#a note on the word dad:

[duckysprouts]

big brother part 7

[egophiliac]

I have SO many thoughts about everything and they are in no kind of order yet, so here's just some quick little bits in the meantime!

I am not normal about any of these characters!

[faeriekit]

Health and Hybrids (XXVIII)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters  for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

🖤Chapter navigation can be found here🖤 Click to browse previous updates.

💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts 💚 (now featuring mediocre mouseover translations, only available on a computer)

Where we last left off... Danny has another hashtag breakdown! Man, we've got a lot of these, huh? It's YJ's fault this time; whoopsie doodles! ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Trigger warnings for this story:  body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) |  my nonexistent attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

“Danny,” Diana says from the door.

Danny looks up from his place in the book. It’s definitely aimed at younger kids, but it’s a pretty wordy picture book; there are a couple paragraphs he can’t quite parse, but he’s making pretty good progress on the words he can’t recognize.

It’s a story about a cat who misses its mother. Danny tries not to relate to it too much.

“Hm?” he asks, flipping the front flap of the dust cover over his current pages to mark his place. The book goes back onto the nightstand, beside his space shuttle; Danny uses the railing beside his bed to support himself stepping up and out of his wheelchair, leaning on the railing until he can figure out…wait, where’d he leave his old people walker?

“This walk is long. You will want your chair.”

Well, then. Couldn’t she have said that before Danny did all that pulling? Danny falls back into his chair, kinda peeved. “Fine.”

Diana smiles. She doesn’t have to wear the mask around him anymore— Danny’s pretty sure that his injuries have been declared as clotted, or sealed, or whatever at this rate. They for sure swabbed his ectoplasm and came to some kind of conclusion, anyway, which means he only looks gross, but isn’t, like…actively leaking fluids.

On the one hand, gross! But, well, you know. Nothing for it but bandaids and time.

And her face looks nice. Danny hadn’t known what she’d looked like, before. She smiles when she sees him. Her light eyes crinkle, and her lips turn up… She’s nice. Danny’s sure that she’s only there to be in charge of him in case he gets scary, but she’s in charge of him and she’s nice. She doesn’t have to be nice; lots of people have been in charge of him and been mean about it. There was that one guy who kept holding him—with the taser—

(Time slips away from him, a little. When he gets back to the world in front of him, Diana is carefully looking at his face, the back of her hand stroking the back of his.)

Danny’s in his chair. He’s not…there. He’s in his chair, on a big space station (????) with a bunch of really colorful fighters on it, and Diana is touching his hand (that’s so much weaker and slower than it used to be) and he’s not hungry and he’s only scared because of memories. He’s safe. He’s not being pinned down by the neck so that they can strap down his wrists and hips to the table—they’re not shocking him—he can move his fingers, he’s not stuck in his core—

His core throbs. Danny bites into his bisected lip, and tries not to cry.

“Are you alright?” Diana asks, voice gentled. The soft touch of her hand doesn’t stop. “We can wait. There is no—“

Danny shakes his head, and takes his hand away so he could wipe at his eyes. It’s fine. Bad memories are everywhere: in the walls, in the floor, in the ceiling, in the hands of people taking care of him. That’s not… There’s nothing Danny can do about that. That just. Takes time.

…He think he might have that time. Now. He thought he would die for good in that five by five box, waiting for something that would finally end him instead of just keeping him in a cycle of injuries he never fully healed from.

But now he’s not. He’s here.

He wants to keep going.

“Alright,” Diana says, slow and careful. “Hold on.”

Danny doesn’t hold on—or, well, you know, he engages his core muscles and all that, but he doesn’t cling to his arm rests or to the frame of his chair because he knows that Diana is really, really strong, but she also really, really doesn’t want to hurt him.

She rolls him out of the medical wing and into the space station proper. Danny feels like he’s been here before, but he doesn’t remember it super well. Maybe it was when he was sick or something? Either way, a lot of different people wave at him as they go by—or just straight up stare, if they’re rude—and Danny generally just watches people rush by, carrying all kinds of equipment, and a potted plant, and a…starfish in a jar…?

Oh, the starfish waves at him???? Danny waves back because?? What??

Danny rolls to a stop at a smooth, cylindrical elevator. It looks like a giant test tube.

…Oh boy. Danny takes a deep breath, and holds it. Reflexively. Sure, this elevator probably isn’t like being dunked into water to see if his body absorbs ambient oxygen from the atmosphere or if his biology is truly not oxygen-based, but the memory is. Bad.

They go upwards. Nothing happens but Diana’s pushed button.

Danny exhales.

They get off at a section of the base Danny’s never been to, and it's essentially just a long, somewhat narrow hallway. The walls are actually painted a creamy off-white here, and there’s…like…decorative panels towards the base of his wheels trailing down the hallway? An orange ceiling, too?

Huh??

The rooms are numbered, but they’re not plain steel like in other areas downstairs; some of them have stickers, or drawings, or marker written straight onto the door itself. They look...cozy...? Danny thinks so, anyway, compared to the rest of the ultra high tech space base.

They roll to a stop in front of a door. It’s got a number on it, same as all the others, but there’s a box cutout taped to the front of it. The—

—The print is of the same style of space shuttle Danny keeps next to his bed, inked onto glorious cardboard medium.

Danny stares.

“Gegrapa,” Diana urges, so gentle. Too bad that, uh, Danny doesn’t know that one. He looks at her. She mimes touching the door— Oh. Got it.

Danny leans forward just enough to touch the door with his fingertips.

The door says something in a robotic voice, but the synthesizer is too mangled for Danny to make out the words. The door slides open horizontally into the wall, instead of the way the other doors open like portals or from below, and it’s kind of cool?

Inside is a bedroom. Danny stares.

…No, it’s actually a bedroom. Not a medical wing, not a cot, not a repurposed conference room or—it’s actually got a bed in it. Like. A real one. There’s a wooden headboard and it’s got a mattress on it that’s thicker than a VCR.

There’s constellation sheets on a bed big enough to curl up on.

There’s a nightstand, a small desk on the far wall—there’s a little lip where the bedroom dips into a tiny sitting room, a small television on a table and a small table and chair. It’s kind of…it’s kind of like a little hotel suite.

Danny’s mouth goes dry.

He doesn’t move, and Diana doesn’t wheel him in. “It’s okay,” Diana says, and—Danny almost flinches when she touches his hair, but it’s only Diana, who’s never hit him, and they’re fine. He’s…safe. It’s safe. He’s safe here. “Do you want to go in?”

Danny doesn’t move. His hands don’t touch the wheels. They’re shaking; he puts his hands in his lap and he tries to breathe. “…What?” he asks hoarsely.

“A rum for my Danny,” Diana murmurs, quietly. Danny’s heart throbs at the possessive. “You are healthier now. You do not need doctors every hour, but only sum hours. You cuðe spenda more time here, all ana.”

Words go by so fast even at Diana's smooth, unhurried pace— and Danny licks dry, split lips. He looks around the room—and the room is small, sure, but they're in space. Space will always be a premium. Even in this small room, though, the furniture is sparse and placed distant from each other…distant enough that Danny can wheel around freely in his chair.

There’s a Moon clock display hung on the wall over the doorway, and Danny can faintly see the outline of what he assumes is the current lunar phase as seen from Earth.

Having the lamp isn’t exactly the same as glow-in-the-dark-stars, and thank goodness for that. If it had been, Danny might have cried.

(Or, he realizes, something burning in his eyes that isn’t ectoplasm, maybe he is crying.)

“...Me?” Danny asks, terrified to know the answer. Is this room for him?? Is he getting a room here? Is he supposed to stay here? On the moon?! Is he supposed to stay with everyone here, in a tiny room, where there’s nowhere to go and nowhere to escape?

…It’s a bedroom. It’s already so much more than the stupid guys in white ever gave him.

“Yes,” Diana says, and lets go of his hair. “Use it, or do not. Sitta here, or sitta in the medical bay, but now you have two choices.”

Okay. So Danny has choices. He swallows his feelings—they taste a lot like snot—and rolls himself inside to inspect the room.

There’s another little fridge inside the sitting area. It’s not right next to the bed like it is beside Danny’s cot, but it is the same style of fridge. When Danny pops the door open, it has the same styles of snacks. Fig Einsteins. Peanut butter squeezies and applesauce squeezies and yogurt squeezies. Protein shakes in bottles. Pedialight. Hummus packs.

Danny might still need someone to open the snack packs for him. That’s kind of a high dexterity food, if he thinks about it.

“If you wish to sitta here, we will visit you all you like. There is a belle at your bed,” Diana says, and walks in with all her purple scrubs and tied-up hair to point to a little button on his nightstand. It’s red. It’s got a little smiley face sticker next to it, and Danny thinks he recognizes the style from one of his nurse’s bestickered name tags. Belle is probably a direct cognate for bell. He’ll be able to get everyone to come up here if he needs help.

…Okay, that’s kind of nice. To have personal space. He hasn’t had that since… Danny’s eyes squint as he thinks; he rubs an eye. Wait, when had he been squatting under a conference table? Was that a real memory??

Diana is very tall, even in the little space, but when she ducks her head, the gesture makes her a little smaller, a little more manageable for Danny’s lower-than-usual-gaze. Now that he can see her expression, she looks soft, and even uncertain, even though she looks stone and strong on the television when she goes out to fight. “Do you like it?” she asks.

Danny fidgets.

He—does. He likes it a lot. The room doesn’t have any windows, but if Danny moved all his things in here, got used to being able to come and go, and people coming in and out…this space could be just another space. It’s quieter than the medical ward. More peaceful.

…The room is utterly devoid of other people.

(Danny thinks of The Box. Danny thinks of being in The Box.)

(Danny doesn’t like remembering The Box.)

“I am scared,” Danny admits to his twitching thumbs, his fingers itching for a fidget toy or one of his physical therapy tools. Diana’s face immediately drops.

“Why are you scared?”

I’ll be alone Danny wants to say, but he doesn’t know the word for alone and he struggled with phrasing. “No…people here.”

“That is triewe. You would have more dīegolnes here,” Diana agrees, and straightens out of her crouch. “Is that good, or bad?”

It isn’t good and it isn’t bad…? Danny isn’t sure how to phrase it. It’s neither. Being alone is just scary.

“You not hurt me,” Danny tries, knowing he’s missing some connecting word in the middle. He ignores how Diana comes back to kneel beside him, because if he looks at her, he won’t say anything. “Do not.”

“No,” Diana says, from beside and below him, gentle, careful. “We do not.”

No. They don’t. Danny swallows. “Bad…hurt me.” He doesn’t know the word for Earth or planet or even downstairs, so he just meekly points downwards.

Diana stills. It’s like watching Vlad’s Maddie cat spot a bird to hunt down. Danny tries not to feel pinned. “On eorþegearde?” she asks, still light, still gentle. Danny can hear a shadow of steel, though, and he counts himself lucky that she’s never treated him like an enemy. Danny quickly nods. His eyes squeeze shut.

“Who?” Diana asks feather-light.

Danny doesn’t want to tell them what he is. Admitting the name of the agency hunting him itself would be given in.

…But maybe if he doesn’t say the name…and they...and they promised they'd help hide him...

He wants to be right. Danny wants to be right that they're nice, and that they want to help him. Danny wants to be right that they want to protect him. As long as he never, nevernotevernever tells them he's a ghost...

Maybe someone will help him. This time.

“Bad,” Danny repeats, because he genuinely has no idea how to translate?? “Wants…hurts me? For…” WHAT WORDS DOES HE KNOW? Danny gives up and just draws a y-shaped autopsy incision on his chest. It goes down from his collarbones to his belly button.

Diana watches. Her eyes are sharp.

“Do you feel safe with the staff dunstæger in medical?” Diana is quick on the ball with the question and Danny nods quickly—he’s never alone there, and no one’s ever hurt him, and people whose job it is to help people are always coming in and out, and Medical helps them too.

“Good,” Danny whispers. “Talk…talks to me.”

“Ealne weg,” Diana affirms firmly. Whatever that means. “We will cepa you safe.”

You safe and we is all Danny needs to hear. He could probably cry by himself, but Danny wants the comfort anyway; Diana lets Danny take her hands into his, and he lets tears fall into someone else’s grip instead of his own.

*

Bruce is halfway to the monitor room before he feels himself be picked up from underneath the armpits.

Usually finding himself at inappropriate heights involves horseplay from Clark. No one else would be so bold as to actually put their hands on him within the professional setting of the Watchtower—and Bruce has worked very, very hard on maintaining a reputation that keeps the handsier of his fellows at bay.

The culprit is not Clark this time. Bruce finds himself looking downward at Diana’s tearstained face, fury and resignation warring in her expression.

Bruce is careful not to sigh. “Wonder Woman. What is the matter?”

“Someone,” Diana grits out, voice carefully modulated to cut out her own pain, “Hurt my charge.”

On the one hand, the situation with their patient is exactly as Bruce had expected. The circumstance is tragic. The circumstance was predictable.

On the other, Diana's new upset means that Bruce now has more information to work with than ever before.

Bruce can work with this.

“Tell me everything.” Bruce’s voice is just as firm—even held midair like a cat. “I will help you in every way I can.”

[turtleblogatlast]

Here’s a thought-

When Splinter says Leo’s the leader at the end of Season 2…pretty sure he was joking.

After so many high stakes and high emotions, he (a bit cluelessly) makes a joke to add some levity, just to make things a bit easier for he and his sons to digest everything that happened. It was a lot that happened, so it makes sense that Splinter wants to make things that much softer for everyone.

But- making a joke like that, after everything they all just went through…I can definitely see how the events of the movie pave out in response.

For example, by joking about Leo in particular having the responsibility of a leader, that puts him directly in the sight of Raph’s building anxieties. Because after everything, it’s clear that Raph really started taking the hero name seriously to the point that he started undermining his own fun and childhood in the process. So in the eyes of a Raph who is so worried about what could happen if they’re not prepared again, Leo in particular kind of stands almost as a point of danger in that aspect.

And with the joke of Leo “leading” in any capacity ringing out over them, it’s easy to blame Leo and Leo alone whenever he goes and goofs off with Mikey and Donnie. I think as well that the concept of a leader being spoken after the Shredder just pushes more weight on Raph’s shoulders and makes him realize how much goofing off they did before when they should have been better heroes (despite them all just being kids...)

Raph knows his brothers are good, he knows and has pride in them and himself in turn, but it terrifies him to know that they won’t be ready for the next big threat, and Leo directly going against this caution even more than usual just pushes Raph to want to try more.

As for Leo- keep in mind what happened all throughout “Many Unhappy Returns.” Keep in mind what happened all throughout the series in general. In the former, Splinter more than once points out how he would rather have his other sons with him than Leo, especially because they “would take this seriously”…even though Leo was taking it seriously. (Not that Splinter should be expected to read what Leo was doing when Leo wasn’t making his plans clear, but that wording sticks with kids.) Even after Leo’s plan pulled through, Raph’s the one who spoke in trust of Leo, not Splinter.

As for what happens in the series in general…well, we see Leo mess up a lot, apologize a lot, get his brothers out of messes a lot, and even when he does well or is responsible it’s either glossed over or still seen as goofing off (no I will never be over that moment where Leo almost got Gus’s tags and got screwed over out of pure bad luck.)

So imagine hearing a joke like that as Leo, who for a good chunk of especially the start of the series has been a lowkey voice of reason. The idea that Leo being responsible for the team is nothing but a joke…? It’s understandable that it could feel like a blow, that it could push him to want to try less.

Especially after everything they just went through.

They’re heroes. | They’re kids.

Why shouldn’t they care? | Why should they care?

[amelikos]

Gibeon seems to take betrayal very personally. He even took a dig at Amethio's father, presumably, when he told Amethio "so you were the same, you would stray from the path too...". He seems to hold a lot of bitterness over what happened. Given how he talks about him, it's no wonder that Amethio started seeing his father in a negative light and would say that he is not like him in an attempt to distance himself from him.

I wonder if Amethio's father will show up soon. I still think Crave (Friede's former superior at Exceed) is the only candidate for it from the characters we've seen so far. He showed up in the same episode Gibeon was revealed to be Amethio's grandfather, he seems kind and caring (and apparently, Gibeon doesn't like that), and they made sure to show that he is a married man. So it's either him or a character we haven't met yet. But I think Amethio's father is alive, not only because of the way they talk about him, but also because I think Amethio will mend his relationship with him and he'll have a home to come back to in the end. If Liko, Roy and Dot's families are there for the trio to come back home to, then I think Amethio's situation will be similar (or at least, I hope so).

Going back to Gibeon, I wonder if he perceives whatever happened with Lucius as betrayal, and now casts people away at the slightest hint of what he views as betraying him (Amethio's father, and now Amethio himself...). Gibeon seems affected by "betrayal" and maybe "choosing something/someone over him" from his reactions in the episode... From what has been implied so far, Amethio's father didn't take up Gibeon's will and chose his own path and wants (family, career..). And Amethio's actions in this episode made it look like he "chose" the enemy (Liko) over Gibeon, from his grandfather's perspective.

All of this makes me curious because all the framing around Lucius so far makes it look like Gibeon is the one who did something to betray him, hence why Terapagos seems to have a strong negative reaction to Gibeon's name being mentioned. But now, it also looks like Gibeon is affected by betrayal, potentially for a reason that has roots to the past (and which has been amplified by Amethio's father straying from the path, etc).

Liko's line about hearing people out ("I can see that there is stuff you'll never know if you don't hear people out") might have been the most important line in this episode. She got to talk with Amethio and they both got to hear each other out and understand each other better. And she only had to ask to receive answers. Meanwhile, Gibeon refused to hear Amethio out and shut down the possibility for dialogue. Which means that there is stuff he will never know, because he wasn't willing to hear Amethio out. It makes me wonder if whatever happened between Lucius and Gibeon is a huge misunderstanding that could have been solved if Gibeon was willing to hear the other party out. Like, what if Gibeon is dragging everyone in his messy breakup with Lucius over something that could have been easily avoided and solved, and what if there are huge misconceptions and misunderstandings on his side.

[nightgarla]

i need to sleeb but i cantstop thinking about them

[nixie-deangel]

@weepinggoateesoul who asked for the following:

🍼 non navy bradley/fighter pilot jake as parents - hangster

“You sure you wanna do that?” Jake asks, again, but he needs to be sure. Needs to know this is what Bradley wants and not what he thinks Jake wants. The man just barely turns to grin at him before going back to folding Emmy’s never ending supply of clothes as he answers, “I’m sure. June is sure. Emmy is all of three years old, but if she really understood what it meant, I’m confident that she would also be sure about us moving to San Diego to be closer to you when you’re in Lemoore.”

🍷 Jake's family causes the hangster break up

Bradley waits till Nat runs interference with Javy before he attempts to approach Jake. “Hey, hey,” he calls awkwardly before clearing his throat. “Bradshaw,” Jake calls, cold and even as he turns attention back to the dart board.  “I, I wanted to apologize,” he says quietly as takes half a step closer. “About what I said about you leading people to their deaths.” He pauses and takes a breath and pushes on. “I didn’t mean it. Was just being an asshole. I know when things are truly on the line, you’ll do right by your team.”

💐 serial killer Jake - hangster

Bradley dreads making the call to the collector, once again saying he’d be a few days late on his payment but he knows he needs to. That he has too. Lifting his hands up, he rubs at his shoulders as he stares down, gaze hard, at his prepaid.

🥰 Kinktober - Virgin Bradley

“Honey,” Jake calls quietly as he reaches his hand out, gently grasping Bradley’s chin to make him look at him as he continues on, “We ain’t gotta do a thing you don’t wanna, darlin’,” he promises. “You wanna cuddle all night, fine be me. Want me to take you out like the lady you are and sweep you off your feet, then that’s what we’ll do. I’ll prove how much I want you. More than just sex, honey. I don’t mind pumpin’ the breaks till you’re comfortable.”

Make Nixie Write!

[starry-bi-sky]

Debuting Preparations

To avoid confusion, Danny will be referred to as ‘Danny’ rather than Thomas. This is a little snippet I thought of for my ‘Danny Fenton is Thomas Wayne au’ (different name pending)

OG Post

Miscellaneous Stuff P1

Miscellaneous Stuff P2

“How do I look, Boo?” Danny asked, his hands falling away from the tie wrapped around his neck as his eyes dropped to the little two year old next to him.

Bruce grinned toothily at him, raising his arms in a silent demand for uppies that Danny naturally had to follow. “Awesome, daddy!” He yelled, his voice layered with a toddler accent while his small legs hooked around Danny’s waist the moment he had him settled on his hip.

Danny matched his grin tooth-for-tooth, fingers digging into his ribs for a quick tickle as he blew a raspberry into Bruce’s cheek. Bruce squealed with laughter, and Danny dipped them both, laughing as he straightened up and Bruce tried to wriggle out of his arms.

“Good!” He said, removing the fingers from Bruce’s ribs and twisting to face the floor-length mirror. “We wouldn’t want daddy to look not awesome today, would we?” His cheek pressed against Bruce’s little black curls and Bruce leaned his head against his shoulder.

Bruce shook his head, his cheeks red with laughter. “Nooo.”

“No.” Danny agreed, his ghostly core purring low in content as he planted a kiss on the top of his son’s head. “We would not.”

Ask him three years ago when he was in the prime of his ghost-fighting days if he knew that he’d be living in Wayne Manor with a clone-son under the name Thomas Wayne, and Danny would have straight up just called you crazy. But here he was, in Wayne Manor, under the name Thomas Wayne, with a two year old son on his hip.

Some things are just too good to be true.

(Of course that’s if you ignore all the bullshit that happened along the way that ended with Danny being here.)

Now he was standing in a bedroom that was as big as the lab back home, preparing for his debut as the newly adopted son Thomas Wayne. Anyone who was anyone would be there, his new family seldom threw parties that weren’t charity balls, and even now his debut would have donation boxes for the various programs and charities in Gotham and outside of it.

He was in the nicest three-piece suit that he could afford (which was a lot now that he was part of the Wayne family,) and his normally fluffy black hair was slicked back and styled, showing off the pearl studs that Danny stole from Mrs. Wayne’s jewelry box.

(“Stole” as if Mrs. Wayne “call me Miriam” hadn’t gifted them to him.)

He looked like an entirely different person in the mirror. He didn’t look like runaway teen dad Daniel Fenton, ex-vigilante Phantom.

And that…

That was good. That was so good.

He looked like Thomas Nightingale-turned-Wayne. Still a teen dad, but just a regular one. Not a vigilante, not the son of ghost hunters. Just the adopted son of the very rich and philanthropic Wayne couple. He looked like just Thomas.

He smiled at himself in the mirror, a wriggling feeling of awe thrumming through his chest as he turned his head this way and that, looking for every little reminder of his past afterlife that didn’t take the form of his scars. The pearls glittered in his ears, adding to him an elegance that he didn’t know he possessed.

Danny wondered… if he changed now to Phantom, would he still look the same? Identity was everything to a ghost; who they were and what they present as is all that remains of them after death. It shows the world what the most important aspects of themself was. It shows the world what they thought was important.

If Danny’s changed, does that mean Phantom did too?

A loud series of knocks dragged him out of his introspection. Bruce wriggled out of his arms, and Danny put him down before he could be dropped, and then he faced the door. “Come in!” He called, his nerves igniting under his skin and he folded his hands behind his back in response.

The doorknob twisted, then clicked, and then the door swung open. Alfred Pennyworth, the new butler and predecessor of the old butler, also a Pennyworth, stood stiffly under the frame. “Master Thomas,” he greeted, the picture of butler formality in a suit, “it’s nearly time for you and Master Patrick and Mistress Miriam to leave for your debut gala, the car has been parked out front and is ready to leave when you are ready.”

Danny smiled easily at Alfred, watching Bruce from the corner of his eye as he exclaimed ‘Alfred!’ before darting toward him and latching onto his legs. Alfred’s only been with them for a few weeks and Bruce had warmed up significantly to the young man. Which was saying something because Bruce never warmed up to anyone that wasn’t Danny, or Mr. and Mrs. Wayne.

“Thanks Alfred.” He said, walking over in just a few quick strides, “And please, it’s just Thomas.” He’s been having growth spurts ever since he joined the Wayne household last year and now was edging closer to his dad’s height at a solid over-six-foot. Albeit with none of the muscle, apparently he inherited his mom’s litheness.

Plucking Bruce off of the ground, his son automatically reached for Alfred, and Danny saw the barest of smiles on the corner of Alfred’s mouth as he took Bruce from him. “I’m afraid I will have to continue referring to you as Master Thomas, Master Thomas.“

“One day I’ll convince you.” Danny joked, waiting for Alfred to step out of the doorway before moving down the hallway. “You can’t keep calling me Master Thomas forever!” He’s annoyed stubborner people into doing what he wants before, he’ll wear down Alfred eventually.

“I do believe I can, Master Thomas.” Alfred quipped lightly, adjusting his hold on Bruce so that he was better situated on his hip. Bruce was playing with his tie again, ignoring their conversation in all the ways a two year old can. An easy sort of innocence that Danny never failed to be endeared by.

He pulled on the sleeves of his suit-jacket thoughtlessly, the small silvery cufflinks shimmering from the corner of his eye, trying to demand for Danny’s attention. He knows it got Bruce’s, his son’s head snapping away from Alfred’s tie to watch his wrists. Like a cat watching a laser-pointer.

Danny laughed softly and twisted his wrists slowly, letting the cufflinks glitter under the lights. Bruce’s pupils began to dilate, and the tips of his ears — rounder than Danny’s but pointier than a regular human’s — twitched very slightly.

Bruce held his arms out towards his wrists, leaning out of Alfred’s grasp to grab them. “See—! Let me see!” He demanded, nearly falling out of Alfred’s hold. Alfred’s hand shot out to grab him before he could tumble out of his arms, a look of momentary panic flashing over his face.

“Master Bruce!” He exclaimed, and then he took on a more scolding look. “You have to be careful, you can’t throw yourself out of someone’s arms like that!”

Bruce wriggled with a loud, child-like whine. “I wanna see! Pretty!” He said, then tried reaching for Danny again.

“Please, Boo.” Danny reminded, circling his palm over his chest, but he was already holding his arms out to Bruce to take him. Bruce might be as close to human as he could get with the extra benefits, but he still had some ghostly habits. Being attracted to sudden shiny things was one of them.

“Please.” Bruce repeated, pressing his hand to his chest and making a small circle. It wasn’t a perfect please, but it was the best he could do at two. Danny took him from Alfred and gave him his wrist as he settled him on his side.

Danny ran his fingers through Bruce’s hair and stroked his cheek. Bruce merely played with his cufflinks, pulling on the silver buttons and turning them this way and that to try and catch the light. “Alfred’s right, you can’t lean out like that, Boo. You could get hurt.”

Bruce didn’t look up and didn’t respond, so Danny lightly pinched his cheek. Although ‘pinch’ wouldn’t be the right term for it. He mimicked the pinching gesture and held his cheek, but didn’t actually use any pressure. It was just to get his attention. He lightly shook his cheek, “Did you hear me, Boo? We ask to get down if we want to get down, okay?”

“Okay.” Bruce said, glancing up at him briefly only to look back down at his cufflinks a moment later. With a soft huff Danny dropped his hand and tightened his hold.

“Can we say sorry to Alfred then? It really scared him when you nearly fell.” Scared was an exaggeration, and Danny saw Alfred give him a bemused look from the corner of his eye.

Again, Bruce looked up for only a moment, and this time he looked at Alfred. “Bruce is sorry Alfred.” He said, tiny fingers crunched around Danny’s sleeve. His ‘Alfred’ sounded more like an ‘Al-fed’, and Alfred smiled endearingly even when Bruce dropped his head back down a second later.

Danny huffed low again, shooting Alfred an apologetic smile as he pulled his hand out of Bruce’s little grasp and stroked his hair. “We’re getting there.”

————taglist————

@vipower001

@storm-and-fire

@blankliferain

@chrysanthemum9484

@mnemovoid

@blueflipflops (why not? I remember mentioning i’d tag you if I make a oneshot, lmk if you dont wanna be tagged)

@steampunkunicorn01 (I remember you asked for a tag too in my og post)

@the-legal-shipper

@skulld3mort-1fan

Its not exactly a fic but its a oneshot so it kinda counts. Lmk if any of yall dont wanna get tagged in any future oneshots or continuations (or if you would but only for specific posts)

Extra note: Bruce’s behavior and dialogue is based off of how i’ve seen actual two year olds act and speak (which can differ based on where they are developmentally and as a two year old. If they’ve recently turned two, they could still be speaking essentially broken english. Then as they get closer to three they start speaking in more complete sentences. I know two little girls who referred to themselves in third person for a while, hence the ‘Bruce is sorry’.) I’m a daycare teacher so I’ve seen a lot of two year olds, so its written to my best abilities while avoiding common ‘child writing stereotypes’.

[fisherrprince]

alphinaud and alisaie are an example of siblings written by people who know siblings very well and choose to have them call each other brother and sister, proving that telling people not to write this quirk because it gives away that you’re an only child is just shorthand for how it’s a common warning indicator of thoughtless sibling writing and isn’t actually the problem itself

[baeshijima]

sometimes u just need to write self-indulgent fluff while eating smth sweet to feel better

[jjsanguine]

Karan: please will you allow me to take care of Achi?

Achi's mother: hmm, I understand that you're in love but,

Achi + Karan, internally: :(

Achi's mother: why my son? I feel like you could do better?

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

JoJo Siwa doesn’t deserve all the hate (and homophobia) she’s getting for her style and music; but she does deserve scrutiny for defending Colleen Ballinger and being both active and complicit in abuse that happened on her TV show. Like the girl has been under the public eye in unhealthy environments all her life; cut her some slack — not too much; she’s still a responsible adult — but if you’re going to dogpile her, then at least dogpile her for the right reasons. Jesus Fucking Christ.

[friendshapedhorrors]

Buddy needs to become a theatre guy or smth in season 2 bc it can’t just be glossed over that the only thing he ever earned himself and not his father just handing it to him was the lead in the play

[feehippielove]

Abusers love victims and hate survivors. When he realized that I wouldn't stand for his abuse - I was forced to flee.

[chemicalarospec]

Wild to me that there are (allegedly) ppl who don't see what Light did wrong, because the series itself calls him out -- I'm pretty sure when Light plans to kill the FBI agents, Ryuk is like "Wow Light, what you're doing here doesn't even align with your nominal ideology." -Wait. post cancelled. New post:

Death Note where everything is the same except Ryuk talks like my dad. "There are some deep logical inconsistencies between your methodology and what you claim your motives are."

(being more confrontational than my dad and canon Ryuk combined): "Really, seeing the world in only black and white is very small-minded. Doing that is a sign that you actually aren't very smart -- and most people think that way because most people aren't very smart. It's indicative of a lack of imagination. Everything's more of a gradient with more shades of grey than people want to admit."

"Wow Light, you've been pretty belligerent with that Death Note, huh?"

"Well, it is demonstratively true that Kira has drastically reduced crime rates, so I guess I have to give you props for that."

"You're telling me to be less cavalier with my apple eating, Light, but you hold nothing over my head."

"Light, you've known a priori that I am contractually obliged to kill you."

[diodellet]

So many good options for the art appreciation asks but let's go with 3, 4, 13, 14 and 27.

hi hi ner! thanks forda qs!! these are all prettie incharestinge!! (<-girlie who didn't know she'd be Yapping-Yapping)

3. and 4.) Go to [fandom] tag and reblog some art you like that has under 100 notes ++ Go to the art tag (or similar) and reblog some art you like that has under 100 notes

noted, i will undertake this mission with great care 🫡🫡

13. What are your go-to Ao3 filters?

ok i have a confession, i used to be a sort by word count++completed works only++exclude crossovers-kinda person 🤧🤧ANYWAY that was changed, now i only really exclude chat fics (ahaha,,,,theyre not really my go-to genre, like sure they're amusing but i read a really good one once* and it ruined every other chatfic for me)

*this one's for u haikyuu-natics, esp team captain stannies

hm.... i'm not super-duper picky so most of the time i can just scroll through each work's summary and tags.

but if a fandom is popular (or if i dont have the spoons for sifting through works), i stick to just reader inserts HAHAHA, maybe oc x canon if there haven't been any new x reader fics and if there's rlly nothing oough ig i have to write her myself 😭😭 sometimes doe, the curiosity strikes and i'll try looking if there are any fanfics in filipino... i really find it interesting to see how a chara's dialogue reads if theyre speaking in tagalog (tbh i think one would have more luck finding filo socmed aus on twt? but i only know about haikyuu socmed aus)

14. Best fanfic tropes ever?

oH...there are too many... u can't make me choose the best out of all my faves that's unfair 🥺jk lol

i read* this jamikali fic (i like my ships with a bit [read: a LOT] of tragedy/disaster-ness to them. it's so so so compelling to read!) and i just love the "Dubiously Unrequited Love" tag. bcs yes, the feelings are technically mutual, but there is a whole slew of other factors keeping the relationship from being a thing, which it could be a thing, but there's also that awareness that it won't last, sometimes a couple doesn't have to be endgame for the love to mean something, ykw?

this entire oneshot series....has me in a chokehold... my introduction to "Non-Sexual Intimacy" (and "Non-Sexual Nudity" i guess?) like??? holy shit??? the tension?? the way op just encapsulates the poignancy of being in such a vulnerable position without teetering too much into the cliche of roëmænce it has me On My Knees!! (like i love my smut and romance cliches, but some days i jus want a liiiitle bit more spice and variety)

Shoutout to the "Unreliable Narrator"++"Ambiguous Ending" combi that reaaaaally makes you work for understanding the plot, idk how to word it but being able to leave Just Enough Breadcrumbs and having enough trust in your readers to Get what ur implying, also forcing me to reread the fic immediately is so foul (in a good way). like there's an enjoyment in a good satisfying read, and then there's the Itch of never being sure in your interpretation, the feeling that u just need to go over it another time, spot another detail u missed, get wrecked all over again, rinse and repeat. idk i love fic.

27. If someone wanted to make you a creative gift, what's the thing that would make you the happiest?

oh anything featuring my fave charas is sure to make me happy! i mean i'm just not super picky abt gifts. well, maybe a creative gift has to be smth that can last a long while? (a strong hoard-ability kaya idk im senti??)

as long as the thought and intent was there, i'm already happy enough🥰💕💕 but i guess in the context of getting fic gifted to you, probably what matters most to me is that the writer enjoyed the process of making it as well. (i'm kinda drawing off of my experience writing this fic for one of m'oomfies and the vdays drabbles*** so i could be just rambling who knows?**)

(art appreciation ask questions, please bug me to rb some underrated art and fic)