#I KNOW IT'S NOT COOL OK BELIEVE ME I KNOW

[stellathyst]

"Is a donut part of the grain food group? Because grain is supposed to be good for your body, but donuts are all glazed and sugary. I get that if you get rid of the glaze and sugar, it's just grain, but that's not a donut without all that glaze and sugar. It's like, you can't~ you can't have a donut without sugar. It's just not a donut without sugar. It's a fonut. A fake donut. Or even better, a tunod. "

"???"

"That's donut backwards. A tunod. Yes. A sugarless donut is called a tunod. I absolutely despise tunods, and they can go to hell. They would probably taste like sour bread and give you an aneurysm. I swear, if tunods ever get put into existence, I will cry. I will sue whoever made it and flood their production line. All of the tunods will be flooded and nobody will ever get another tunod. Now my stomach hurts talking about tunods, because they will 100% give everybody food poisoning. And now I'm just really tired of talking about tunods, mostly because I never wanted to talk about tunods, because they suck. So let's talk about some else. Like towels. Towels are nice. They keep you warm. And dry. Cloths are similar to towels. But most cloths are smaller than other towels. And cloths are usually used to get rid of spills. The word cloths look like the word clothes. Like the kind of stuff that you wear. Or hats. Hats are like clothes, but for your hair. Unless you're bald. Then it's for your ghost hair." "I'm beginning to question if I chose the right host."

"Hats can be used to make people think that your hair is still there if you're bald. They can help you pretend you still have hair. Impostor hair. Speaking of hair, I've never gotten a different hairstyle at my local hair salon. It's always "2 on the sides, and 7 on the front." Then they're like "Regular for the back?" and I'm like "Yup." They know me well. My family knows me well. My dad knows the sore spot on my back where he hits me with his belt. Belts hurt. A canvas D-ring belt hurts too. I have no idea what a canvas D-ring belt is, or if it even exists, but it sounds painful. This case is open and shut. Just like his mouth was, constantly. That was my last fat joke, ok? That was from Brooklyn Nine-Nine. Watch the show. What's that? You have? Watch it again. I watch it before breakfast and forget to eat. I like breakfast. Breakfast tastes good. Unlike tunods. Sorry, sorry~ I should not of brought that up. Nobody likes that. I wonder how many words I've said so far."

"I am trying to not blow my cover, please don't distract me."

"And you will probably succeed. Because my fingers WILL fall off eventually. Like when I play text-adventure games. I enjoy text-adventure games. They're fun to play, and to create. But sometimes they're SO annoying. Like I would say: "look around" and it's like >There's nothing to look at. Like, what? There has to be SOMETHING to look at in the stupid room or church or whatever the character is in. He can't just be in blank nothingness. Or she. Or they, my bad. I need to get better at using pronouns correctly. Sorry. Forgive me. Please, accept my forgiveness. Forgive me my sins. I beg you. Okay, I'm not that desperate. But what if I am? What if I'm playing mind games with you, and I really AM desperate? Um, puppies are cute, I like cats better, I am speaking in an Australian accent, that's a lie, what I just said is false, I lied, this is false, I am not correct, this is not a debate. I can't believe we came this far. Talking about donuts to hats to random stuff. I'm gonna stop here soon because my voice hurts. I'll say a couple more sentences. Shoutout to Reddit (I am not getting paid to say that) and Discord. I like Discord. Discord is really cool. Numbers, 12345, 67, 89, 10. Letters, ABCD, EF, GH I am bored." "MAKE IT STOP. PLEASE."

You have been possessed by a demon. Instead of panicking, you realize an important truth: you're trapped in your own body with a demon at the wheel, but you're still in the car, and you have the power to make them regret every single second they spend with you.

[kirammanswifey]

Hii hope your doing ok I’ve been feeling like shit lately so i was wondering if i could get arcane characters with sick reader? 😊 like they can’t sleep they have a stoamch ache ghey feel nauseous etc….

sick days with arcane characters (fem!reader)

characters: viktor, jinx, vi, caitlyn, jayce, ekko, silco, sevika and ambessa.

writer's note: you’ve been asking for this one, and here it. also… MOTHER AMBESSA HAS ARRIVED. i couldn’t leave out this absolute powerhouse of a woman any longer. she’s got me WEAK, like… somebody catch me, i’m about to pass out. hope y’all enjoy this one! let me know which scenario had you kicking your feet and giggling the most. as you already know, requests are open ;)

viktor

The illness arrived without warning, hitting you like an unstoppable wave. First, it was the slight discomfort, then the headache, the fever, the weakness that turned every movement into a monumental effort. By the time Viktor noticed, you were too exhausted to hide it anymore.

Now, you’re wrapped in blankets, your body burning, your throat scratchy, barely able to keep your eyes open. The room feels suffocating, and the fever distorts your perception of time. But there’s something that remains constant, unshakable: Viktor.

He’s sitting by your side, his brow slightly furrowed as he watches you. His elbows rest on his knees, hands clasped together, his cane leaning against the nightstand. His golden eyes, usually bright with the excitement of discovery, now reflect another emotion: worry.

"This is nothing," you try to say, but your voice comes out hoarse, barely a whisper.

Viktor lets out a sigh, a low, almost resigned sound.

"Always so stubborn," he mutters, shaking his head. "You could be on the brink of death and still insist you're fine."

You intend to retort, to tell him it’s not that bad, but before you can even open your mouth, Viktor is already moving. He leans forward, his cool hand brushing your forehead with a tenderness that surprises you. His fingers linger there for a moment, as if assessing the severity of the fever, then slowly descend down your cheek, brushing a lock of hair away from your sweaty skin.

His touch is so delicate, so careful, that a shiver runs down your spine.

"You’re burning up," he says, a note of annoyance in his voice, though you know it’s not with you, but with the situation. "You should’ve told me earlier."

You can’t help but smile a little. "I didn’t want to bother you."

Viktor lets out a brief, dry laugh, as if he can’t believe what you just said.

"Bother me," he repeats incredulously, settling back into his seat. "You think taking care of you is a bother?"

He doesn’t respond immediately, but the answer is clear on his face.

Without another word, he stands up, his body swaying slightly as he leans on his cane. His limp is more noticeable when he’s tired, and by the way he moves, you know he’s been here for a while, probably without taking a break.

"I’m going to make you something hot," he announces. "Stay still."

You watch him leave the room, his measured steps echoing in the hallway. It doesn’t take him long to return, holding a cup of tea in one hand and a jar of medicine in the other.

"Take this," he says, offering you the cup first.

The steaming liquid gives off a soft, comforting aroma. You sip it slowly, feeling the warmth spread through your body. Viktor watches you the whole time, with the same analytical intensity he uses when observing his experiments in the lab, as if trying to measure each of your reactions.

"It’s good, right?" he asks, a hint of pride in his voice.

"Better than I expected," you admit with a faint smile.

He raises an eyebrow, amused. "You expected it to be terrible?"

"Not that you’re exactly a chef, Viktor."

He lets out a soft laugh, the sound vibrating in his chest. "You’re right. But it’s not that hard to boil water and add honey."

You finish the tea with his help, and he makes sure you take the right dose of medicine before settling you back into bed.

It’s then that you think he might leave. He’s done enough, he’s made sure you’re better. But instead of getting up, instead of retreating to his lab as usual, Viktor simply stays there.

He watches you for a moment, and then, with a careful movement, slides down to sit on the edge of the bed. He leans on his cane while stretching out his other hand, and with a tenderness you’ve never seen from him, places his fingers over yours.

"I’m staying here," he murmurs, almost like it’s a secret.

Your heart tightens in your chest. "You don’t have to."

"I know," he says simply, and then adds, with a small smile: "But I want to."

The silence that follows is warm, enveloping. The fever is still there, the discomfort persists, but somehow, with Viktor by your side, it doesn’t feel as unbearable.

He closes his eyes for a moment, and you can see the exhaustion in his face, in the way his shoulders drop slightly, in how his fingers cling to yours as if he’s afraid to let go.

Maybe you should tell him to rest, to not work so hard for you. But when he intertwines his hand with yours and stays there, unmoving, giving you his warmth, you decide that this time, you won’t argue.

This time, you simply accept his care.

jinx

The world was spinning.

Or maybe it was just your head.

You woke up feeling like you’d been hit by a damn train. You had a fever, your body ached, and your throat was so dry that swallowing was nearly impossible. But that wasn’t the worst part.

The worst part was that you were on the floor.

And Jinx was on top of you.

“YOU’RE ALIVE!” she screamed right in your face.

You let out a pained groan. “Jinx… what the hell are you doing?”

She blinked a few times before grinning as if she weren’t literally sitting on your chest. “You fainted! Well, actually, you just fell off the bed, but that still counts, right? I thought you were dead. I was going to give you a Viking funeral, with explosions and everything, but I couldn’t find enough gunpowder.”

You rubbed your face with both hands, feeling too weak to process what she had just said. “God… babe, I feel horrible.”

The moment you said it, her smile faltered slightly.

“Horrible as in ‘throw up and die’ or horrible as in ‘I need love and attention’?”

“Both.”

Jinx jumped to her feet. “Then it's time for the world's best nurse to spring into action!”

A shiver ran down your spine. “That sounds terrifying.”

“Silence, patient! Leave it to me!”

What followed was a disaster. A senseless mess, as if a blue tornado had decided that its sole purpose in life was to take care of you… in its own way.

First, she tried to give you medicine. Tried.

“What is that?”

“Something I found in Silco’s drawer.”

“Babe, that’s shimmer.” You sighed, staring at the glowing drug in her pale hands.

“A-ha! Exactly! It can help wake you up! It helps me.”

“Give me the real medicine.”

She clicked her tongue and pulled out a bottle from who-knows-where. “You’re so boring.”

Then, she tried cooking for you.

The result was a kitchen filled with smoke, something charred in a pan, and a bowl of soup that, somehow, exploded.

“Jinx… how the hell did you make soup explode?”

“Eh… doesn’t matter. Eat this instead.”

She held up a cupcake that, mysteriously, had a fuse sticking out of it.

You stared at her with a mix of disbelief and fear. “I’m not eating that.”

Jinx shrugged and stuffed the whole thing into her mouth. Whole.

By the time she decided that cooking wasn’t her thing, she moved on to a safer method: hugging you until you felt better.

And, surprisingly, it worked.

After the initial madness, she curled up beside you, playing with strands of your hair while murmuring nonsense about explosions, schemes, and other things that made no sense. But her soft voice, her warmth, and her presence gradually eased your discomfort.

“Feeling better, sweet cheeks?” she asked quietly.

“Amazingly, yes.”

Jinx beamed with pride. “See? I’m the best nurse ever!”

“More like the most dangerous.”

She leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Call it what you want, but you’re still in one piece, aren’t you?”

You let out a weak laugh, hugging her tightly.

vi

The first thing you felt upon waking was heat. But not the comforting warmth of thick blankets or a gentle sunrise—it was a suffocating fire consuming you from the inside out. You stirred with a whimper, and as soon as you did, you felt a weight beside you. Strong, firm, yet protective arms kept you trapped in an embrace.

“Vi…” you murmured, your voice hoarse.

She grumbled something against your neck before pulling you even closer.

“Five more minutes…”

“No, Vi… everything hurts.”

Your complaint seemed to trigger an alarm in her head. She immediately propped herself up on one elbow, frowning as her eyes scanned you from head to toe. With a rough yet careful hand, she touched your forehead, and her expression changed completely.

“Shit, you’re burning up,” she muttered, sitting up straight. “How long have you felt like this?”

“It’s not a big deal…”

Vi scoffed, clearly not believing you. She got out of bed in a rush, searching for something, rummaging through drawers and bags with clumsy urgency. Her body language gave her away—she was worried. Really worried. But as soon as she noticed you watching her, she exhaled and forced herself to relax.

“Alright, it’s fine. Just a fever. I’ve got this under control.”

But she didn’t have it under control.

The moment you were out of her sight, Vi practically emptied her bag of the little money she had and ran to get medicine. It wasn’t easy. Between the sky-high prices and the scarcity in the Undercity, she had to bargain, threaten, and even ask Ekko for help. But when she returned, it was with empty pockets, hands full of medicine, and relief written all over her face.

“It’s alright now, babe. You’re gonna be okay.”

What followed was a sweet kind of chaos.

Vi took care of everything. She made you take the medicine like you were a little kid, promising kisses as a reward. She forced you to eat something despite your lack of appetite, holding a spoon in front of your mouth with a look that said don’t make me force you. And when you insisted you could bathe on your own, she simply crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow, waiting patiently for you to realize you could barely move.

You ended up in the bathtub together, with her washing your hair with a patience she rarely had for anyone else. Her hands moved through your scalp gently, massaging with slow, careful motions. Her breathing was steady, her gaze focused on you.

“You’re gonna kill me with how sweet you’re being,” you murmured with a weak smile.

Vi chuckled, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple.

“And you’re gonna kill me with worry if you don’t start taking better care of yourself.”

After the bath, when she carried you back to bed like a princess and tucked you in with meticulous care, you realized there was something more you needed to do. Vi sat beside you, watching you with an unusual softness in her blue eyes.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, half-asleep.

“I want you to rest, it’s late,” she said softly.

“But I’m not sleepy yet…”

“I’m not arguing about this. You’re going to sleep, end of discussion,” she interrupted gently.

She settled beside you, pulling you against her chest, letting her breathing sync with yours. Then, she started stroking your hair with slow, delicate movements. Her fingers tangled in your strands with her usual tenderness. And then, just when you thought she couldn’t get any sweeter, she started humming a soft, low melody.

You didn’t know where she had learned that song, but her raspy, almost trembling voice wrapped around you with a warmth no medicine could ever match.

You clung to her shirt and closed your eyes.

“I love you…”

She sighed, smiling against your hair.

“And I love you, gorgeous.”

Her voice was the last thing you heard before drifting off to sleep.

caitlyn

By the time Caitlyn realizes you're sick, it's too late for you to try to deny it.

It's not that you didn’t try. You endured the discomfort, the fever, and the weakness for hours, smiling as if nothing were wrong. But Caitlyn Kiramman is a natural-born investigator. Nothing escapes her. And when her sharp gaze falls on you, you know there's no escaping it.

"Are you okay?" she asks, raising an eyebrow, her tone casual but with a subtle edge that suggests she already suspects the truth.

"Yeah, of course," you reply with feigned calm.

Mistake. Caitlyn crosses her arms, and her expression turns more intense. "Then explain to me why you've barely touched your food, why you've been quieter than usual, and why you look like you're about to faint at any moment."

Shit.

"Don't exaggerate, I'm just a little tired," you try to say, but as soon as you finish the sentence, your cough betrays you.

In less than a second, Caitlyn is already by your side. With a speed that only someone with her training could have, she raises a hand and presses it to your forehead. Her skin is cold compared to the fire burning in yours. Her face, however, hardens with a cold seriousness.

"You have a fever," she declares, as if solving a murder case.

You try to pull away, but her grip on your wrist remains firm. "We're going home. Now."

"Cait, really, I—"

"Now."

And with that voice, with that determination, you know arguing is useless.

"Stay still."

It's the third time in five minutes she's told you that. You're buried under a pile of blankets on the bed, and every time you make the slightest move, Caitlyn swoops in like a hawk to adjust them again.

"I'm going to suffocate," you protest weakly.

"You have chills," she replies without looking at you as she pours liquid into a glass. "If you're cold, you complain. If I cover you, you complain. There's no pleasing you."

You sigh, unable to find a good counter-argument.

When she returns to your side, she holds a spoon with medicine in one hand and the glass of water in the other. "Open."

"I don’t want to."

Caitlyn sighs as if dealing with a small child. "Do you want me to force it down your throat?"

Your defiant look meets hers, but it only lasts a few seconds before her blue eyes narrow dangerously. And that's when you remember that Caitlyn Kiramman always wins.

With resignation, you open your mouth, and she gives you the medicine with the same precision she uses to shoot her rifle.

"You're a disaster," she murmurs, setting the glass on the nightstand.

"Mhmm..."

Caitlyn doesn't move. Her hand rests on your forehead for the second time, but this time, it's not just to measure your fever. It's a slower, softer touch, her fingers gliding over your skin with a tenderness you didn’t expect.

And when you look at her, you see something on her face that's not just worry. It's fear.

"Cait...?"

She looks away, but her hand stays on your cheek, as if needing to make sure you're still there.

"You look so fragile like this," she murmurs. Her tone doesn't have the usual confidence. "I don’t like it."

Your heart tightens.

"It’s nothing serious, just a fever," you try to reassure her.

Caitlyn closes her eyes for a second and exhales slowly. "I don’t care how serious it is. I don’t want to see you like this. I don’t want anything to hurt you."

Her sincerity leaves you speechless. Caitlyn has always been strong, unshakable, the person everyone can rely on. But in this moment, seeing her with a furrowed brow and pursed lips, you realize there's a part of her that fears losing you.

Without thinking, you raise a trembling hand and take hers.

"I’ll get better, love. With all the care you’ve given me, I’ll surely be fine tomorrow. Now, don't worry anymore, okay?" you whisper.

Caitlyn watches you for a long moment, and then, with a gentleness she rarely shows, she leans forward and places a light kiss on your forehead.

"Okay," she replies, in a whisper.

Still, she doesn’t leave you alone all night.

jayce

From the moment you told Jayce you were feeling sick, you knew it was all going to turn into a complete disaster.

At first, he seemed to handle it well. His expression shifted from his usual carefree demeanor to a mix of alarm and determination in just a few seconds. "Don't worry, darling, I'll take care of everything," he assured you with a confidence that almost made you believe him.

But what came next... well, it was Jayce, after all.

To start with, he insisted on making you tea. It would have been a sweet gesture if he had any idea how to actually make it.

From the bed, you heard him opening and closing drawers in the kitchen, cursing under his breath.

"Why are there so many tea boxes? Which one is the right one? And why do they all smell the same?"

A dull thud echoed.

"...Shit. The sugar fell."

You shook your head, already imagining the disaster going on out there.

When he finally came back, he had a cup of tea... or at least, what seemed like tea. The liquid was a suspiciously dark color, and Jayce had a sugar stain on his shirt.

"Here you go," he sat down on the edge of the bed with a proud smile and handed you the cup. "It's chamomile. Or... maybe mint. I'm not sure. But it has honey, so it should be good."

You eyed him warily but took a sip anyway. Immediately, you grimaced.

"Jayce... how much honey did you put in this?"

"Uh... enough."

"This is basically liquid honey with a little bit of hot water."

Jayce pursed his lips. "It's good for your throat."

"I'm going to die from a sugar overdose before the fever kills me."

But his clumsiness didn’t stop there.

He tried to put a cold compress on your forehead, but in his rush to dampen the cloth, he made it too wet, and you ended up with water droplets sliding down your face.

Then, he tried to reposition you in the bed to make you more comfortable, but nearly knocked you onto the floor in the process.

And when he tried to give you the medicine, the spoonful ended up spilling on the blanket.

In the end, Jayce collapsed into the chair next to the bed with a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair.

"I’m a mess," he murmured.

"You’re not," you said, though it was hard to say it seriously after watching him struggle with a bag of ice ten minutes ago.

Jayce dropped his head into his hands and let out a deeper sigh. "I’m one of the most important scientists in Piltover. I’ve built machines that have revolutionized the city. I can rally entire armies with a speech." He turned to you with an expression that mixed sadness and exasperation. "And yet I can’t take care of you when you’re sick?"

There was a silence.

Jayce rarely showed himself like this, so vulnerable. He was always the strong one, the leader, the one who had all the answers. But now, in front of you, he was just a man desperate to do something right for the person he cared about.

You took his hand with yours, gently intertwining your fingers. "Jayce... you don’t have to do it perfectly."

He exhaled a trembling sigh and squeezed your hand in return. "I just... I still get nervous around you."

You gave him a confused look. "Nervous?"

"Like the first time," he admitted softly. "Like when we first started dating, and everything in me wanted to impress you. But now it's different. Now..." His eyes met yours, warm and sincere. "Now I just want to take care of you. And I hate feeling like I’m not doing it right."

The tenderness that filled your chest was almost overwhelming.

You smiled weakly. "You’re doing fine."

Jayce huffed. "I spilled the medicine on the blanket."

"Details."

He laughed, though his expression stayed soft. And then, without thinking too much about it, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

You closed your eyes at the contact, enjoying the warmth of his lips on your skin. But when he tried to kiss you on the lips, you pulled away with a grimace.

"Jayce, you're going to get sick too."

He smiled to the side. "You think I care?"

"You should care."

Jayce shrugged, with that playful confidence that always defined him. "If I get sick, then you’ll take care of me."

And before you could argue further, he leaned in and caught your lips in a slow, sweet kiss.

The next morning, you felt considerably better. Your fever had gone down, your throat didn’t hurt as much, and you could breathe more easily.

But as you turned in bed, you found Jayce beside you, his face buried in the pillow, his hair a mess, and his brow furrowed as if he was going through the worst experience of his life.

You let out a laugh.

"Told you so."

Jayce groaned.

"Oh, shut up."

ekko

Ekko had always been fast. His mind, his hands, his movements… everything about him was in constant motion, always one step ahead. But when you got sick, all that speed turned into pure energy poorly managed.

Because Ekko didn’t just want to take care of you. He wanted to do it right.

The problem was that he had no idea how.

“Do you want some soup?” he asked, leaning over you with wide eyes.

You shook your head weakly.

“Tea?”

You shook your head again.

Ekko frowned and crossed his arms. “Alright, then… how about some water? Or fruit juice? Or—?”

“Ekko…” you murmured in a hoarse voice, “I just need to sleep.”

“Oh.”

There was a pause.

And then he suddenly stood up. “Right! Sleep. Yeah, good idea.”

You nodded, relieved that he finally understood. You snuggled further into the blankets and closed your eyes, ready to rest.

Until you felt the mattress sink when Ekko sat beside you.

You opened one eye.

He was there, staring at you.

“…What are you doing?” you asked in a tired voice.

“Watching you.”

You sighed. “Ekko.”

“Yes?”

“I don’t need you to watch me while I sleep.”

He pursed his lips, clearly disagreeing. “But what if you stop breathing? Or if your fever gets too high? Or if you need something and can’t ask for it?”

You looked at him with a mix of tenderness and exasperation.

“Ekko, I have a cold. Not a deadly illness.”

He waved his hand as if that detail didn’t matter. “Still. I’m not taking any chances.”

Ekko tried to stay still. He tried.

But resting wasn’t natural for him.

After a few minutes, he started moving his leg, tapping it lightly against the floor. Then, his fingers began to drum against his thigh. Finally, he started fiddling with his stopwatch, spinning it between his fingers over and over again.

Click. Click. Click.

You groaned.

“Ekko…”

“Yes?”

“If you keep making noise, I’m going to stop breathing. But from frustration.”

He let out a soft laugh. “Sorry, sorry.”

You sighed and turned over to bury yourself further in the blankets.

There was silence for a moment.

And then you felt something warm slide over your hand.

Ekko was holding it.

It was a light touch, almost shy, but his palm was warm against your cold skin.

You turned your face to look at him. He didn’t say anything, but he had that smile of his, the one he used when he tried to act casual but was actually worried.

You squeezed his hand softly in response.

“You don’t have to stay here all night, Ekko.”

He tilted his head. “What if I want to?”

“…You’re exaggerating.”

“Maybe.” He shrugged. “But I don’t like seeing you like this.”

Your heart tightened a little.

There was something in the way he said it, with so much sincerity and concern, that made all the discomfort in your body feel a little more bearable.

Ekko didn’t need to say that he loved you. He didn’t need grand declarations.

He showed it in every small action.

In how he insisted on taking care of you even if he didn’t know how. In how he never left your side even though you were sure he had a thousand more important things to do. In how, even when you tried to convince him everything was fine, he wouldn’t be convinced until he saw it with his own eyes.

After a while, you started to drift off to sleep.

But before sleep took you completely, you felt something else:

A brush against your forehead.

You weren’t sure if you had imagined it. Maybe it had just been a dream…

But you’d swear Ekko had given you a kiss.

silco

Several hours had passed in the lounge. You and Silco, as always, were caught in one of those endless conversations about business, Zaun’s future, and the little strategies he was constantly planning. Though you tried to stay focused, your body wasn’t responding as usual. The fever was consuming you, and exhaustion was starting to take its toll.

You tried to hide it, as always, but you knew your eyes were slowly closing, your eyelids heavy, your thoughts clouded. At some point, you couldn't even hear what he was saying anymore. The tones of his voice faded, and the last thing you remembered was a sudden dizziness before collapsing to the floor, unable to do anything.

Darkness consumed you.

When you woke up, the first thing you noticed was the softness of the sheets around you. You weren’t in the lounge, nor in your own bed. The scent of his cologne, something like leather and tobacco, lingered in the air, and the luxurious pillow beneath your head made you blink several times in confusion. The atmosphere was heavy, unmistakably private—his room.

And then, you saw him.

Silco was sitting near the bed, his chair tilted back slightly, a glass of whiskey in his hand. His gaze was fixed on you, silent, unmoving. For a moment, you thought he hadn’t noticed you waking up.

But then, after taking a sip of his drink, he finally broke the silence. “The doctor said you’ve been neglecting yourself. You haven’t been eating properly, you haven’t been resting as you should. You’re overworked.”

You pushed yourself up slightly, trying to process his words. You were in his bed. How had you gotten here? Before you could ask, he spoke again, his voice cold and commanding, as if addressing a subordinate who had made a grave mistake.

“This,” he gestured between the two of you, “is what happens when you don’t take your health seriously. You’re so caught up in your damned business that you don’t even realize what you’re doing to your body.”

Your mind was still hazy, but the look in Silco’s eyes told you this was not something he was going to overlook. His expression was harsh, his gaze sharp and piercing. You could tell he was holding back, that his frustration was close to boiling over. “This is the last time. The last time your life is put in danger because of your stubbornness.”

A slight pang tightened in your chest. Not just because of his words—but because of the intensity behind them, as if what hurt him most was seeing you in this state.

Silco let out a heavy sigh and leaned in slightly. The only thing that calmed you was the touch—softer than you expected—a light brush of his hand against your forehead. A gesture meant to show you that, despite his anger, he cared.

“I’m going to take care of you until you recover. I’m not leaving.”

You remained silent, watching as he took another sip of his whiskey. The room was so quiet you could hear the faint clink of his drink against the glass. Then, after a few moments of simply staring at you, his expression softened—just slightly—and his next words took you by surprise.

“I’m staying here with you all day, until you’re well again. And no, you don’t get to say no.”

You let out a weak laugh, though the fever still dulled your voice. “And where’s the downside in that?”

Silco didn’t answer immediately. He took another sip of his whiskey, and as he leaned in, he got so close that his breath brushed against your ear.

“When you recover,” he murmured, his voice low, dangerous, “I’m going to teach you a lesson.”

The heat of his proximity made your cheeks flush. You could feel the way your skin burned, not just from the fever, but from the moment itself. A shiver ran through you, leaving you unsure of what to say or do.

Silco pulled back slightly and noticed the glass of water he had left beside you was empty. Without a word, he stood up and left the room.

Once he was gone, you remained there, staring at the ceiling. The fever still clouded your mind, but you couldn’t stop thinking about him—his presence, the way he had leaned in, the way he had spoken.

Your hand brushed against your face, which was warm—not just from the fever, but from the situation itself.

What's up with him?

sevika

You knew getting sick was never going to be simple with Sevika. She was the one in charge. And if she said you were staying in bed, then you were staying in bed.

Sure, you tried to argue. You tried to reason with her. But when Sevika crossed her arms and looked at you with that warning expression, you knew you were walking on thin ice.

“You’re going to stay here and rest.”

“But—”

“You’re going to rest.”

You shook your head. “I can’t. I have work to do.”

Sevika squinted. “You can’t even stand up without wobbling.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“Yeah, sure.” She rolled her eyes. “Don’t make me take drastic measures.”

That sounded suspicious. But you were too busy trying to muster the strength to get up, so you didn’t pay much attention.

Big mistake.

By the time you realized what was happening, you were already tightly bound to the bed.

“I can’t believe you actually did this,” you said, blinking in disbelief.

Sevika looked at you with an arched eyebrow as she finished securing the ropes. “I don’t know why you’re surprised.”

“Well, I’m not. But it’s still ridiculous.”

“The ridiculous part is that you’re sick and still want to go to work.”

You tried to struggle, but Sevika knew what she was doing. The ropes were tightened with the precision of someone who clearly had experience in immobilizing people.

Her eyes glinted with amusement as she watched you fight in vain.

“If you’d listened to me from the start, we wouldn’t have to do this.”

You huffed. “Are you going to let me go?”

Sevika put her hand on her chin, pretending to think about it. “Mmm… no.”

And that’s how you ended up in one of the most humiliating situations of your life: tied to the bed while Sevika fed you like you were a little kid.

She held the spoon in front of you with a satisfied smile. “Open.”

“No.”

“Don’t make me force you.”

You glared at her. “This is abuse of power.”

“This is taking care of you.”

“This is unnecessary.”

“This is you opening your damn mouth.”

You sighed deeply, closing your eyes for a moment. Then, finally, you opened your mouth and let Sevika feed you the spoonful.

You couldn’t believe it. Sevika, Silco’s feared right-hand woman, was feeding you some kind of mashed potatoes.

And the worst part was, it didn’t taste that bad.

Sevika looked at you with amusement. “You like it, don’t you?”

“No.”

“Tsk. Ungrateful.”

You rolled your eyes. “Am I really going to be tied up all day?”

“It depends. Are you going to stop fighting me?”

“Maybe.”

Sevika snorted. “That’s not an answer.”

Despite everything, there was a moment when things softened.

After making sure you’d eaten enough (and mocking you a little more in the process), Sevika leaned over the bed and looked at you in silence.

It was strange to see her like that, calm, without the usual teasing in her voice or the hardness in her expression.

Her hand gently slid across your forehead, brushing a strand of hair away.

“You make me worry too much, you know?” she murmured.

Her words carried a weight you hadn’t expected. Sevika wasn’t the type to express her emotions easily, and hearing her admit something like that surprised you more than you wanted to admit.

“I’ll be fine,” you whispered.

She huffed. “Yeah. Because I’m not letting you kill yourself with overwork.”

Her fingers caressed your cheek for a moment before pulling away.

It was such a tender gesture that you almost forgot you were still tied up.

Of course, you weren’t going to give up that easily.

You knew Sevika had one weak spot: you.

So you took a deep breath and set your final tactic in motion.

You put on your most adorable face, opening your eyes sweetly, slightly pursing your lips, and using the softest tone you could muster.

“Sevikaaaa…”

She looked at you with an arched eyebrow.

“Yeah?”

“Could you let me go? I’m already feeling much better…”

Sevika smiled. Not her usual mocking smile, but a soft one, as if she were almost buying your performance.

She leaned a little closer, her hands moving toward the ropes. You sighed in relief, thinking your plan had worked.

Until, instead of letting you go… she tightened the ropes even more.

Sevika looked at you with an expression of amusement and satisfaction.

“Don’t think I’m falling for your little lie.”

Your face went from pure innocence to sheer annoyance in seconds.

“You’re a dictator.”

“I love you too.”

ambessa

The air in the room felt heavy, almost suffocating. Maybe it was the fever, or maybe it was the imposing presence of Ambessa Medarda, who sat at the foot of the bed with her arms crossed, her gaze fixed on you.

She didn’t look happy.

“You’re a fool,” she said, her deep, authoritative voice cutting through the silence. “If you were one of my soldiers, I would have punished you for being so careless.”

You tried to sit up, but as soon as you did, the pressure in your head intensified, and a wave of dizziness forced you to lie back down.

Ambessa shook her head and let out a huff. “Look at you. You can’t even stand, and yet you dare to defy me.”

You knew it wasn’t real anger. Ambessa didn’t get angry easily; what she was feeling at that moment was frustration.

For you.

“I’m fine…” you murmured, though the hoarseness in your voice betrayed you.

Ambessa raised an eyebrow. “Right. And I am a helpless maiden.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, though the movement sent a sharp pain through your throat.

Ambessa leaned forward, placing a large, strong hand on your forehead. Her touch was warm and surprisingly gentle. She frowned. “You’re burning up.”

Her sharp gaze swept across the room as if searching for something. Then, with the efficiency of someone accustomed to command, she stood up and began preparing everything necessary to take care of you.

Fresh water, a damp cloth for your forehead, a bowl of hot food that, to your surprise, she had prepared herself.

When you tried to take the spoon, Ambessa took it from your hands.

“Open your mouth.”

You looked at her in disbelief. “Seriously?”

“Have you ever seen me joke?”

You knew arguing with her was pointless, so you obeyed. Ambessa fed you with the same discipline with which she commanded an army. Not wasting a single movement, not allowing you to complain.

After the meal and a warm drink, she took a seat beside you, watching you with an intensity that made your skin heat up even more.

“Rest,” she ordered.

“I’m not tired,” you protested.

Ambessa leaned over you, her shadow covering your face. “Do you want me to put you to sleep myself?”

You swallowed hard. Knowing her, she meant it.

Surrendering, you closed your eyes and settled into the bed. You felt her hand in your hair, stroking it with a softness you never expected from someone like her.

“You’re too fragile for my taste,” she murmured.

Barely conscious, you gave a faint smile. “But you care anyway.”

There was silence. Then, you felt her lips press against your forehead in a brief but firm kiss.

“Don’t you dare get sick again,” she whispered. “I don’t like seeing my possessions in poor condition.”

Half-asleep, you smiled. Ambessa would never say “I love you,” but this… this was the closest thing to it.

[dnpanimationstudioclone]

My Angel Dust inspo-board.

Seeing @quackerzzz character inspo boards inspired me to make some of my own to help give y’all a good idea of my gang/what they’re like! U can probably guess who most of these guys are, if not let me know in comments & I can answer!

Personality notes: Funny, wisecracking, jokester, sarcastic, sensual, charismatic, smooth-talking, chatty, social butterfly, clever, gets in over his head, stylish, flirty, wild, sass/comeback-master, laid back, occasionally unmotivated, occasionally immature, occasionally in denial about things, bit of a diva(most of the time jokingly), flamboyant, hedonistic, dramatic, reckless, vain, proud, self-destructive, cares more than he likes to admit, likes to put on a good face, seem in control & “ok”, secretly much more insecure & vulnerable than he lets on.

Description(work in progress) Angel Dust Not only famous for being one of the”Hell’s sexiest sinners” through his mature entertainment but also becoming the hotel’s first client for the skeptical redemption program To most Angel Dust is a chill laid back arachnid, putting up a font of a charismatic playboy who’s living his best….but actually dealing juggling between two worst scenarios of being treated and portrayed as just a pretty face and body for his boss and all of hell to enjoy…and hiding from a past and self that continues to haunt him and lead him to self destruct with drugs and other reckless hedonism(be it his own or others) Eventually he comes to find a self of him he likes in the hotel and learns to come to terms with not just his past self and regrets but his current afterlife, finally finding himself a life he feels is worth…living for.Originally coming because his boss wanted someone else to keep an eye on him and “tone down” his brand intake(drugs) along with wanting a lil more space/independence, Angel has come to enjoy his stay at the hotel and all the wacky shenanigans that come with it, making him truly believe he can find something better….that he can be better.

Like Pilot in terms of wisecrack and sass but at the same time, usually goes with the flow of Charlie and the hotel shenanigans, suave, cool, usually having a joke or flirty comment to reply! Think TFP Knockout vibes But underneath all the wisecracks and suaveness, lies a sensitive soul that just wants to feel…like himself. His true self. 💖 a self he can truly love and accept himself and ride or die for those who manage to break through his walls and show they def do atleast💖

What do u think? How would u like to imagine Angel or the others like? I’d love to know💖

[twisted-dork]

Batfam Reaction to May Beating Up The Joker

Batman (Bruce Wayne):

• He arrives with the Batfamily, fully prepared for a hostage situation, expecting the worst.

• Instead, he sees the Joker, one of Gotham’s most dangerous villains, lying on the ground, battered, possibly paralyzed, and groaning in pain.

• Then, there’s a civilian woman—no tactical gear, no weapons beyond a random baseball bat—standing over him, breathing heavily.

• Processing… Processing… This is not how things are supposed to go.

• He expected a hostage situation, not Joker getting bodied by a civilian.

• He’s immediately trying to analyze who this woman is—GCPD? Secret vigilante? Metahuman? Why is she this competent in a fight?

• Wants to step in but also… she’s winning?

• Will have a serious conversation with her later. This cannot become a regular thing.

Nightwing (Dick Grayson)

• Immediately loves this. He’s biting his lip to keep from laughing.

•He lands on a rooftop, sees the chaos, and just goes: “Well, that’s new. Usually, we do the saving, not… watch it happen.”

• A mixture of horrified and very impressed.

• If May glares at him, he immediately straightens up because that’s The Mom Glare.

• Tries (and fails) to hold back laughter when she kicks Joker where the sun don’t shine.

• Will absolutely try to get her to join the Batfam after this.

Red Hood (Jason Todd):

• Oh, he is in love.

• Watching Joker get beaten into the pavement? Best night of his life.

• Sees Peter’s reaction and immediately recognizes the “oh god, my parent is embarrassing me” sigh.

• When May walks past them carrying Peter on her hip, Jason just says, “Ma’am, I don’t know who you are, but I think I love you.”

• 100% track her down later.

Red Robin (Tim Drake):

• Brain.exe has stopped working.

• He was mid-strategy when she just… took over. Now he’s standing there holding a Batarang, questioning his life choices.

• “Did we… Did we just get outplayed by a woman with a baseball bat??”

• Nonetheless he pulled out his phone to record.

• The conspiracy part of his brain is firing up. Who is this woman? Why is the kid acting so casual about this? Is she ex-military? Secretly an assassin?

• “There’s no way she’s a normal civilian. I refuse to believe it.”

• Peter sighing like this is normal? Even more concerning.

• Now has to run a background check because who is this woman?!

Spoiler (Stephanie Brown):

• Is openly cackling.

• “Oh my god, is this a fever dream? Who is this woman?”

• Definitely post about it: “Gotham Report: Random Woman Just Beat Joker With A Baseball Bat, Kidnapped Child Only Mildly Annoyed, More At 11.”

• “This is the greatest thing I’ve ever seen.”

• Wants to be May’s best friend.

• “Hey, do you want to team up sometime? I have a spare mask!”

Robin (Damian Wayne):

• Initially insulted that this civilian got to Joker before him.

• But then he sees the Mom Glare.

• And for the a moment, he had a flashback to when his mother had a look like that.

• He has no idea how to process this.

• Glares at Peter. “Your guardian is very violent.”

• Peter: “Yeah, I know.”

• Will demand to spar with May later, because if she can take down the Joker without training, he needs to test her skills.

Signal (Duke Thomas):

• Just standing there like, “What the hell is happening?”

• Was ready to jump in, but now he’s just watching.

• “Are we sure she’s not a vigilante? No? Just a really angry mom? Cool, cool.”

• Has NO idea what to do with this information.

• Is just staring at Joker on the ground like, Did this really just happen?

• “Man, Gotham’s weird.”

Orphan (Cassandra Cain):

• Watches May’s stance, movements, and general behavior.

• Immediately realizes: Oh, she has no formal training. This was pure, unfiltered Mom Rage.

• Instantly respects her (for how much she clearly cares for her son).

• Nods approvingly and leaves because clearly, May has this handled.

Oracle (Barbara Gordon):

• Watching the chaos unfold via Batcomputer cameras.

• “Okay. Someone please tell me we got a recording of this.”

• Secretly adding May to her list of People In Gotham You Do Not Mess With.

• Saves the footage. Forever.

Aftermath:

• They will track May down to figure out who she is.

• Jason will definitely flirt.

• Batman will try to talk her out of getting involved in vigilante business (spoiler: it won’t work).

• Peter is just so done with all of them.

ALMOST FORGOT ALFRED!!

Alfred Pennyworth

• Watching the footage from the Batcave while sipping tea.

• Casually comments, “Ah, reminds me of my younger days. Good form, excellent use of improvised weaponry.”

• Absolutely adores May before even meeting her.

• When the Batfamily inevitably brings her and Peter to the Manor, he’s already prepared tea and cookies.

• Looks at May and says, “Miss Parker, I do believe you are one of the most terrifying civilian I have ever had the pleasure of witnessing. You are most welcome in this house.”

• Offers her a baseball bat, brass knuckles, and knifed shoes from the Manor’s weapon stash.

• Instantly becomes Peter’s new grandpa.

[gdf-ridley-obannon]

"It's not fine, John, don't give me that. You wouldn't be giving in to my orders so quickly if everything was fine and dandy."

Ridley likes to think she's got a decent poker face for when the situation calls for one. Sure, it isn't perfect, and it slips when she's faced with the absurdly bizarre, but on the average mission, it maintains a suitable level of professionalism.

Every pained gasp John makes weakens her cool, calm demeanour. The bloody sight of his far-too-thin torso, decorated with blossoms of purple, makes her stomach churn. It's so much worse than he was trying to lead her to believe.

"Bloody hell, John, what were you thinking?" Ridley murmurs as she kneels in front of him, careful not to jostle his limbs or rustle the sticky blue-red fabric of his suit. Her tone lacks the usual tell-tale bite of someone frustrated or angry, replaced instead with a quiet horror as she gets a closer look at the patch. It needs to be removed so she can access the wound underneath... in whatever state it may be.

"I'm going to fetch the medical supplies. I need you to stay awake for me, ok?" Ridley pushes herself up to stand once more. The command to stay right there goes unsaid - she knows that John can't go anywhere in the state he's in.

Wet Cardboard [RP]

gdf-ridley-obannon:

Fancy seeing her here? The line is so unlike him - it's proof that she's rubbed off on him one way or another. Had it not been for the immediate worry she felt upon seeing him in person, Ridley would have started laughing. He's practically grey. EOS was right to call for her. If her fool of a friend was going to refuse proper medical help from his family, she simply had to step up. Nobody was losing a brother today. "Your stitches?" Ridley echoes, eyes immediately zoning in on where his hand was pressed to, a subconscious attempt at protecting his body. EOS had never mentioned stitches. "Let me have a look, and don't even think about saying no. If it's pulled or your injury is weeping, I can help sort it out."

"It's fine, Ridley." He sighs, but John already knows full well he's not getting out of this without showing her. "Look, it was a pretty clean slice and it wasn't all that hard to stitch up." The spaceman attempts to awkwardly shrug his sash off his shoulder, but it's clear the motion tugs at the hot, scabbing line of pain across the opposite side of his ribs. Manoeuvring his left arm out of its sleeve isn't any easier, but he needs to give him enough material to roll down that side of his spacesuit.

It's like watching an uncooperative, lopsided kind of dance, all limbs and funky angles, only the participant looks like he might try to pass out again before he succeeds.

The rather-larger-than-suggested patch covering John's side is damp with blood and it sticks a little as he tries to peel his suit away. His breathing has been reduced to pained little gasps, like he's trying to stifle his own reactions, because something beneath it has definitely torn.

"Oh." John says, faintly, blood streaking down the side of his ribs. "I- I definitely pulled something."

[13eyond13]

Time to start reading The Queen of the Damned I GUESS

[puppppppppy]

who is your favorite AA character? 👁️👁️

ziska… I hope capcom brings her back someday

[mamawasatesttube]

i just think lois lane should put tim drake in her purse like a little dog. a scrunkly little companion who's even better at picking locks than she is, which is saying something. a nosy little freak after her own heart. the rubber duck she uses when talking her thoughts out loud to put clues together. her coffee gofer. her purse ferret.

[mrmeepsmadmind]

rewatching this over and over again.. mainly bcs tarn makes soundwave into a manlet but also bcs it's hilarious

[toadletthethird]

How my first playthrough of Scarlet Hollow is going:

"I'm so locked in guys, we have to solve this mystery, here's my theor- OH HI TABITHA!!!! 🥺 Hiiiii 🥰 How r uuuuu 🤭 What? Stay here and do nothing?😉 Of course tabibi 🙂‍↕️You go queen 😋💅 yeah ssry mystery team, I have to win the best cousin contest real quick...........yeah I'm the only participant.......no it doesn't make it easier......no

[himbohimhoe]

Holding out hope that the writing in veilguard will get more bearable but rook saying to lucanis that it's "not nice that Spite hurt him" and he "shouldn't accept that it’s fine bc it wouldn't be ok if a person did that" like. That is a demon. Built off a single emotion called SPITE. Rook I am finding it really hard to believe that u have lived in thedas for more than 30 seconds.

[xxplastic-cubexx]

friend notoriously bad at videogames said shed play marvel rivals with me tomorrow chat if i never post after tomorrow night its because a blood vessel bursted

[britneyshakespeare]

Had the extremely upsetting experience of a mutual of like 6 years going off on me for occasionally making posts about supporting Harris because apparently that makes me a g n cide denier who refuses to learn and grow, with all of my views just being assumed not even from what I've told them I believe or what I've posted before, but just because I DON'T post particularly the kind of things they THINK I should be. When I pointed out how much they were just completely assuming about stuff I'd never talked to them about, I was told it doesn't matter what I do in real life or "care" about if I simply disagree with their conclusion and vote for her anyway. Like they were absolutely not sorry for the level of maliciousness they not just assumed of my character, but for some reason thought appropriate to bring directly to me before unfollowing me. No apology whatsoever for how discomforting or upsetting that might be and certainly no acknowledgment that I could disagree with them and still be a good person. I just got another even longer rant about how they fundamentally can't fuck with me because of this one thing, no matter WHAT else I do in my real life (which I pointed out that they do not know), and how I'm directly supporting fascism.

Like seriously what is it about Tumblr that makes people think they know someone based off of occasional posts? There were just such DEEP assumptions they were making of me and going off of very little or absolutely nothing. Around the time I first became mutuals with that person I used to express my personality and beliefs and talk about what was going on in my life a lot more openly, but I've significantly scaled back on doing that in many ways for many reasons. One of my major ones is privacy and the way I've had strangers outside my followers and following circles just find random things I say and dogpile me for it. I was fundamentally changed after some T Fs did that to me like 3 years ago. I also just didn't have many conversations w that person anymore (I message people in general on here like 10x less than I did circa 2018-2019, which I'm somewhat sorry about!). My point is to say I think this person felt comfortable assuming that they knew me, especially who I am in 2024 at the age of 25, much better than they actually did.

One of the specific things they accused me of was being afraid of learning and growing (because I don't perform social media activism on here like they think I should). Like AFRAID to take criticism. When again I've never received criticism from them or had to respond to any criticism on here before as pertaining to my views on... well, absolutely any of the issues they accused me of not caring about. They essentially treated it as if the only thing in the world I cared about was the US election and characterized me as the most out-of-touch liberal they could possibly imagine, because I'm not "pushing" Kamala Harris to be better (Oh?? Should I do that on here?? Does she read my blog??).

And most hypocritically what they said was that I only *sometimes* *vaguely* post pro-Harris things (I often post like 5 or fewer things in a day though?). But here's the kicker. "Because I know I'll get shit for it. And rightfully so."

Really????? Not a single person, anon or not, in my messages or in a tagged post or anything, has ever given me shit before for saying who I'm voting for. I'm actually NOT afraid of "getting shit" for that opinion, I just don't start fights with people who are anti-voting. And why should I??? I genuinely don't believe in trying to change the minds of strangers on the internet about that sort of thing. I'm just not confrontational about it; that is so not the same thing as being "afraid of getting shit." I'm not posting ENOUGH about my support for Harris, therefore I'm afraid. But therefore they can also make all these assumptions about me being their strawman for an ignorant Harris supporter.

I'm afraid of getting shit but I still post anyway? But if I weren't afraid of getting shit I'd be posting a lot more?? This is ALL based on their assumptions of what my blog *should* look like, based on what I really and truly believe. My level of posting every now and then is an accurate gauge of my feelings on complex, sensitive, global issues. Because I'm voting for the Democratic presidential candidate and I'm ok sharing pretty much just that little glimpse of myself.

I really don't think that person knows just how inappropriate and insulting that is to just say all of that to me. Like they really know what's going on in my head. Their first message began and ended with like "I'm sorry I love you I just can't take it anymore" but they clearly weren't sorry enough to try and be more respectful to me, and they didn't love me enough not to default to extremely ungenerous assumptions and attacking me based off of those instead of any actual words I've said that they take issue with.

Online radicalization is real and it's not necessarily bad because your political views can start to fall well out of the contemporary Overton window. The way you find it appropriate to treat people whose views, however common, seem to fundamentally misalign with yours... that does matter. You can't just assume the worst of everyone and then act on that in how you approach them as individuals. And then be shocked that you don't stay friends with them. You can't be confrontational with someone about an issue you've never had an honest conversation about, and then expect them to take your bad faith in them as reasonable well-meaning criticism.

I'm afraid of criticism??? I'm afraid of criticism. No I'm not. This person and I have never had an issue before where they criticized me and I got harshly defensive. It was ALL projection. The entire tone of their messages was as if all their anti-voting posts recently were somehow in communication with the occasional go-vote-for-Harris posts that I make. That's not a conversation. I don't post for your satisfaction. I don't post in "response" to my mutuals I disagree with. I just post what's on my mind, sometimes, about some things. I really again can't stress enough how baffled I am by this

[lorillee]

one thing that continually astounds me i feel like many many people who arent engineers or engineering majors or whatever genuinely do not get that engineering Well has a lot of math. Like a pretty notable amount of mathematics. which sounds pretty intuitive when you think about it for like a second but many out there do not

[shower-phantom-ideas]

Do yall think that like Danny would read the fanfiction people write about him?

Cause I think he would avoid it at first but you know the saying curiosity killed the cat (or bragging killed the fenton. Hey they both get brought back)

Anyway so maybe hes just online, probably tumblr or twitter, and someone is posting a summary and a link. Oh that sounds neat sure lets check it out. Maybe he lets it go to his head in classic teenager style. Sam and Tucker think it’s weird but tbh Danny needs the win.

That or hes completely disgusted by it. He is a real person not some character to be fantasised about. Sam and Tucker tease him about it but totally agree that it’s super weird and gross. I mean people aren’t actively hurting anyone but Danny doesn’t go anywhere near the internet anymore, unless it’s to game and shitpost on twitter. Tucker probably made a huge program to help so none of them have to see the ship art. Again they arent bashing anyone but hes a kid and doesn’t wanna be traumatised anymore thanks.

Idk wtf in goingnon anouy buy it’s 735am and I am so tired but I need to be up a few more hours… wait does this oart go in th tags? Wheres am I

[grinchwrapsupreme]

being super normal about White calling Billy "a dreamer"after the events of Maybe No Go