a boyfriend ? "

"Are you seeing anyone ? I mean, seriously ?"

"It's me. Don't try to hide."

"I know I have a tendency to get involved with unavailable men."

"I think if you stay, something bad will happen. I think I might hurt you. You don't wanna get hurt, do you ?"

"I don't wanna get bruised."

"I'm not so sure about this. I had to go to Emergency after last time."

"This won't be anything like last time. I promise."

"This is nicer than your other apartment."

"If you had a platinum card, she'd give you a blowjob."

"Do you have any coke ? Or Halcyon ?"

"Let's not get lewd. I'm in no mood for a lewd conversation."

"Are you telling me you've never gotten it on with a girl?"

"No. I'm not a lesbian. Why would you think I would be into that ?"

"You're making me feel weird."

"You actually listen to Whitney Houston ?"

"Not the face!"

"My need to engage in homicidal behavior on a massive scale cannot be corrected, but I have no other way to fulfill my needs."

"You're inhuman."

"I'm in touch with humanity."

"I know my behavior can be erratic sometimes."

"What do you want me to do ? What is it that you want ?"

"If you really wanna do something for me, then stop making this scene right now."

"I'm leaving. I've assessed the situation, and I'm going."

"Drop the weapon ! Drop it now !"

"I guess I've killed maybe... 20 people."

"I ate some of their brains, and I tried to cook a little."

"I just had to kill a lot of people !"

"I'm not sure I'm gonna get away with it... this time."

"I mean, I guess I'm a pretty sick guy."

"I think you should go now."

"What did you say, you dumb bitch ?"

"Stop sounding so fucking sad."

"I'm not going anywhere unless we have a reservation."

"Keep your shirt on. Maybe lose the suspenders."

"Just fucking call them. Give me the phone. I'll do it."

"Such a boring, spineless lightweight."

"Now, where do we have reservations at ?"

"What are you so fucking zany about ?"

"I'm just a happy camper!"

"I need a scotch."

"All I have in common with the uncontrollable and the insane, the vicious and the evil, all the mayhem I have caused, and my utter indifference toward it, I have now surpassed."

"My pain is constant and sharp and I do not hope for a better world for anyone. In fact, I want my pain to be inflicted on others. I want no one to escape."

"My punishment continues to elude me and I gain no deeper knowledge of myself."

"This confession has meant... nothing."

[assless-chapstick]

man I llove your couch au, and I'm so jealous of your couch au john. so many amazing boyfriends. they're all so different, and they're all amazing, and they all love him. but this got me thinking - what do arthur, charles and javier love about john, respectively? cause honestly, from everything you've written about him, john sounds like such a handful. like it just sounds like he'd be A LOT to deal/put up with, just an extremely stressful person. so what do they love about him?

Me, shuffling a giant stack of papers nervously, stress-smoking and sweating profusely: haha ha ha good question mister why do people like m- HIM HIM why do people like him! Haha why…

In all honesty, I’m answering this question because the couch au has almost become its own separate entity, with the boys being like OCs built of the scaffolding of the RDR characters I love… I plan on definitely repurposing them and their universe in the future as OCs, and like, as such, of course everyone has that one OC that is just a caricaturized version of themselves, or a sort of ideal, right? A character they project onto and use to work through their shirt n stuff…

So of course I love this question and I have a lot of answers!! Cuz I know while John doesn’t seem like the uhhh ideal partner or friend, he does have good qualities, and the boys do all love him in their own separate and unique ways. I think it’s just the snapshot I present of John is…. Not entirely flattering.

To start, I think if you called Arthur John’s boyfriend to his face, he’d laugh his ass off. They’re not dating, they’ve never dated, the idea of them dating is so ridiculous as to be unfathomable. They’re just friends, best friends, brothers not in blood but in bond, you know?

Like the love Arthur and John have for one another is platonic, but intense. They’re ride or die besties, have been since they met. They grew up together, and while they fight and disagree sometimes, they’re a part of one another in a way that can’t be explained; it’s just, if you know, you know. So of course, sharing everything else, sex is something they share, too. They’re friends, and sex is something they do together as friends, and they understand one another so deeply and implicitly that boundaries are almost never crossed.

If you asked Arthur why he loves John, he’d probably say that he loves John because he can’t imagine not loving him, you know? He just can’t imagine a world where John isn’t there when he wakes up, complaining about how Arthur snores and how they’re out of coffee now that John’s poured them both a mug. He can fathom not wrestling John for the last mozzarella stick even though they’ve got a whole other bag in the freezer, or going grocery shopping without John riding on the front of the shopping cart and narrating everything Arthur puts in the cart like it’s fucking Nascar or something.

When Arthur looks at John, he doesn’t just see a bratty twenty-something in ripped up jeans and a t-shirt that’s been carefully distressed to look like it when through a garburator; he sees a decade’s worth of inside jokes and adventures, arguments and apologies, shared secrets and honest advice. He sees the hurt little kid who just needs someone to sit and listen, and the young man who needs to be told to shut up to quiet the hateful shit in his heart.

Charles loves John because Arthur loves John. He’s not the kind of guy Charles would usually go for, and that’s part of it, too – the novelty of being with someone messy and loud and a little bit much at times. But in a way, loving Arthur is like… putting on 3D glasses. When he sees John through Arthur, he sees more than just some loud, brash, bratty sour patch kid; he sees the fullness of him, how someone like John could not only be tolerable, but loveable.

Charles likes John for his honesty, and his sincerity. If John doesn’t like something or want to do something, he’ll tell you. He’s not mean about it, but he’s not afraid to tell you you probably shouldn’t get bangs cuz your face is too round, or that he really enjoyed the movie you just said you hated. John is honest, and unafraid of asking for what he wants, and Charles finds that refreshing and comforting; sometimes it’s hard for him to navigate social situations because he’s anxious, and people don’t just say what they mean all the time. He doesn’t have to worry about that with John.

I think he also likes the fact that John doesn’t take a lot of shit too seriously. John’s been through a lot, and for the mess that he is, he’s pretty good to have around when you’re feeling low, cuz he doesn’t make a huge deal of things or want to solve it. Charles can get pretty deep in the paint with depression, and John never dotes on him or makes a big deal out of it or tries to fix it when it can’t be fixed, you know? Arthur is very much the kind to worry himself sick, but John won’t push and Charles appreciates that.

John'll just ask “wanna talk about it?” and Charles won’t answer cuz his words are all locked up and he doesn’t even wanna say no, the weight of sadness is so heavy on him, so John just shrugs and brings over a package of Oreos and starts like… licking the middles out and passing the cookies to Charles. It’s the grossest thing, but Charles eats them anyway because sometimes you just need a fucking cookie and to not talk about your shit and John gets that.

Javier loves John because loving John, having him the way Javier has him, is like having a secret. John is loud and rude and nasty and hard on the outside, but when Javi worms his way in, he finds the soft, sweet, vulnerable parts that nearly no one else knows.

They were acquaintances, friends-ish at first, and John was just a Cool Guy he knew; easy to talk to, always down for whatever, kind of a douche but in that way where he’s nice to you and you feel like you’re one of the Cool Kids because of it…

Like they’d be at parties together, before they knew one another well, and Javi could just flip down on the couch beside John and John would pass him a joint, super chill, lean over and show him some stupid meme that’s only funny when you’re high and hanging out with another dude.

And so when they start to date, it’s a lot like that. John isn’t super touchy-feely, it feels a lot like two dudes hanging out, until John starts to get comfortable and let his guard down and then Javi falls for him hard.

Loves the way John snorts when he laughs at something he thinks is really funny, how he’ll make really bad dad jokes and then laugh at his own stupid jokes. Loves the way John goes soft and coy and shy when Javi treats him like a girl and gets sweet on him, the way he blushes when Javier calls him corazón and flaquita. Loves John’s passion and tenacity and boisterous public persona, and how that melts away when they’re in private and he just gets to be with his John.

It’s hard to tell they’re dating, when they go out together, because they just seem like good friends – maybe there’s a little too much closeness, too much whispering and giggling and playful shoving and body shots – but when they’re alone together, that softer side of John comes out and Javi treasures that.

And John is sweet in private – does things like bring Javi his favourite take-out after a tough exam, or text him when he sees a poster for one of Javi’s favourite bands. Remembers things, and works hard to show he knows and cares and is listening, even if it doesn’t always seem like it.

Anyway feller, I hope that answered your question and you can understand just what makes all of John’s many, many, many, MANY flaws worth it to the ones who love him! He’s not perfect, but he’s for some good qualities. Thanks for asking, mister!

[1000-directions]

Hiya, I'm really gonna need you to write some fic about Louis and Matthew Phelan, the hot black guy in his band. You down? 😎 ✌️

looking back, it’s a bit of a blur. louis hesitates just a moment, thumbs shoved beneath the waistband of his trackies, and tries to piece it together, how he got from there to here. he’d wanted a band, and he wanted to select and audition them all himself, find a garage somewhere and scream out the lyrics to a shitty, crackly amp, buried under a pile of old pizza boxes and beer cans. that was how he’d pictured it, something organic and real, a legitimate bit of garage band artistry that he could hold onto the next time someone tried to tell him he wasn’t a real artist. but the label wouldn’t go for it, and the compromise was the three musical directors they’d brought in for him to meet. he’d pick from them, and whoever he picked would pick the band, and they would book time in a proper rehearsal space. the first was a bit too old to even be mates with, and louis rejected him outright. the next was younger and eager, but there was something affected about him, like he was too cool for this, too cool to be there, certainly too cool for louis.

and then mafro. he showed up to the meeting in cargo shorts and a tee-shirt, and for once, louis didn’t feel like he’d shown up underdressed to his own bloody event. his shirt had a stretched out vee-neck, and louis could just make out the beginnings of a tattoo on his chest, and something twisted inside him a little bit. and before mafro even opened his mouth, before he even uttered a single word, louis knew. i want this one. i want him.

they’d exchanged numbers, and louis felt a little thrill each time his phone lit up. mostly, it was other people, oli, his sisters, dan, niall. but sometimes it was mafro. it was mostly business talk at first, but then it was songs he wanted louis to listen to, and then memes, sometimes a selfie in front of a funny sign or a picture of something silly his dog had done, and when louis saw that name on his phone, his heart jumped into his throat. it was stupid. it was so fucking stupid, but louis just imagined his face, the warm way he’d laughed encouragingly when they were discussing the sound louis wanted to curate, and he couldn’t tamp down the thrill. it was a crush, and it was stupid, and he hid it tight behind his ribcage like a flickering flame he was trying to protect from the wind.

and now, however many beers and joints later, the two of them lounging on louis’ oversized couch, something is happening. mafro is idly scratching his stomach, and his shirt has ridden up just enough for louis to see the way his skin is pulled taut over his abs. it triggers something in louis, and he remembers a million times before this time, he and his mates pulling their sweaty kits off after a footie match, trying not to lose his in-ears during backstage quick-changes with one direction, all the other times in his life where he’s been surrounded by male skin and he wasn’t supposed to look, never ever supposed to look. because he likes girls, but he’s always liked boys, too, and he’s never let himself have this. barely even ever let himself look.

so when mafro sits up and pointedly begins pulling his shirt over his head, louis keeps his piercing eye contact for a minute, but then he fucking looks, he drinks in the enormous tattoo over the right side of his chest, he looks at small dark nipples and subtle shadows beneath ribs, he sees his stomach hollowing out as mafro stretches his arms up high, and louis licks his lips without even meaning to. his skin looks so soft. velvety and smooth, like a girl’s might be. he wonders how this will be different, how he’ll taste and smell. he’s never even really kissed a boy before, and now, it’s like he has permission to do everything he’s ever wanted.

he decides. and he shoves his thumbs into his waistband and pushes his trackies down with a swishy sort of noise. and then he crawls over the couch until he’s above mafro, can smell the sweat and the heat of his body, and he just stays there for a minute, panting heavily.

“do it,” mafro says.

“do what?”

“anything.”

louis nods sharply, and then he eases himself down, lowering his body to mafro’s. louis is still wearing his shirt, and mafro is still in his shorts, but there are still places where they are deliciously skin to skin, and louis can feel mafro’s leg hair against his own, and this is happening, this is happening, and mafro has a hand on the back of his neck, pulling him down so that he can feed his tongue into louis’ mouth, and louis lets him.

new band. new life. louis can be anyone he wants to be this time around.

[dcbicki]

I'm sorry to double dip but could you do danxamy for 14 and Jonsa for 6? Those are my two fave pairings!

I did the Dan/Amy one, but (if you’re still interested) could you send me a different message for the J/S one - it makes things easier to post? Also, I love how this was supposed to be a ‘few short paragraphs’ meme but I went over 3k words with this… Enjoy! :)

14. Things you said after you kissed me | Post-s6, in which Amy is ready to give birth, and Dan’s feelings are semi-ready to express themselves.

-

“If I find even one picture of this on that phone, you’re a dead man.”

“Ah, come on, Amy,” He starts, grins - that prick! - and then he’s scrolling through what she can only guess is a new photo album on his fucking iPhone. “Don’t you wanna have something memorable to show people, to commemorate this joyous occasion?”

She can’t tell if he’s fucking with her, or if this is actually all just a part of his stupid fucking plan.

“I think the probable sociopath I’m squeezing out of my fucking vagina is gonna be enough of a souvenir, thanks.” Her teeth grit and she’s frowning, reaching for something to hold onto other than the railing of the hospital bed.

She’ll commemorate this joyous occasion by chopping his balls off and force-feeding them to him through a tube. That sounds like a pretty solid revenge scheme right now.

“Dan! Can you just put the fucking phone down and get me some ice chips? For fuck’s sake.”

Amy doesn’t notice the two cups already on the side, chips melting. So, he just smiles, picks one up and hands it to her. There, hold that.

She doesn’t though – instead she finds herself grasping at his shirt, knuckles whiter than usual, face a pretty picture of sheer agony, “You’re gonna pay for this, you dick.”

“So you’ve said.” He’s rolling his eyes, and he laughs (because he’s not the one forcing an infant through his genitals) like the asshole she knows him to be.

And then he smirks, because he’s Dan, because he can, “You can only kill me so many times, you know?” The threat count is probably nearing the two hundred mark at this point.

Apparently, within the next couple hours, she’s castrating him with children’s craft scissors, gauging his eyes out with bendy plastic spoons, ripping his hair right from his scalp with just her bare hands, carving out his shrivelled up black heart and proceeding to feed his carcass to a pack of wild dogs. Oh, and she’s gonna feed him his ballsack through a fucking tube. Whether that’s pre or post heart failure, he isn’t sure.

Sure thing, Ames.

“I still get to torture you beforehand.”

“True. But you know I’d just consider that brutal foreplay.”

“Oh, fuck off.” She’d let go of his shirt sometime in the past minute, and her palm is wrapped so tightly around the frame she’s sure, he’s sure it will snap. Fuck, it’ll probably shatter.

Dan looks over at her then, (attempts to) run a hand through over-gelled hair, phone finally shoved inside his back pocket, “D'you want me to leave? I can just wait in the hall. I mean, I’ve got some calls to make and-”

Yeah, Dan, you’re not good with hospitals or empathy, I know.

“You’re staying right here.” Her blue eyes are like frozen blocks of ice, and her lips draw thin, cheeks puffing as her face flushes, neck tenses. “You’re gonna stand there, and only there, and you’re gonna hold my fucking hand like the nice man your mom thinks she raised.”

He nods, complies, shuffles forward so he’s leaning over the side of the railing. Even when she’s sat and he’s slouched, he still towers over her, still doesn’t loom. What kinda bullshit-

“Okay.” Dan sighs, adds, “Your mom’s outside, by the way.” As though that will get her to change her mind.

Oh, yes, Dan. Yes! Go get my mom, and you can wait in the hall with fucking Gary! That’ll make you happy, won’t it? Go!

“Well, then, that’s where she’ll stay.” She huffs out, eyes closed since he agreed to stay. Her head’s thrown back, blonde hair askew, face pink, lips plump. God, he wants to fucking straighten her hair. She isn’t her.

“Really?” He frowns anyway, confusion clear across his face, “Don’t you want some other woman here? I thought that was like a… thing.” His nose crinkles, “What about your sister?”

He doesn’t quite understand why she wants him here, especially with her mother right outside and she’s always seemed closer to her than anybody else in her family. Hell, Gary’s probably better suited for this kind of thing than he is - he’s into all that feminine crap, right? And he’s just-

Well, he wasn’t even all that great when they went for checkups. He just sat there in the chair and smugly grinned like an asshole whenever the doctor pointed at the screen, at the bean-sized, peanut-sized, melon-sized spawn of his that Amy was incubating.

Come to think of it, he’s not even sure he’s ready for the little bugger to be born yet. Then again, him not ready being ready isn’t the worst thing. Amy’s the one having to do all the work.

Push, scream, push, push, scream, cry, push, sweat, cry, sweat, scream.

Hopefully, she doesn’t die. Hopefully, she won’t leave him alone with a newborn. That would be some serious fucking divine retribution right there. Dan, you take this. You deal with it. Have fun, fucker.

“That’s not a fucking thing, and if you ever fucking bring up Sophie again, I swear to God I will have you murdered in your sleep.”

He’s brought back then, all wide-eyed and lost-looking.

With a sigh, he concedes. He is the father. (Wow, that’s fucking weird.) He’s the one who did this to her, with her. He’s the one who fucked her, and subsequently fucked them both over.

“Nah, you wouldn’t.” He glances down at Amy, raises one eyebrow pointedly in that way she really, really, truly fucking detests, “You wouldn’t deprive yourself of that pleasure.”

His gaze shifts to the door then as it swings open, allowing Amy’s (midwife? obstetrician? fuck knows!) doctor to walk through. A nurse follows, and Dan catches a quick glance of Amy’s mom talking to Gary in the waiting room.

Are they deciding which one of them is going to watch over the kid first so that Amy can catch some sleep, and Dan can go home and change out of his day-old shirt? He’s actually surprised that, for once, Gary isn’t at Selina’s side like a fucking half-turtled turd.

Amy’s been here for fucking hours – all bed-ridden and shit in a sweaty dull-coloured hospital gown, and (truth be told) he’s still pretty pissed about the blue balls she’d left with him earlier. (Granted, she went into labour, but still.)

Going home to stroke one out might actually come in handy. Pun fully intended, he grins. Just as long as he doesn’t catch a view of her child-baring vag beforehand-

“How are we feeling?”

He’s flicking open the chart the nurse hands him - Dan’s forgotten his name because it was some European-sounding bullshit and he had more important stuff to do than learn it - and he smiles up at Amy, all red hair and freckles and glasses.

“Just tell me if I’m fucking dilated.” Amy writhes on the bed, focuses her attention on the patterned ceiling, and Dan’s damn sure she’s gonna pull a fucking Exorcist in a minute and start levitating. It doesn’t look comfortable. Maybe Mike hadn’t been lying about his surrogate’s birthing story, after all.

The doctor shoves his glasses up his nose, snaps the chart shut and smiles (like a fucking teenage boy who’s gonna get his first upfront look at a woman’s privates).

He leans forward, does his thing (and Dan watches him out of the corner of his eye because focusing on that is a little more personal than he’s willing to get right now, or ever.)

He’d rather not see some guy - trained professional or not - put his hands anywhere near Amy’s crotch. (Unless it’s in a mirror… and he’s the guy.)

“Looks like I was right on time. You’re just about ten centimetres.”

The blonde sits up in her bed then, neck muscles still tense, shoulders raised and bony, “So the little fucker’s finally ready to come out?”

“Amy.”

“I can… start pushing?” She corrects herself with a sigh, half-ignores Dan’s burning stare. Fuck you.

“Seems so.”

She briefly relaxes then, lets herself fall back for only a moment, but then another contraction hits her again, only it’s worse this time, and Dan’s hand is actually there for her to hold and bruise and fuckin’ crush. Jesus, woman!

“Whenever you’re ready.”

“If we’re waiting for that, the kid’s never coming out.”

It’s intended as a joke, but Amy just tightens her hold around Dan’s hand, waiting until his knuckles crack before finally softening her grip.

Prick.

He holds up his other hand (semi-apologetically given the proud look on his face) before lowering it down to the side of the bed, wrapping it around the metal post and leaning closer to her.

“Okay. Push.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Just fuckin’ push, Amy.” He sounds ticked off, worked up, “Jesus, it’s not hard.”

Despite herself, she finds herself reassured when his hand reaches for her own, and then she’s going for it.

-

Turns out, it’d been harder than he thought it would be.

That epidural – no, those two epidurals – clearly hadn’t done shit because she was still in pain throughout, and her body was on the brink of a fucking collapse. Maybe that’s just what happens though. How the fuck is he supposed to know? He didn’t even wanna be here for this until she roped him, forced him into it.

Watching Amy Brookheimer give birth (to his child) hadn’t ever been on his bucket list, and now, he notes, there’s a reason that was. The whole thing had been brutal. She screamed, in his face, into his shirt. She cried, in his arms, into his shirt. She sweated, like a fuckload.

She’d been all red and warm and horrifically in pain, and Dan’s pretty sure he’s going to picture her mid-labour face whenever he’s holding himself back from coming from now on.

At least now she’s calmer, and quieter, and she’s finally fuckin’ let go of his hand. Honestly, childbirth turned out to be much more of a team sport than he’d thought it would be. He didn’t think he’d ever have to be someone’s punching bag, or actual fucking support system, so that was an experience.

At least now she looks like herself, and her blonde hair is straight again because she (post-labour, of course) practically assaulted a nurse until they gave her a hairbrush. Type A, confirmed.

At least now, he can run his hands through pretty, long, straight blonde hair and grab it, tug it, pull it. Maybe once she’s out of here, and he’s changed out this bloody tear-stained, snot-ridden sweaty mess of a striped shirt, they could-

Honestly, she’s really fucking glowing and he’s kind of enjoying it. Is she supposed to look this fuckable after just giving birth? He’s probably a mess himself, all bruised knuckles from her death grip, and aching legs from standing up for so long. Oh, well.

Their son is born at a healthy weight, with blueing grey eyes and a patch of light dark hair atop his head. But he’s all gunky and gooey and just plain fucking gross, so the nurse takes him away to be cleaned up when Amy’s had just about a minute with him.

He was actually kind of… cute? Fuck, she hates that word.

Cute in a way that meant if she stared at him for too long, she’d fucking vomit. Cute in a way that meant he was cuter than most babies – but then again, that’s just their genetics.

“You did great.” Dan’s grinning (again, like a dickhead), “You know that, right?”

“Doesn’t feel like it.”

“I’m serious.”

It’s not the first time he’s complimented her skills, competence. But it’s a strange kind of sincerity, one with a little more meaning, depth behind it than she’s used to receiving from him, from anyone.

Pushing herself up on both palms, her back aches as she stretches, props herself up into a comfier position against some square pillows. It’s not soothing, though, and she has to readjust the shitty cushions behind her to find some kind of comfort. She’s fucking sat on one, and it’s doing nothing to alleviate the pain she’s feeling down below.

“When do you think I can leave?”

She wants to be working, walking about, running around, doing things. Being cooped up in a hospital bed is not fun, is not productive, is not rewarding. Granted, she can still talk and call and email but it’s not the same as being up and about, out where the action is, where she’s actually useful.

Dan gets to leave whenever he likes. Dan doesn’t have to remain on bedrest for an undetermined amount of time. Dan doesn’t have to deal with a sore vagina and everything else that entails. Dan is a man, got the ‘get out of jail free’ card when she drew the one that forces her to take five places back.

Dick, she scowls.

“Probably tonight. That nurse said there weren’t any complications so we can probably go home later.” He reasons, shrugs as though it’s nothing major. Dick.

“We?” Amy lifts a brow, sniffles, “You can go home already, you know.”

“What, you think I’m just gonna fuckin’ leave you here?” Dan stares down at her, runs one hand along the cool railing, “Jesus Christ, Amy, you just had my kid. Even I’m not that fuckin’ cold.” He almost looks appalled at the idea – he’s desperate to leave though, to go home. Fuck it, he’s half-tempted to pack her bag, get her dressed, grab the baby and make a run for it.

“I’m just saying, you don’t have to wait for me-”

“Shut the fuck up.” His head ducks, eyes closing. What the fuck is he doing?

“I can have my mom bring me back to the apartment later. It s fine-” Because she’s still here, because Grandma B likes being involved in all things Baby Brookheimer-Egan related, because she’s just that kind of person. At least they’ll have someone to babysit for them that isn’t hired or fucking Gary.

“Amy, seriously. Shut up.”

“Why?” She smirks, figures she can get a rise out of him and whatever the fuck he’s trying to conceal. Is that… fucking emotion, some kind of weird display of fucking devotion? What- “Or Gary. It’s not like he has anything better to do anyway, other than trim Selina’s nails or wipe her ass.”

“You’re not going home with Gary. For fuck’s sake, Amy. Is it so hard for you to just shut your fucking mouth every once in awhile?”

You getting worked up there, Danny?

He sighs (deeply, strangely), and then he’s leaning down and kissing her before she can even say anything else, anything at all.

It’s a weird kiss, different from their normal, their usual. There’s no tongue shoved down her throat (which she almost sadly longs for), no hand on her neck (which is oddly irritating), no hair-pulling or shirt-tugging (which she really fucking craves).

It’s just a kiss on her lips (soft, surprisingly bland yet somehow charming), and then it’s over.

“What the fuck?” She exclaims when he’s pulled back, scratching the space between dark furrowed brows. “What, did you develop some kind of sappy dad hormones as soon as the fucking baby started kicking and screaming?”

“No, I-” He begins, shifts his gaze from the white sheet of her hospital bed to her face, all pink lips and flushed face. “I don’t know, Amy. Fuck!”

He doesn’t know why he kissed her - like that - save for the fact that he wanted to (almost desperately), so he did. Fuck, he feels feverish. He’s flushed, more than she is, has been, and he doesn’t understand why. His breathing is faster than it was a moment ago, and he wants nothing more than to take that kiss back.

“Sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” Amy leans back against her pillows, hitches up the bottom of her gown and stretches out her legs. “Fuck.” Her eyes close and she swallows a breath, way too calm for his liking.

Why isn’t she on edge? Why isn’t she begging to be let out of this room? Why isn’t she bribing nurses?

Why isn’t she Amy?

“You know I like you, right?”

“You like me?” She grins despite her eyes remaining closed, and her neck reddens, “Wow, Dan. What a revelation.”

“As in, I like you more than I like anybody else.” Dan shrugs (for no good reason), and he clears his throat with one hand smoothing along the bed railing, “As in, I say I like you, but it’s more than that, and you know it.”

“Oh, I do? Because you’ve made it so blatantly obvious over the years?” She laughs, once, practically hiccups. “Sure, Dan. You like me like that.”

His fingers dance along the thin mattress, curling around the hem of her gown, all pale skin and pastel blue cloth.

Why is she Amy?

“You never wondered why I stayed?”

“Because you think you’re getting something out of this.” She reasons, peeks one eye open and looks at him, flicks both eyes open when she notices his frown. “Jesus Christ, why do you look like someone just reported you as a sex offender? Sort your face out.”

“I mean, you’re not wrong.” He nods. He did get sex out of this. He did get Amy out of this, in some way, in some capacity. He did get a mini version of himself out of this, and his narcissistic ass kind of really loves that part of the deal. “Not entirely.”

“Oh, go on.” Amy smiles, “What am I missing? Why did you stay?”

“Because it’s you.”

Why is she Amy?

Because if she wasn’t, he wouldn’t be Dan.

“Is this the part where I swoon, and you get down on one knee, and the whole hospital staff applauds when I agree to marry you?” She’s smirking - that bitch! - and she licks her lips, holds her breath for a second.

“Is this where we elope and move to the suburbs and fuck maybe once every three months and I don’t let you finish?” Biting her lip, “Is this where you say you love me?”

She drags out that word, and Dan’s face near drowns of all colour. Fuck her.

“You’re a real cunt, you know that?”

She just nods, sheepish, lets the hand in her lap move to brush against his own, toying with her blue gown, “You love this cunt.”

“I do.” His palm runs along her stomach, stops just above the space between her legs. “And you love this dick.”

Amy smiles, ducks her head, understands him straight away yet doesn’t exactly deny it, “Fuck you.”

“Oh, believe me, you will. I’m just waiting until we can leave and they clear you for sex.”

“You’re seriously fucking turned on by this, aren’t you? That’s some next level, twisted mommy-issue shit right there, Dan.”

“Babe, the only mommy I’m thinking about right now is you.”

“If you start calling yourself ‘daddy’, I swear your balls are getting the chop.”

“Daddy Egan?” He boasts, beams.

“Just my luck.”