#and it didn't get too unwieldy

[reitziluz]

unduly pleased with myself for making a title drop adjacent thing happen

also THE DRAFT IS DONE AT 7083 WORDS!!!

only a round of light editing and proofreading left! IT IS HAPPENING WE ARE SO BACK!!

[unproduciblesmackdown]

one thing i can intermittently remember re: lackadaisy is that way back when, would've been around '08 to '10, i mentioned it to someone in person w/whomst like informal Media Recs Trading was established & i think mentioned wanting recs for checking out webcomics specifically? & i was like ooh lackadaisy Gotta be lackadaisy (i read like, a few others at the time but was immediately huge on that one specifically due to [the ways it pwned were obvious to me first reading it in '07 and Now alike]) and like. in the realm of Left Field Responses I Got After Ventures Of Someone W/o The Confidence I Have Now Thanks To Grinding For It In The Entire Interim i eventually followed up like did you check it out, what do you think, b/c my enthusiasm was stronger than my reluctance to bring shit up unprompted. and i think they were sort of evasive a moment but then were like nah b/c.......why are they cats....like lmfaoooo was Not ready for that like yeah idk what to tell you if that was that significant a factor. except that if you know that much it's too late the furry police are en route

not long afterwards perhaps truly more unexpected. i managed to finagle going to the first convention marble hornets was at, relatively short notice, and this is thanks to by that point having Enthusiasm behind it again, of course. afterwards to the relatively small tumblr mh ether i Ventured Forth again like is there interest in my talking about it, livestream q&a possibilities style even? and then i got an anon telling me not now b/c hοmestuck had updated. omicron just to not risk it plus i think even now i'd filter my own post. like divide this into four sections the way i'm truly at a loss. didn't have that much to talk about but looking back like fr you're neurononconforming in online fanbase Posting same as in the [random discord servers Hate them! non normative verbal communication happens in scores / hundreds of words if it happens at all] like and yet it gets to you to the con. and to the "i don't need other people to like media 'with' me i didn't talk about lackadaisy at all till the pilot dropping & my [first full reread in a Minute] got me all fired up posting style & 'hey wait. my special little guy. all this fresh Mystery Plot Everything appreciation. whoa'" moment. plus nowadays it's only like Lol Lmao whereas back then it was like :( :/ but also still funny b/c this person was running away throwing chairs & tables behind them like i'm not a furry i'm not and an anon was like didn't ask don't care oppa homestuck style. standing there palms open like. furious theorizing is there for me

[amplexadversary]

To be honest, it is kind of a fair criticism to say that certain video games have spoiled me.

Because after playing one competitive video game with a selection of characters that I actually really like (which is now unfortunately defunct RIP), I now won't play ANY competitive video game where I'm NOT a little obsessed with at least three characters.

And if my top favorite isn't competitively viable I'll just refuse to play online.

And refuse to play any other character than my top favorite until I can beat the hard AI reliably.

Which doesn't *actually* help in getting used to Maxiboost's complicated-ass mechanics.

When I'm not even good at regular-ass fighting games, much less an arena fighter that's a mandatory 4 player.

So mostly I just turn on the game, get frustrated from dying to the medium AI or watching my partner get all the kills for five minutes, because I'm playing the god damned psych-out character with no meaningful offense and probably dead-last hit priority against a fucking computer, then turn off the game.

Yeah maybe I should be playing as fucking Kamille or something because he has a real gundam of the kind the game is designed around. I do *like* Kamille. But Kamille gets plenty of love from other people.

Hell I could probably get away with using Nobel or God Gundam because both are decently middling (while the brats from Wing ofc get to be solidly overpowered. fuckers.)

It would even be humorously appropriate for someone who isn't used to how the game works to be playing as Domon.

But noooOOOOooooo. I want to win using Schwarz. Which is impossible against other people if you haven't already mastered the game. And is impossible against the computer if you haven't already mastered the game to an even greater degree.

[chronicowboy]

It's the fourth month of Eddie's absence when Buck stumbles across the video. It's nothing special, really. A five minute clip on YouTube cut from a bigger documentary. A woman and her dog. He doesn't even know what to expect when he hits play. It's just. He sees the title card:

A Dog Who Knew When His Owner Was Coming Home

Thinks about Blaze running to his family before he'd even seen them, probably caught the scent of home on the wind. And maybe he's been scrolling through no end of shelter websites and falling in love with every pair of big brown eyes staring up at him through the screen.

He's not getting a dog. Can't. Wouldn't be fair to it. He works too many hours. Would barely see it unless he managed to convince Bobby to let him bring it to work, but even then. And besides, it wouldn't be right to get a dog and leave it alone so much just so that Buck wouldn't have to feel so miserable about coming home to an empty house.

He's not getting a dog. But he can learn about them. Press his thumb into the bruise of Blaze's absence, so he isn't tempted to poke at the open wound of Eddie and Christopher's, that gaping chasm torn into his chest. The ugly incision from the base of his throat all the way down to his sternum from Christopher's departure, the cracked open ribcage from Eddie's, the hollow space where his heart should be with both of them out of reach.

He hits play on the video just to drown out those thoughts.

Bad idea. The dog on screen is a scruffy little terrier. Closer to Hoover than Blaze. And then Buck thinks about the little dog that made a big mess when Eddie and Christopher tried to leave the house. Thinks about Eddie shipping him off to Chimney's because nobody wants a bad dog.

A woman leaves her dog at her parents' house for work. Almost without fail, the dog goes to wait by the door roughly ten minutes before his owner returns home. Whether by her own car, a friend's, taxi, even train, bike or foot, the dog goes to wait by the window within ten minutes of her return. No routine to her return. A different time every day. But the dog knows. Sits in the entryway expectantly. Tail wagging furiously when the door swings open to reveal their owner.

An ache bursts to life behind Buck's sternum, something fierce and deep and unwieldy. He finds a peer reviewed paper attached in the video description. Reads the whole thing back to front. Sticks on number 5 of the "normal explanations" for the behaviour: going to the window more and more the longer his owner was absent.

Buck thinks he understands that little dog. Thinks about the night he went out for a drink a week or so after Eddie had left. Thinks about drinking entirely too much and stumbling home. Thinks about sitting with his back to the couch, eyes trained on the front door just in case. Thinks about waking up on the living room floor the next morning, hand stretched out towards the door. Reaching, reaching, always reaching. Always too late. Never enough.

Buck knows what it is to fear your best friend won't come back. So, he thinks he understands that little dog, sitting at the window and waiting. Wonders if maybe the dog didn't know anything at all, maybe he was just scared, maybe he thought if he wanted really, really hard, his owner would come home. Maybe it was hope that kept him chained to the front door. Hope. Devotion. Love.

When Buck closes his laptop, it's dark outside. Something prickles at the back of his neck. Figures it's just that unease of lost time. He gets up and heads to Eddie's—his— room. He's just about to climb into bed when he realises he forgot to lock the front door.

It's there, with his hand on the lock, that he hears it. The rumble of an engine. Almost imperceptible. Nothing out of the ordinary. But Buck waits. He waits and waits and waits. The rumble grows and grows and grows. And, yeah. Holy shit. That's a rumble he'd know anywhere. An engine Buck has stuck his hands into more than once. It grumbles and growls and shuts off all at once. Buck flings the door open, hope, devotion, love seizing in his chest.

Eddie clambers out of his truck.

"How'd you know we were here?"

I'd know you anywhere.

"Your fuckoff loud truck," he chokes out.

And Buck's not patient enough to wait to greet his best friend like that little dog.

[pseudowho]

Defending Your Honour

A series in which the JJK guys stick-it to the creeps and perverts bothering the reader.

A multi-fic in a series ❤️🫖☕

Part 1 (Nanami Kento, Geto Suguru, and Todo Aoi) link here!

Part 3 (Gojo Satoru, Fushiguro Megumi and Kugisaki Nobara, Inumaki Toge and Fushiguro Toji) link here!

More JJK men and women to come

Trigger Warning: spreading false sexual rumours, stalking, being followed home

Higuruma Hiromi

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You had to leave. You had to get another job. There was no way to come back from this; office-culture spread rumours like the plague, and whether they were founded or not, you still felt the pierce of dozens of judging eyes on you.

Your clothes felt too tight, too revealing, your skin prickled and your nose stung with tears as you gulped, chin held high but so exposed and vulnerable. A filthy rage roiled in your gut at the injustice of it all. The irony did not escape you, as you hot-footed away from the whispers of the legal office.

As you gathered files, clunky and unwieldy in your arms, you felt a hand pretending to be affectionate on the small of your back that made your skin crawl, covered in worms and mud.

"When you're ready," a low voice sing-songed to your right, smirking, gleeful, "just hop along to my office, and we can work something out, yeah?" You jolted with shame as the hand clapped your bum. The eyes flicked back onto you. The whispers spread, infectious. You were a leper, now.

Hiccuping as you ducked your head, you felt hot rancid tears stream down your cheeks, darting down a corridor and reaching for a door any door to take you away from all of these eyes and whispers and accusations and this one was usually empty so you snuck in and slammed the door shut behind you and--

"Oh! Hello," a low, warm voice offered, surprised. You gasped, clapping a hand over your mouth, unable to hide the tears and anguish. The man was tall, slender, his unruly black hair escaping in flicks over his temples, but he looked so genuinely concerned as he rose from his desk, that you sobbed, apologising and sinking to the floor with your face in your knees.

You felt the man crouch beside you, his hands on his thighs, his presence sincere and welcoming. He sat for a moment, apparently awkward and unsure how he could help you.

"It's okay," he reassured, "it's a fucking ugly office, I hate it too, it makes me cry--" You huffed out a wet, genuine laugh and heard him smile, amused puffs of breath from his nose.

"Really, though," he continued, "I'm happy to help...if I can. Not sure if you need a lawyer, or-- or for me to catch a spider for you, I mean I hate them too but I can certainly--" he stopped himself from rattling away. You sniffled, looking up at him with a cute watery smile that made his heart thump.

"You could get me a new job, maybe? Or just a new boss?" You wiped your eyes now, embarrassed by interrupting this lovely man. The lovely man raised his eyebrows, now sitting in front of you, cross-legged.

"And what has your boss done to make you cry?" He inquired, black eyes like beetles, reading you.

You fumbled, uncertain of yourself when explaining the crimes of a man to another man, "I think he didn't, uhm...didn't take being rejected very well and uh--" tears poured, unbidden, as your face crumpled again, "--he's started a rumour than uhm-- that I sleep with him and uhm-- I don't but everyone believes it, and he wants me to come to his office now, after he's just touched me, and I don't know-- I don't know what to do--"

You broke down again, weeping into your knees, as the lovely man before you simmered, his lid rattling with unbridled rage at the unfairness of it all.

He smiled at you, though, gentle and open, "Your boss...the sweaty one? Big guy, thinks he's all that?" You laughed wetly again.

"Oh, you know him?" You grinned together, and you blushed, painfully grateful for being treated with basic respect. Hiromi nodded-- he didn't know your boss. But, he knew men like him and they filled him with bitter disdain, a core loathing and disgust that informed his choices every day.

"Well then...you can share my office today," he insisted as he stood, rubbing his hooked nose between two long fingers, "I've got...something to do." You blinked owlishly up at him. He helped you up, pulling a chair to his desk for you. You perched, confused, but not arguing.

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Some time later, your boss headed back to his office from the vending machines, impatient for you to come to his office, feeling sickly gleeful for having punished you for humiliating him, and his heart leapt hopefully, because maybe he could offer to deny all those rumours, and then you would be so grateful that maybe you'd give him a--

He opened his office door, having just enough time to click it closed behind him before hearing a quiet, angry voice from somewhere above the doorframe.

"Domain Expansion: Deadly Sentencing."

Plunged into a different room, ostensibly not his office, your boss shrieked in terror as two terrifying black figures loomed over him, only one of them human.

"What the fuck are you-- where the fuck am I-- WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!"

Higuruma looked up at the Judgeman with a humourless smile, and back down at your boss, who scurried backwards until his shoulders hit the domain's edge, blind with panic.

"You've been a very naughty boy," Hiromi sang, "shall we see how naughty?"

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You jumped as the office door swung open, and Higuruma (you had worked out, from the lanyard he left on his desk) re-entered with two hot drinks. He smiled a wonky, loping smile.

"Coffee machine's finest," he offered, placing one in your hands. He stood for a moment, bouncing on his heels, chin and nose dipped in consideration.

"I should think... your days of problems with your boss may be over," he said, blasé and cryptic. He did not elaborate, but reached into his pocket, before slipping his card across the desk to you.

"My office is, uhm...hiring a new legal assistant, though. I can put in a good word for you." Hiromi looked into the distance across the room, one hand in his pocket as he continued to rock on his heels. He glanced down at you, eyes glimmering at each other as they met.

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Ino Takuma

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I loved meeting you last week. I thought we made a really special connection. I'd love to meet again. Call me.

You smelled so good today. I love how you're being such a tease. Can't wait for you to call.

I can't stand seeing you talking to other guys! Still haven't seen this so-called 'boyfriend' of yours though. He can't be that into you if he's letting other men near you. Call me.

You didn't answer when I knocked for you, but I know you're home. Bet you were upstairs being naughty, hope you were thinking of me, hahaha, jk. HMU, seriously. I miss you.

I know you're such a little slut behind that 'good girl' act ;) Quit playing hard to get. I finish at 5, I'll meet you from work and we can finally go on that date you owe me.

I've never been this in love before. So disappointed you ditched our first date. I'll catch you another time. I love you so much.

Hope you got the flowers I left on your porch. I love you so much.

I love you.

Good morning baby. I love you.

You're a nasty little bitch and you're gonna die alone and you deserve it. If this is how you treat a nice guy like me, how do you treat all the others? You should be grateful.

I'm sorry. I've just had a really bad day baby. You're my whole world. I love you.

Your hands shook as you scrolled through unanswered text after unanswered text. How had being friendly at a work conference gotten so out of hand? Your head spun as you recounted the memories; were you too flirty? Did you give hints of wanting to be more than just acquaintances? Did you dress too provocatively? Did you touch him?

In a desperate hunt for answers you blamed yourself. I should just be a standoffish bitch in the future, you thought, trying to hold back tears.

Leaning over your desk to pack your bag, you began to feel the walls close in around you, terrifying and claustrophobic, a rat in a maze, and you saw tears splash down onto the leather of your work diary. Would he be waiting outside work again today? Or would he be just outside your office door? Would he be waiting in your home?

You felt a pair of warm, strong arms wrap around your waist from behind, "Hey gorgeous! Guess who got off work ear--"

In a shrieking panic, you lashed out, spinning with your hands raised in attack and defence. Your wonderful, kind boyfriend, Takuma, threw himself backwards, alarmed and apologetic, raising his own hands in placation.

"Whoa, whoa, hey! Oh babe, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you--...what is it? Why are you crying? What's happened?"

Weeks and weeks of trying to ignore your stalker, hoping he would go away and forget about you, tumbled out of you at once. In a wild babble of explanation, he keeps texting me, and I'm not interested, and he won't leave me alone, and he leaves things on the doorstep, and I'm so, so sorry.

You had thrust your phone into Takuma's hands, and he held you close to him with one arm as you sobbed into his shoulder. The other hand scrolled through messages from your unwanted admirer; Takuma's face grew quiet with rage, his lips curled in disgust, a flush of anger smattered hot and pink across his cheeks.

"Babe," he started, "why didn't you..." Swallowing, Takuma stopped himself, "This is not your fault. This guy, there's...there's something wrong with him. Have you kept everything? All the stuff he's left you? All the messages?" You nodded as Takuma gripped you by the sides of the shoulders, your face crumpling as his hand raised to cup your cheek, staring deeply into you, leaning forward to press a desperate kiss to your forehead.

"Okay, listen, I'm gonna fix this," Takuma nodded hard, staring into you again as you started to shake your head, "no, no no, trust me. I promise I'm gonna fix this. Listen, you're...you're gonna go to Nanami's place. I'll call him. He'll understand. There's this lawyer at the school now, we'll gather everything and get it to him. I've...I've got to go out. I'll fix this, I mean it. I wouldn't let you down."

Takuma's heart wrenched as you continued to sob, apologising to him as if it was your fault. Within minutes, Takuma had called Nanami, and put you in a taxi. Sticking to the alleyways as he headed out into the streets, Takuma pulled his balaclava down, his eyes ferocious and vengeful as he took to the hunt.

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Your stalker was grossly familiar with your routine now. What you ate for breakfast (he had gone through your bin bags). What colour underwear you preferred (he had seen you through the gaps in your curtains). Which work events you were going to attend (he had scoured every inch of every company calender).

Thanks to some sloppy administrators, he even knew where you lived. Grinning to himself, he felt such a satisfying possession over you, knowing you inside-out. Hiding behind your neighbours' fence panels, he peeked, waiting for you to get home.

One hand leaned past his face, resting on the fence panel beside him, and his stomach froze into knots when he felt himself doused in the icy presence of some dark, unknown force. He opened his mouth to scream, and a second hand pressed over his mouth with horrifying strength.

"Hey, big guy! Wow, you really must be a hit with the ladies," air hissed through Ino's teeth and he sighed in feigned disappointment, "Not with my girl, though." Your stalker squeaked as blackness closed in around him. Ino let out a noise of disgusted amusement as the man's trousers darkened down one leg.

Ino continued, letting the man cry and shake under his hand; "Here's how this is gonna work..."

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Several days had passed since Ino had arrived at Nanami's to collect you, with a deeply satisfied smirk on his face. You had received no more messages. No more flowers. No more thinly-veiled threats. A dark cloud lifted off your mind, and you breathed easy.

Curled up on the sofa that night, you stroked Takuma's chest, listening to the clockwork thump of his heartbeat under your ear. Your curiosity got the better of you.

"Takuma...what did you do?"

Takuma grimaced, "Just showed him the error of his ways, babe. He won't be bothering you again."

While grateful, your belly swirled with fear, and guilt that even if your stalker left you alone, he'd just find someone else, another woman, and harass her just as he had harassed you-- or worse. Takuma read you like a book.

"Look, I-- I didn't want to force anything on you the other day. But I promise you, this guy knows that if you go to the cops about him, and he doesn't 'fess up, it'll be more than just me after him."

Ino smugly pictured Higuruma and Nanami, ready, Misters. Law and Order, prepared to flex their quite complementary powers of threat and legal representation.

You smiled, surrounded by an impenetrable wall of support. Leaning up, you tangled your fingers into Takuma's hair, and he let out a sweet hum of happiness as you kissed him deeply. Nose to nose, you took delight in showing your appreciation.

The next day, wearing a mantle of quiet bravery, you walked into the Police Station.

"I'd like to report a crime."

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Itadori Yuuji

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You had chosen absolutely the wrong shoes to go out in.

You shivered in the chilly night air; your skirt hadn't been this short all night, had it? The cold had a way of exposing things the mirror didn't. Still, you smiled to yourself as you leant against a lamp-post, removing your heels with a sigh of relief, certain you'd be comfier taking the last few streets before home barefoot than in these beautiful monstrosities.

You could not bring yourself to regret such a fun night. Waving your friends goodbye, you had foregone taking a taxi home. Tokyo was a safe city, anyway. It was only a short walk home. You could do with sobering up a bit.

Feet padding gingerly on the cold concrete, you tapped away on your phone as you began to walk home. Within a few minutes, the hairs on the back of your neck stood up, cold prickles running down your spine.

Running a hand through your hair, you shielded your glance backwards; a man. Some distance away. By the lamppost you had removed your shoes at. You gulped-- it's nothing, you lied to yourself, just on his way home like me. But, just in case, you started walking faster, the soles of your feet stinging as they clapped against the floor.

Feeling tingles at the base of your skull a minute later, you felt the man closing in on you and bile climbed in your throat, feeling the alcohol threaten to come up into your mouth, options running through your head at breakneck speed, to scream or call the police or stop and fight or try to run faster or--

It was no use. He was almost on top of you now; you rounded the corner to a tree-lined street. You could smell the sweat on him, and you spun to face him, losing your footing and falling backwards onto the floor--

All at once, you screamed, a dark mass plummeted from the tree above you, and there was a sickening crunch as it flattened your pursuer to the floor.

The black mass, burly and pink-haired, stood up and turned to face you, opening his mouth--

You screamed again, still panicking, throwing a shoe at him, "What the hell are you? What are you doing?" The young man crouched, eyes wide, both hands in front of him, bleeding from the lip from your shoe.

"I'm a Yuuji, I'm a Yuuji--"

"--a Yuuji?!" You raised your hand again and he flinched. Your pursuer groaned underneath his feet.

"--I don't know if you know, but this guy was following you-- oh shit, you're not friends are you-- please don't throw another shoe at me--" Yuuji squeezed his eyes closed, hands still raised above his head in arrest. You surveyed him from the ground, your panic slowly abating.

He's cute, you thought as your head spun violently, and you rocked to the side, vomiting all over the pavement. Yuuji crept over to you, hands uncertain at first, but eventually settling on holding your hair back as the alcohol evacuated your stomach.

Patting your shoulder with upbeat reassurance, Yuuji turned to look at the man on the floor with a scowl.

"Creep," he grumbled, crushing the man's hand under his shoe. As the man squirmed and complained, Yuuji gave him an effortlessly hard punch to the side of the head, knocking him out cold in an instant. Rummaging in the man's pockets, Yuuji pulled out a drivers' licence.

"Oh hey, he lives nearby. Want to drop him home with me?" Yuuji asked you with a shit-eating grin.

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"Think that'll do it?" Yuuji dusted off his hands, surveying his handiwork with satisfaction. Tied up in the offerings of the man's shed (some old garden hose, with a wooden freshly painted sign hung around his neck), the man was dropped unceremoniously onto the doorstep. You snapped a quick photo on your phone, hand over your mouth as you laughed to yourself.

Yuuji pressed the doorbell, and grabbed your other hand, pulling you behind a hedge as you giggled like children together.

"I FOLLOW GIRLS HOME" read the man's sign, as his mother opened the door.

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"--so anyway, I should probably get back to work, I guess...after you get home."

You rested your chin on Yuuji's shoulder as he piggy-backed you home, your shoes slung in one hand as he ambled, slowly zigzagging along the tree-lined street. Your eyes drooped, breathing in your new friend's soft, cosy smell, still occasionally giggling to yourself.

Arriving at your doorstep, Yuuji lowered you to the ground, and brought one hand up to awkwardly scratch the back of his head. His face blushed crimson when you leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek. He grinned, shuffling sweetly, bidding you goodnight, but hesitating. You bit your lip, head tipped, waiting. Yuuji didn't get the hint, turning to walk away.

"Hey, my hero. All that, and I don't get your number?"

Yuuji's smile could have split rainclouds.

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Higuruma waiting on the ceiling above the office door like

Coming next: Gojo Satoru, Fushiguro Toji, Toge Inumaki, Fushiguro Megumi and Kugisaki Nobara.

[burstinn]

Male reader with absolutely Fucking Huge Tits.

(headcanons!)

People shown: Soap, Gaz, Ghost, Price, Keegan, König, Horangi, Graves, Alejandro, Rudy

I felt silly I was high and it's funny jwjsjsnsw ew endnsndndnd.

Didn't think my first post would get that much attention but.. Anyways.. Yay?

You have fucking big moobs.. Huge male tits.. Fucking succulent ass Cherries

You are a guy. And lucky for you, You have the most plump, ungodly monumental tremendous tits ever. Ofcourse you had the build to support your huge tits.. But your tits were the most eye catching.

When you first joined 141 or Kortac or whateevveer....Man holy shit they went fuckin wild. Like they weren't even trying to hide that they were blatantly looking at your capacious boobs.

Soap

- he was the first to yell like some Scottish words for Holy shit when you landed out from the Heli showing off your stupendous balloons

- he would be the first to be staring with no shame

-he would also be the first to ask if he could squeeze them.

-he would ask you how the hell you got your mighty melons. And he would ask you if it's possible for you to lactate.

- idk he'd bark..

- if you were to sex. He would lick, slurp your hoo Haas

-Would see if he can make you lactate

-makes you wear a bra. Freaky

- continues to play with your dongdongs after your very amazing activity gently

Gaz

- His eyes went wide.. Probably did the shocked guy face with hands on his head when he saw you

- face red no eye contact trying to not look at your mammoth sized Quadruple D breasts

- secretly staring but it's so obvious he's staring especially when your running laps.. Yknow yknow boobie flaps go up and down Fr fr

- one day when you guys were alone together he probably went down on his knees.. Begging to let him touch and squeeze your boobies.

-If you were to do the devils tango.. Also bite marks.. And licks.. More gently but desperately.

Ghost

- eyes wide under mask. Is confused how a dude could get those unwieldy lofty ass TITTS.

- also secretly staring. Less to zero obviousness.

- wants to ask as well to touch your bazongas but he's to scared.

- you caught him staring once and he immediately looks away. So like the amazing man you are you asked him if he wants to hold your tatas.

-he nodded obviously.

-you doing the nasty? He's rough. No mercy to idk your whole body. Especially your gazongals.

-boob fucking.

-bruises hickeys bites everywhere. Mostly on your GadonkGadonks.

- he would bury his head on the middle of your Tits... It's like a pillow.

Price

- Suprised and impressed. Idk why he's still shocked everytime he sees you walking around

- looking sometimes. But more respectful

-you need too ask him first if he wants to hold your beach balls.

- if you do wrestling in bed. Loving duhh. Lovingly and softly suckling your Rounder Pounders.

- also buries his head on your moob boobs

- Would probably just call you in his office sometimes just so he can use your Boobs as a pillow.

-His beard tickles.. Hmm.

Keegan

- Awooga

-Pointing at it then looks back at someone then looking back at you then looking back at someone.. Then back and forth

-Takes pictures

- you were standing in front of him talking then he just suddenly.. Grabbed your Bazonkers.

-Takes more pictures. Has its own folder just for your mountainous front moons.

- Roleplay sex that involves fucking your boobs Intensity varies

König

- Blushing under mask

-is also a proud owner of plump tits. But he's afraid of yours.

-Also YOU need to be the one to ask as well if he wants a squeeze.

- compare boob sizes.

- rough but gentle RAAAAA. Would ask before doing anything to you doingloings

-Rubs your tats together

- ask before taking pictures.. Shows it to Horangi

- Sometimes he would just stare blankly at you before he just.. Squeezes your knockers..

-He immediately gets red and apologizes red faced from shame and embarrassment.

-When you told him you don't mind and it's okay.. He gets relaxed.

-Now he would just pull you into closets just so he could ask you to caress your man tiddies even though he doesn't need to.

-You caress his too. It's like a ritual.

Horangi

- starts laughing in shock and interest and is also impressed

- Also Staring no shame. But it's less obvious because of his shades

-Asks if your tits are implants..

- Would ask König for pics of your Cupcakes.

- Constant slapping of your boobers.

- jokes about your Honkers..

-Loves Your Honkers but also jealous. He wants big buggers as well :((

- Starts drawing on them. Non permanent colorful markers

-would dress it up as well. Putting glasses.. His sunglasses a mustache..

-would purposely smudge food on your Clonkers and He would say some shit like

'Sorry let me clean that up' and starts licking fr

Graves

- Soldier what the fuck he would say or something.

- Don't get distracted.. Gets distracted.

-Makes you purposefully fight/ train/ spar with him.. Make him discreetly hit or touch your award winning rounders

-If you confront him about it. He will probably say a half assed sorry. Look at you like some pissy bitch for forgiveness.

-Forgiveness being you let him do the bed rolling sweat inducing activity with you.

- Please PLEAASE let him picture it during your seeexx

- Shows it off. Of course he will. Who?

His shadows duh

-compliments your hooters frequently

Also makes jokes with his shadows

-Got sad once and dragged you away from whatever you were doing. And just used you as a pillow and cried.

- If most or all His Shadows are stressed or frustrated from a mission they all gettin in a single file line. And they get to caress touch YOUR FUCKING GARGANTUAN GAZOONKAS one minute each.

-Graves is last because.. He's doing more than just caressing your boobs...

Alejandro

- any Spanish nicknames to refer to your boobs that you don't know of

- Flirting.

- Conspicuous staring..Starts ranting to Rudy about how much he wants to hold your teacups. He's passionate about it to.

- Manages to get the balls with the help of Rudy.. To ask to hold your chest footballs.

- is gentle at first before he looses it and starts squeezing it and roughly touching. Until you made a very audible noise of hurt or discomfort

-Apologizes.. Buys you literally everything just so you can forgive him. On his knees saying sorry in Spanish.

- Praises your body

Rudy

- Just as thirsty as Alejandro. Just more shy and respectful.

- When Alejandro starts confessing to him how much he wants to touch your chests.. He reciprocated and also tell Ale how much he likes your Moobies.

- Sharing. Both sharing. Alejandro touching your left Rudy on the right.

- If Rudy is touching you. If you even shift on what he thinks is a sign of uncomfortability.. Will say sorry.. For weeks.. Even months.

- Will never forget it. Even though you probably did and assured him that it wasn't a sign of anything. Avoided you for a few days out shame.

-Also apologizes for avoiding you.

- Also Praises your body.

[dp-marvel94]

Real -Chapter 1

Summary:

While hiding from his parents in Gotham, an ill-timed encounter with his neighbor, Jason, has Danny pretending to be his own twin. Fortunately for Danny, the more he pretends the easier it gets. Until he is not pretending at all. Or: Danny names a duplicate and via ghost logic, said duplicate ends up becoming real.

Next->

Also on AO3

Notes:

This story was written thanks to @jackdaw-sprite who commented on a Tumblr post a wrote asking what I should write next with "I haven't read nearly as many of your works as I'd like to before saying which ones I'd like to see continued, but there's one where Danny names a duplicate, and because of ghost logic, the duplicate becomes real. It feels like such a neat idea to play with!" So here I am writing a whole fic about it! Structurally, this is still very much half-fic outline with some important scenes written out. I'm not planning on expanding it beyond what it is. Still, I hope you enjoy the story. :) A note for readers, those here for the DC content especially: this is very much a Danny heavy fic. The focus will be on Danny and Jamie's relationship as the clone goes from just a duplicate without its own life, to a real person with his own identity. The Bats, Jason especially, will be present, and important for Jamie becoming his own person. But those relationships are definitely secondary to Danny and Jamie's.

After a reveal gone wrong, Danny runs from his parents and the GIW. Soon, he finds himself living in a crummy apartment and trying to keep a low profile. He doesn't have very much, so he is very excited to find an actually in decent shape couch that someone was throwing out. It's late so, figuring no one will see him, Danny duplicates to have two pairs of hands to get the furniture up the stairs and into his apartment. 

Of course, Danny does get spotted by his neighbor, Jason, who offers to hold doors open and help with the unwieldy couch. Names are exchanged: Danny and, after a pause as Danny realizes he has to come up with something for his duplicate, Jamie. The "three" manage to get the couch inside. But now Jason is worried about what appears to be a pair of twins, 16 years old at the most, living alone in the apartment with one ratty couch and a bookbag between them. Jason isn't pushy or overly concerned, but he does make a point to check on his new neighbors regularly. 

After the second time running into Jason and being asked about "Jaime," Danny realizes he's going to have to pretend to be his own twin. Duplication is very helpful for that, though he tries not to do it too often and for too long; it does use a lot of energy. He'll just have the "twins" make regular, short appearances together. It's not like he's trying to get close to anyone in Gotham 

But inevitably, short appearances escalate into having dinner with Jason. The first is a one off; man claimed he made too much and Danny didn't really have money for food. Plus it was really good. Accepting the hospitality just this once wouldn't be that bad. Of course, "Jamie" has come to dinner too.

One dinner leads to more meals with his neighbor, to Jason trying to teach "the twins" to cook more than easy mac. 

Jason's youngest brother meets the "twins" when he pounds on the door during dinner and barges in, complaining that "Father is being unreasonable" and had ground him.

Damian and "the twins" end up huddling in Jason's apartment during Danny's first rogue attack since he arrived in Gotham. Jason ran off as soon as the alert went off, claiming that he was needed at the fire station where he worked. He pointedly says that Damian can stay and look after his non-Gothamite neighbors since he's grounded. The preteen is prickly but does stay put. Danny starts to get restless, unable to re-merge and starting to fear that his energy will waver and "Jamie" will pop out of existence. He nervously eyes the door and Damian threatens to stab him if he tries to leave, saying that "Todd is apparently fond of you both and will be quite peeved" with Damian if something happens to Danny and Jamie. 

Well.... Jamie will definitely disappear if Damian stabs him. So Danny manages to maintain his duplicate for five hours, more than twice as long as any time before. By the time the threat is over and Danny can go back to his apartment, he is straining, desperately trying to hide how exhausted and shaky he is from the excursion. He loses hold of the duplicate as soon as the door is closed.

Despite the hardship, maintaining a duplicate is somehow so much easier after that. He can stay duplicated for longer and gradually, he realizes controlling the secondary body is becoming easier. At the beginning, he needed a lot of effort and control to pilot the duplicate, having to mentally direct it to speak or move. He played "Jamie" as being shy and quiet, so there was less talking to dictate. But overtime, the need for mental prompting becomes less and less. Playing "Jamie" became more automatic, more instinctual. Almost like the duplicate runs on auto-pilot, mostly acting how Danny himself would, though more reserved. To an outside perspective, it looks like "Jamie" is finally getting comfortable and coming out of his shell. But to Danny, this was a relief, spending less energy running his duplicate and less time worrying about being found out.

Slowly, Danny meets more of Jason's family. One of Jay's brothers, Tim, runs into him at his coffee shop job and, blinking sleepily, asks which twin he is, before realizing that Danny is wearing a name tag. This leads to Danny's coworkers finding out about "Jamie" and his "twin" visiting him at work.

As the act grows and more people end up meeting "the twins," Danny spends more and more time pretending to be a pair of twins in more and more ridiculous situations. Playing both of them gets easier and easier, more and more comfortable until the twins can banter, share inside jokes, and tell stories from their childhood. Maybe it is intentional, maybe it's subconscious. But slowly, differences develop to differentiate the twins. "Jamie" is growing out his hair. He loves toast and watching documentaries about history. Danny, more and more convincingly, pretends to have a brother until at some points... it no longer feels like he is pretending.

Despite his new friends, Danny is still so lonely. The apartment is still almost bare, the money he gets from his job barely enough. It's never the job he wanted; he wants to be in school now, applying to colleges so he can get into NASA. But he can't do anything to draw attention to  himself, not with the government breathing down his neck or the danger of the vigilantes running him out for being a “meta”. And he misses his friends and sister so badly.

One particularly hard night, when he is heartbroken and hurting, Danny lies on his second-hand mattress in the dark, weeping. He mourns his parents turning on him, his heart aching for Sam, Tucker, and Jazz. He wishes more than anything that he was not alone right now.

Suddenly, there is a yanking on his core that leaves his gasping. A full body pulling sensation that almost feels like being peeled, except somehow it does not hurt. A second later, it is over and through his blurry eyes, Danny can barely make out a figure kneeling in front of him. Arms coax him into sitting up and pull him into a hug. Danny cries for a long while, not thinking about what just happened, not thinking about what... or who... is holding him. He just accepts the comfort, savors the feeling that he is not alone.

Finally, after the tears slow, Danny pulls back and looks. He lets himself realize what he is looking at. And as he takes in eyes like his, the feeling is something between awe and fear. There is a light in the blue eyes, a spark that he does not recognize. 

And as the brow wrinkles in confusion and the mouth slowly works, words spiral out. Words that Danny could never have predicted.

"If we... if you keep doing this..." Each word is slow and deliberate, as if each takes great effort. "This...." One hand motions slowly, vaguely, as if un-used to movement. "Jamie won't be a lie anymore."

Danny is stunned. He stares for a long while, unable to process. He does not understand what the words mean, why the spark in those eyes makes him just as elated as it makes him afraid.

So he takes the duplicate's hand and pulls the ecto-energy back inside himself. He reabsorbs it and "Jamie" disappears. And Danny thinks.

Slowly, he realizes how easy staying duplicated has become, how distant and foggy memories from his duplicate's perspective are. He replays the words in his head. 'If you keep doing this... Jamie won't be a lie anymore.' He wonders if they mean what they suggest, and most startlingly.... he wonders where they had come from, if not from himself.

For a few days, he avoids anyone who has met the twins or claims that his "twin" is busy whenever someone asks. But inevitably, his trusty neighbor Jason notices the avoidance and invites himself over to cook dinner. Reluctantly, Danny duplicates; there is clearly no avoiding this conversation.

The dinner is awkward. Danny has a hard time looking at Jason.... and an even harder time looking at his seeming twin. None of the three say much and by the end, their neighbor huffs a sigh and says his piece. 

“Look. I know that no one, especially two teens, live in a shitty apartment in Crime Alley if they can avoid it. I don't know if you got kicked out, ran away from home, are hiding from something. And I don’t care. I won't ask. But I was an alley kid. I lost my mom younger than both of you, ended up on the street. I know what it's like just scraping by, trying to survive all on my own.  That's why I look out for the kids here. I want to help you guys, no matter what your story is.”

Danny stammers out a disbelieving thanks. He is touched, really, despite the fear of discovery, of vulnerability quivering in his heart. Jason is a good guy and it feels good to have someone who cares. But... the maybe-not-a-lie sits on the couch beside him. A story he could never hope to explain...

Jason smiles, ruffling both of the twin's hairs. He stands to leave. "Take care," he says, almost afterthought. "You're lucky to have each other."

"Jamie" seems to lean, just the tiniest bit closer to Danny at the words. 

Jason leaves and it is just Danny and his duplicate. The half ghost releases a breath, letting some of the tension release. He reaches to reabsorb his double and-

A shaky hand grips his forearm. Danny looks, meeting the blue eyes. The spark is back, just the smallest hint in the posture that something is different. Slowly, the brow wrinkles, becoming something worried.

"What is it?" Danny finds himself saying, as if he expects a real response.

"Have... each other." Again, the words are slow as if just the act of thinking is hard. "Not a lie."

Now Danny's brow is wrinkled. "Not a lie? Are you saying that's true? Or asking if it is?"

"Not a lie." The words repeat. "Jamie not a lie."

Danny's stomach knots. He’s heard his duplicate speak dozens of times, even been surprised by some offered puns. But this…

“Not a lie.” One more repeat, this one faster, surer, almost desperate.

Danny looks up again. “Jamie.” He says the name. He’s spoken to his double before in front of other people, as part of the act. But this… it feels as bizarre as it feels right. “Jamie…. Are you… real?”

For just a second, there is something like hope in the other’s eyes. Then, the brow furrows in great effort. “Yes… No….” One more longer, unsure pause. “Becoming.”

“You’re… becoming real?” The words are breathy. Danny isn’t sure whether they make him feel that same hope, or if he feels sick.

The half ghost looks away, staring down at his lap. He doesn’t know what this is, how this is  happening. A moment of panic stabs. Is he sick or insane? Or… is it a trick? A trap?

Danny reaches with his mind, trying to feel. A parasite infecting him? Another ghost, trying to overshadow. There is a connection, a bundle of a dozen fine threads. It is a link to… something not quite separate. Danny feels the almost presence at the end, the not-quite himself he is speaking with. And… It is like cradling a baby bird. Small, fragile, and so young. No malice, just pure innocence.

The half ghost looks up again. His hand shifts, feeling the cold flesh. His fingers press, the almost flutter of a heart beneath the skin.

The awe from that late night rises, a question echoing in his head. What happens if he lets this  continue? 

He… won’t be alone. Danny remembers that night, crying on his mattress and desperately wanting comfort. And all those times hanging out with Jason. The jokes and banter started as an act to sell the lie. But… weren't they so much more now? Danny had pretended to have a brother and in pretending had imagined one… Now that brother, that twin sat beside him. 

But at the same time… fear spiked. What would happen if he didn’t stop this? Could he even stop this if he wanted to? It feels inevitable, unstoppable. Not if he stays living next to Jason. But… if he tells the truth? Or if he runs, starts again somewhere else. He could reabsorb his duplicate now and let this whole thing fade into memory. Jamie would disappear…

A wave of fear surges from outside himself. Danny meets terrified eyes. Something in him softens, crumples.

“Jamie?” Danny asks again and can almost feel the heart-flutter solidifying. “Do you want to be real?”

There is a pause, the fearful face becoming something narrowed eyes and sure. “Yes.” So much determination. Danny feels the one thread of dozens snap.

“Alright then.” Danny heaves a sigh, deciding. 

He will hold out as long as he can. He will stay duplicated, keep Jamie here until he’s not a duplicate at all. Jamie will be real.

[mythmagicetc]

buck moved in when eddie moved out, so they could help each other pack up and move furniture around. it was a good system; buck could've stayed in the loft for another week, but by unspoken agreement, they decided to do it all at once. get it over with. rip the band-aid off.

the beds were the most difficult part, as expected. not too heavy for them, but big and unwieldy, hard to maneuver through doorways. in the kitchen, taking a break for water, buck remarked that it'd be easier if eddie just left his bed here and took buck's with him.

"no way, man," eddie replied immediately, shaking his head. "your mattress sucks. it's like too hard and too soft at the same time. you'd probably hate mine, too."

buck frowned. "what? you never--you never said anything during quarantine! i didn't--you said you slept well!"

and he did, eddie realized. he did sleep well, even though the mattress was awful, and the summer nights were too hot, and he missed chris so much it might've killed him. he slept well, because buck was there.

so, that's how eddie realizes. standing in his kitchen, buck just out of arm's reach, glass of water in hand. clean and pure.

and it doesn't change a fucking thing.

[sirfrogsworth]

My egg gadget journey.

Since I started learning to cook eggs in a pan I have been trying to solve various problems in my usual way... buying gadgets.

Because I love gadgets.

My first problem was that I wasn't happy with my whisking. I didn't feel like I was getting the egg whites and yolks fully incorporated. So I bought this fork whisker thingie.

It has little holes in the tines for optimum whisking!

Or so the Amazon page said.

I thought it would be the size of a normal fork. But in reality, it was gigantic and unwieldy.

I felt it was so large that it actually made it *harder* to whisk eggs.

So that has been retired to the drawer and has not seen the light of day since.

Then I was having trouble flipping my omelettes. So I got a special omelette flipper.

This helped a little, but it was too thick and I still had trouble getting it underneath.

Into the drawer it went with its whisking fork friend.

Then a follower suggested a different kind of omelette flipper.

These have a very thin edge and really get underneath the omelette well. This was my first big success in egg gadgetry. I was able to achieve my first successful fold using this.

Then I was becoming frustrated with egg cracking. I couldn't do it consistently. I tried on the side of the pan. I tried on the flat countertop. I was improving over time, but I still felt like a gadget could be helpful.

In my brain I was envisioning some electronic doodad that used A.I. cracking technology to perfectly open the egg.

But then I found this...

It's just a small dish with a raised edge in the middle. Just about the simplest solution imaginable. Doesn't even take batteries.

And it is fucking fantastic.

It's called the "Crack'em" and so I like to say "Release the Crack'em!" when I use it.

You do have to develop a technique, but once you get that down, it cracks eggs perfectly. And it gives you a nice clean section to pull apart the eggshell. And the yolk doesn't drip out as much before you are ready to release it.

Everyone should get a Crack'em.

I still wanted to solve my incorporation issue. I got better at whisking but I still felt like a gadget could improve things.

So I decided to go with the nuclear option.

This thing is nuts. For the low price I am really amazed at how solid and well-built it feels. And it fucking pulverizes the eggs into a perfectly homogenized substance where white and yolk no longer exist and you just have... egg.

Pure 10,000% incorporated egg.

And with this gadget I was able to increase my egg fluffiness by 20%. And my eggs were already pretty damn fluffy.

The egg pulverizer is also very easy to clean. You just run water and turn the blade and angle it so it doesn't spray you in the face. You will get sprayed in the face before you figure out that angle. So prepare yourself for that.

And that is my gadget journey so far.

I'm considering this weird flippy pan that would allow me to cook my omelettes evenly on both sides, but I am in a scrambled eggs era so I'm not sure I need that right now.

It also looks like I could easily yeet hot omelette juice into my face if I am not careful. So I might just stick to my traditional pan.

OH! And one non-gadget thing I learned.

If you have seen The Bear there was a scene where Sydney cooks an omelette and crunches potato chips on top.

And it works! Tastes great on scrambled eggs as well.

Potato chips, who would have thought?

[pomgore]

colored maudra seethi from this set of drawings, did you ever see a gelfling so beautiful you started crying

seethi headcanons under the cut :3

i imagine she inherited the maudra title young following her mother's death (she looks so young compared to the other maudras!) and, being a young gelfling surrounded by matriarchs, maybe struggled to integrate and get along with the other maudras for a while. she understood gelfling law in theory but in practice it doesn't come naturally to her, and the maudras being a sort of old ladies club didn't offer a lot of help at first.

probably she resolved this by withdrawing her personal feelings and emotions from her maudra "persona," she tries to be completely objective, plays by all the rules and waits for others to express their stances on a given matter before offering her own input. the other maudras opinions on this behavior range from annoyed to indulgent, most of them were there while she was struggling and they understand the need to separate their personal lives from the lives they lead as maudras.

gelfling autism

the shape of the dousan headdress is determined by how much hair it needs to hold--seethi has lots and lots and lots of hair, but she almost always wears it tied up or braided back to keep it off her neck in the desert heat.

the loss of her mother, which i imagine was unexpected and came at an already-fraught time in inter-clan relations/shifting skeksis policy/some other drama, had a profound effect on seethi that gelfling close to her recognized--the dousan perspective on death helped her rationalize and accept her mother's death, but she's never quite been able to move on.

the little hair charm at the end of her necklace is a lock of her mother's hair

whether in maudra-mode or not, seethi comes across like she's sort of floating through life, a bit detached from everything but still held down to thra by virtue of existing on it. she becomes more grounded in reality when a present situation or task demands her whole attention

related to above, she realizes she actually quite enjoys fighting during the outset of the garthim war, because unlike maudra work it's fast-paced, physical and decisive, and she doesn't have to worry about doing it "right" so much as just surviving to fight another way.

seethi lost a lot of her friends when she became maudra, unable to maintain relationships as the role demanded more and more of her time. :C

despite the kind of unwieldy shape seethi actually likes to wear the headdress because she thinks her ears are too big. when she wears it she has to trade big ears for a fivehead, but a big forehead is a feature of beauty among dousan (but not among stonewood, thats why they all have bangs)

since dousan aren't a part of the alliance of the crystal, seethi has only met the skeksis incidentally when some event necessitated both she and a skeksis ambassador attend. after maybe the third or fourth time this happens she decides to take a leaf out of maudra argots book and just sends a messenger with a no-show letter.

during aor seethi is the second oldest maudra, a little younger than mera (spriton maudra) and youngest of all being ethri (sifan maudra). mera became maudra not long after seethi, although at an older age, and adjusted pretty well to the position, so she and seethi get along well being closer in age than the other maudras. ethri became maudra under similar circumstances to seethi (sudden loss of a mother) so seethi and mera advise her where they can and do their best to make themselves welcoming presences for her. mera is better at this than seethi lol

related to above, this is why they all kind of cluster and make the same choice to support seladon when fara issues her challenge for the crown.

[verstappentime]

more of daniel taking care of max when he has a migraine that i didn't post ❤️ if you're just joining us, max had a career-ending head injury and left f1. he and daniel are married but currently broken up!

(part 1/part 2)

“Stay,” Max says, rushed, before Charles can get anything else out.

“Okay,” Daniel says. He tries to clear the lump in his throat. He’s been waiting for Max to say that word, but this is as close as he’ll get, probably. “Tilt your head forward for me.” Max does; Daniel gingerly presses the ice where his head meets his neck.

Max hisses, reaching up to grab Daniel’s forearm. It’s been so long since Max initiated touch with him; Daniel forces himself not to jolt.

“I know, baby, I’m sorry.”

Max groans, gradually loosening his grip. “Can we do the bathtub thing?”

“The– Oh, yeah, sure. Charles, do you have a bath?”

“I feel like you are being the doctor and I am the nurse,” Charles says. He’s hovering closer than a second ago. “Yes, I do, is it for something weird?”

“Nurses are very important,” Max says. Daniel wonders if the meds are making him loopy already.

“It’s not for anything weird. Can you fill it up with hot water? As hot as it can get without burning.”

“Fine. But it’s for him.” It’s too dark for Daniel to see the look Charles is giving him. Just as well.

Daniel stays there, crouched beside Max, keeping the ice pressed to his neck. Max’s breaths are shallow, like he’s trying really hard not to wince, but he’s mostly failing. “The medicine is gonna help,” he says, just for something to say. In the dark, eyes closed, Max reaches around for his hand. Daniel links their fingers, squeezing hard. Max’s hand is clammy and he can’t get a good grip on Daniel, all weak and floppy. “Tell me what feels bad?”

Max turns his face into a couch cushion, making a tiny whining sound. “It’s– like, all the bad stuff. I scared Charles with the throwing up.” He’s talking more, which is a good sign.

“It’s fine,” Daniel says. “He called me and I’m here now, so it’s fine.” He presses his thumb against where Max’s jaw meets his cheek. He’s so tense everywhere.

Charles comes back into the room. “The water’s in the bath. I’m saying again to not do anything weird.”

“We are going to do something so weird,” says Max. He groans as he swivels his legs around to stand up, pressing on his forehead. “Ah, fuck. Shit.” He grabs Daniel’s wrist, squeezing hard.

“Take it easy,” Daniel says, clearing his throat where it’s all thick. He hates this, he hates that Max hurts, that he’s still hurting, and he— he loves, sort of, that it’s him Max is reaching out for. It’s fucking twisted.

Max doesn’t ask to be helped, so Daniel doesn’t offer, just hovers as Max slowly pushes himself to stand up. But Max is unwieldy, swaying a little, and— and he grabs for Daniel again. Maybe it’s just because Daniel’s seen it all before, because he’s fed him and bathed him and sat with him in the middle of the night, but. He’s still being chosen. “Sorry,” Max says, like Daniel would ever want him to do anything else. “My eyes are not so good.”

“It’s fine. I have you.” I always will, I always fucking will.

Charles waves them through to his master bathroom. In the light, Daniel can see that Max’s left pupil is blown. He’s sweaty and he looks like shit, hair all messed up, but he’s Max, and he’s gorgeous. Daniel wants to hold him.

“Max, yell for me if he is doing anything weird to you,” Charles says, and ducks out of the room. Conceding.

“You could have told him we’re not getting naked.”

“I mean, I am taking my pants off,” Max says. “Can I hold onto you?”

Daniel nods slowly, feeling oddly like he should look away. He watches the ceiling as Max holds onto him for balance.

If Max notices him acting weird, he doesn’t say so. “You’ll get your pants wet,” he says instead.

Oh. Daniel glances to the door, where Charles is not. This isn’t what he expected when he woke up today, he thinks, as he’s stepping out of his jeans.

They sit on the edge of the tub, Daniel pressing the ice pack to Max’s neck. It’s an easy trick; get the circulation down into his lower body and away from his head.

“Charles could do this,” Daniel says, after a moment.

“I know,” Max says. He leans his head on Daniel’s shoulder, closing his eyes. He doesn’t say it, but Daniel knows it: I wanted you. “Do you have somewhere to be?”

[seat-safety-switch]

Tradition is a horrifying thing, isn't it? Everyone is forced to do things the way their great-grandparents did. We're stuck in eternal ancestor worship, doing little things to honour the memory of someone we've never met. Even if, as in my family, it's highly likely that those folks didn't intend for things to become "the way things are done from now on."

Where I grew up, you can be a Ford person, a Chevy person, or a Dodge person. It's not encouraged to be a Dodge person, although it is a lifestyle that has become more acceptable in the present day. My grandfather was a Ford person. His father? Probably would have been a Ford person, but he believed that cars were the devil and instead tried to breed souped-up horses using exotic varieties of hay. The usual story, you know how it is.

Because my dad's dad was a Ford person, he was a Ford person, and so now I am also forced to be a Ford person. If Ford ever went away, I assume that the entire family tradition would be destroyed, washed up on the rocks of the inevitable collapse of an unwieldy capitalist enterprise that makes kind of half-ass SUVs now and not much else. Do I drive a lot of Fords? Hell no: they're expensive to fix, and I much prefer my late-70s Mopar crapcans, which unlike the Fords, nobody else wants to own.

I have a '75 Comet with a bent frame, full of old tires, for posterity, in case my dad ever comes back from the circus, and that's about it. Grandpa would be proud, probably, although I'm sure if he had the chance today he would pick up a base Honda Odyssey minivan, because it would be faster and more comfortable than anything else made in his entire lifetime. Hell, even great-grandpa would probably give up the horse modding for a chance at two sliding doors and seven seats.

What I'm trying to get at is: just because your dad, mom, or court-appointed guardian is real weird about a certain make of car, you don't have to be too. You can make your own choices about what shitty automobile to use, because chances are you're already going to let them down in a million other ways. At least this way you get to do it in style, laying down a four-alarm burnout in their driveway when they get a little froggy about your shitbox at Thanksgiving.

[hoggobblin]

Defective Berry

This happened sometimes. There was always a risk that the transformation would not take as intended, although the percentage of that was fairly low. You were warned of the risks, signed countless waivers giving your consent to a permanent transformation no matter the results, and you still took the chance. You wanted to be a blueberry so badly. You were just unlucky.

Most people who became blueberries swelled four to five times their previous size within minutes. Some took longer - days of gradual inflation until they were bulbous and immobile. But not you.

You swallow the thick blue pill and the sweet tang of juice instantly floods your mouth. You take that as a good sign, swallowing mouthfuls of syrupy liquid as a blue stain creeps across your skin. You can't help but moan when your stomach gurgles and bloats. You begin to feel uncomfortably full as your belly stretches, too big to be contained. The swell reaches your sides and back, you start to round out and your chest puffs out. Your limbs begin to thicken and your arms grow heavy under the weight. Your cheeks bubble up and your moans become muffled by your lips thickening into a perpetual pucker and your tongue swelling in your mouth. With a pop, your belt bursts off of you and your pants button flies off. Your shirt rides up until they catch on your moobs. Your belly is out and growing, your limbs start to sink into it, absorbed by your growing mass. You spread your legs to make room for your crotch pushing down, it rubs the insides of your thighs as they begin to merge. Your arms are lifted by your rising sides, you clench and flap your hands to the addicting pressure of the juice inside of you. You shut your eyes and listen to it swirling in your head, your ears, an ocean trapped inside a balloon threatening to burst. This is everything you wanted.

But then it stopped.

You open your eyes and struggle to look down at yourself. You don't feel like a berry, but it's impossible to see around your blue belly. You flex your hands to test your mobility and to your growing dismay realize that you still have arms up to the elbow. You bend them to try to reach around your belly, trying to push down it and see yourself.

"Oh that's too bad," the assistant in the room with you clicked her tongue pitingly. She walks around you to fetch a full length mirror and sighed as she propped it against the wall in front of you. "It's not your fault, hun. Some people just don't take to being berrified."

You look in the mirror and you chin begins trembling. You look like you decided to wear a giant blue yoga ball as a costume with just your arms and legs sticking out at the elbow and knees. Your neck is thick but not yet sunken into those divots that make you go wild over berries. Your crotch is stil a little less than two feet off the ground, sadly never to surpass your feet and hold you up on a teetering, wobbling point.

Trying to hold back disappointed tears, you look pleadingly at the assistant. "Gib me abobher owne."

She shook her head. "Sorry, hun. Side effects this early increases the risk of exploding. You're lucky you didn't get too big. I'm gonna run you through some mobility tests to see if you qualify for a handler, okay?"

Helplessly, you agree and swallow back tears as she has you stretch, reach, and waddle around the room. The exercise is humiliating as you realize just how unwieldy your body is, now stuck between half-berry and half-human. You can't reach around yourself, you have to turn sideways and risk tipping yourself over to pick up the items she asks you to. Your head can only turn so far before you're forced to shift from one unbending leg to another and make a full body turn. It takes you a full minute to wobble from one side of the room to the other, your steps cumbersome and roiling the juice inside you, throwing off your balance. You almost fall over multiple times but the assistant is satisfied enough that she releases you without a handler. She gives you a condescending pat on the stomach and a commercial smile as she ushers you out of the door, telling you again how lucky you are.

You don't feel lucky. You stand in front of the door as people passing openly stare at you, a blue half-grown blimp who wasn't good enough to become a blueberry. Shame heavier than the juice in your gut floods you, and you start the long walk home, one unsteady waddle at a time.

[shirozora-draws]

I am so late but I am finally done with the first round of merch that I am satisfied with. I am satisfied and we are rolling forward with this set. Now to send off all of my final sample orders so that I know these are absolutely working and are worth posting to a shop site as pre-orders.

Clan of Three lanyards. I recognize that I could easily turn these into washi tapes if I wanted to. We'll see.

Grogu Baby Crimes. Sticker & acrylic shaker charm. Completely revamped after carrying around the old version as an acrylic shaker charm and deciding it was too unwieldy and, more importantly, not cute enough. This will be a sticker option and an acrylic shaker charm option.

Keldabe kiss - Interstellar version. Matte & holographic sticker.

Keldabe kiss - Tatooine version. Matte & holographic sticker.

Live Cheen Reaction. Sticker. For all the fans of Cheen Yofree, the unluckiest third-wheeling Rodian OC.

Need A Hero. Sticker & acrylic charm. The only thing I'm putting forward with Din's face for now. I wanted something cute.

Clan of Two. Sticker. A straightforward general sticker.

The Battle Couple. Sticker (for now). This was actually designed to be an embroidered patch, but I'm not really there yet. The sticker shape is odd so I might present this as a kiss cut sticker.

Luke on Ossus - no scars. Sticker. For people who don't want scars?

Luke on Ossus - scars. Sticker. I just wanted to doodle a thirst trap, thassit.

The Storm. Sticker (for now). I wanted to make more merch for my fics and might use this template for the other fics in the Dangerous Dreams series.

The Clan of Three. Sticker. This motherfucker held me up for MONTHS. I didn't like the previous full-body version especially after getting several sample stickers so I started over... and then got stuck. For months. But here we are. The final piece of the puzzle.

Limited - Tron. Sticker & acrylic charm. I wanted to make a little Tron merch. The acrylic charm will be double-sided with Tron on one side and Rinzler on the other. Thank god this guy is more or less symmetrical.

Limited - Rinzler. Sticker & acrylic charm. For people who like Rinzler. This will be double-sided with Rinzler on one side and Tron on the other side.

I'm sending off a final round of sample sticker and charm orders so that I can get a feel for the revamped and new designs, and once I'm happy I'll get the pop-up shop up and running.

Round 2, I'm looking at small prints, possibly the embroidered patch, and maybe a Tron|Rinzler standee. Also a sticker for The Suns maybe, possibly also The Stars. What if I did a WarGreymon|BlackWarGreymon charm?????

And now.... we write.

[chronicowboy]

but when i tried to love him i loved at the wrong time

this is a two for one spec inspired by this post and my long lost love trapped dads

any complaints about this fic can and should be directed to @evankinard who bullied me into writing this for her after i ruined her day with a single dm. love you bby <3

Eddie breaks apart a little the moment Buck disappears from view, lets himself feel the wound in his side as an excuse not to feel the big unwieldy thing unfolding in his chest like a colonising panic. He hadn't wanted to leave him, not after half an hour trapped in that smoky room clinging to each other to ground themselves in the reality they were trapped in, but Buck had made several stubborn and convincing arguments about Christopher before announcing he wouldn't move if Eddie didn't. Eddie had tried, had tried to get Buck out first, Buck who had just found happiness with—with Tommy, Buck who has always deserved to live. But Hen and Chim had come in with the clinical wisdom of paramedics and said a rebar through the abdomen was always going to take priority over a fractured leg.

Now, Eddie is rolled out of a collapsing building, leaving behind Buck—a bird with a broken wing, incapable of moving.

God, the noises Buck had made when he'd dragged himself over to Eddie's side. They'll be haunting him for years, for whatever lifetime he has left. Worse somehow than the first time with an entire engine on top of him. Except this time, Eddie couldn't hold his hand. Not now, but not before either because... Because that was someone else's job now. And like a laugh from the universe, Tommy appears just as Eddie reaches down to put the brakes on the gurney before Hen and Chim can get him into the ambulance.

"Kinard?" Bobby greets him with a grim-faced nod. "What are you doing here?"

"Heard you might need an assist from air support." He shrugs, but the breathlessness in the voice and the way his eyes keep jumping around the gathered 118 like he's only counting the one man not there reveals his nonchalance as the act it is. "Thought I'd swing by."

"Isn't that a conflict of interest?" Chimney asks.

"Fine, so I stole a helicopter again. Sue me for wanting to offer a hand." Tommy's face draws as soon as he stops speaking, and he glances back at the building waiting to swallow Eddie's heart whole. "How is he?"

"Holding in there," Eddie answers, voice tight enough to have Tommy really seeing him for the first time. "Think his bad leg is fractured."

"Shit," Tommy hisses, clenching his fists at his side.

"Yeah," Eddie breathes out. "Can't get himself out because of it. I wouldn't have left him, but—"

"He insisted," Tommy says, something entirely too knowing in his voice and his eyes. Eddie swallows thickly.

"And, well..." He gestures weakly to the rebar in his side, Buck's undershirt, now soaked through with Eddie's blood, wrapped around it as a makeshift bandage.

"Shit, Diaz." Tommy grimaces. "Shouldn't you be getting to the hospital?"

"He's refusing care until Buck is out too," Hen deadpans, pressing a new pad of gauze to his wound a little too firmly for it not to be intentional. Eddie just grits his teeth.

"Of course he is," Tommy murmurs. Eddie is too much of a coward to face up to whatever expression is on Tommy's face when he says it, so instead he focuses on the Incident Commander approaching Bobby.

"Site's been deemed too unstable," he announces. "No more personnel are to enter until we've found a way to stabilise it."

"My..." Bobby calms himself when his voice comes out in a growl. "My man is in there."

"And sending another man in there would be a suicide mission." The Incident Commander grimaces apologetically. "Sorry, Captain. That's an order."

Bobby turns his gaze back to the building, something so tightly drawn in him that it makes Eddie hurt all the worse. He knows without a shadow of a doubt what Bobby's thinking. He can't lose another son to a burning building.

And here, maybe this would be where Eddie runs back into the building and drags Buck out all on his own, maybe this would be where he finally gets to repay the favour for the gravel burn on his back, maybe this is where he'd get to redeem himself from the helplessness he'd felt just lowering Buck down to the ground. Except. There's a rebar in his side. Even with the adrenaline, even with the love... Eddie doesn't think he'd make it three steps before falling to his knees—a prayer in and of itself.

Instead, Eddie turns to look at Tommy. Tommy who is already looking at him, something determined and understanding and loving trapped behind the wildness of his eyes. A beat passes between them, silence saying more than they ever could.

"Bring him back to—" Me. But. Not to me.

Because that's not Eddie's place anymore. Eddie doesn't get to ask that of Buck's boyfriend. Eddie doesn't get to ask that at all. He's no longer the person that will be shaking Buck's pain pills into his hand and fetching him a bottle of water. He's no longer the person that will be wrapping Buck's cast in a bin bag for a shower and listening to him lament about the indignity of it. He's no longer the person that will be pulling Buck out of bed on his worst days to remind him that he's real and valued and loved. No, that's not his job anymore. But, fuck, Tommy's the only better man for the job.

"Bring him back to us," Eddie tells him then, and it feels like he's finally let go of the baton in the relay race, sure Tommy's got a hold of it now. And Tommy looks as wrongfooted by this as Eddie feels, but he nods anyway and grabs Eddie's discarded helmet from his lap, strapping it on.

"Kinard, no one goes in," Bobby warns him. "That's an order."

"You're not my captain anymore." Tommy only smiles and shrugs before sprinting towards the doors.

Bobby curses, but there's relief in it. Hen and Chim just watch him go with something hopeful on their faces. And Eddie. Eddie's eyes start to droop.

"Hey, hey, Eddie." Chim snaps his fingers in front of his face, jolting Eddie back into semi-consciousness.

"Eddie, we need to get you to a hospital," Hen says calmly, reaching for the brakes.

"Move me an inch and I rip this rebar out of my side," he says lowly.

"Jesus, anyone ever tell you you're a drama queen?" Chim huffs.

"Yeah." Eddie chokes on his next breath a little. "The man trapped in that building."

A solemn silence settles over them then. They redirect their attention to the doors Tommy had disappeared into, and Hen lays a grounding hand on his shoulder as they wait.

It's not long before Tommy comes stumbling out of the building, looking every bit the action hero Eddie has never gotten to be for Buck what with his soot-stained face and Buck himself slung over his shoulder, splinted leg bouncing against his sternum. Hen and Bobby spring into action immediately, racing to meet them. Chim just unlocks Eddie's gurney and loads him into the ambulance, raising him up just enough to catch a perfect view of Tommy lowering Buck onto his own stretcher with a kiss to his forehead. The ambulance doors close, Chim knocks twice, the sirens begin to whine, and they lurch into motion.

"Did you draw the drama queen straw?" Eddie asks to distract himself from the tenderness of Tommy's kiss.

"Higher ups are a little more serious about conflicts of interest now Buck is officially my brother-in-law," Chim mumbles as he works on getting Eddie's IV in. "But also I'm better acquainted with rebars than Hen, so..."

Eddie huffs a weak laugh as his eyes drift to the ceiling, the clean white of it stinging his eyes.

"Chim?"

"Yeah?"

"Tomorrow isn't promised to anyone, right?" he chokes out. He doesn't take his eyes off the ceiling, but the sudden silence in the ambulance is as deafening as the siren overhead.

"No," Chim says eventually. "No, it's not."

"But what happens if the person you love..." Here, his voice breaks. An almighty crack right through the middle. It sounds like the building behind them just came crumbling down in his throat. "What happens if someone told them first?" He turns to face Chim's wide eyes. "Should you still tell them?"

"I-I don't know..." Chim opens his mouth a few times, a fish out of water, before he makes a decision. He takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders. "But what I do know is." He clears his throat. "If you let a wound like that fester... It'll kill you, Eddie."

"Yeah." Eddie lets his eyes fall shut.

I can feel it already.

[fchsadfa]

Explanation for how to make this:

Start at the center back by casting on a few stitches (3? I'm pretty sure I did 3). Increase every other row by 4 stitches, one on either side of the center and one each edge. I used a lifted increase (picking up the yarn thread between stitches and knitting it) but you can do whatever you like. I marked the center stitch by purling it, and then with stitch markers when the number of stitches got unwieldy.

Keep increasing until you've got the width you want for your body! I had 69 (nice) stitches on each half. Then maintain that number and make the sides go up by increasing at the center spine and decreasing at the edges. Learn from my mistakes and don't panic about the center back being too long, keep going until the sides are a reasonable length.

Now sleeves! I had two balls of yarn but you could probably just put one half on a stitch holder and get back to it later. It's short row shaping time.

I worked my way up, wrapping and turning every 3 stitches. Depending on how many stitches you have, that number might be different? Once you've made it all the way across, knit straight for a while to bring the sleeve over the top of the shoulder.

Oh yeah, that center stitch marking the spine. Uh. I had knit both sleeves up to the point of having all the stitches knit, and then (let me remember...) knit two together on one side to work in the center stitch?

Short row shaping the other side: same thing backwards.

Front time! Increase at the sides, decrease at the front middle. To make sure that the front and back ended up the same size, I was knitting the front panel to the back by either slipping a picked up stitch from the back (knit rows) or purling two together (with a picked up stitch from the back). This is because I'm an idiot who hadn't kept count of how many rows I had done on the back, you could keep count and just stitch the sides, or if there's a better way to knit the sides together let me know.

Anyways, once the front and back are the same length decrease on both sides of the knitting until you only have a few left and then you can bind off or choose to knit those last few into an I-cord.

I picked up the bottom hem and the front edges/ neck of the cardigan with single crochet to stabilize the edges.

Sleeve bands!

I guess I'll have to write out what I did bc the guides for double sided knitting I'm looking at are different. Hmmm.

Take yarn A and yarn B. Slip knot A then B on your needle, cast on a stitch of A, then a stitch of B, etc alternating. I did 9 stitches of each.

Hold B with your left hand! This is the knit hand. Hold A in your right hand, the purl hand. (Assuming that B is the first stitch on the needle, which it should be?) Hold both yarns at the back when knitting, and at the front when purling, or you'll end up with yarn wrapped around the needle. Yeah. At the end of the row, turn the work and swap which yarn is in which hand.

For the diamonds, I did a pattern of

Row 1: stitches 2 and 8

Row 2: stitches 3 and 7

Row 3: stitches 4 and 5

Row 4: stitch 5

(And reverse and repeat etc etc)

The colour swap is just. Using the other yarn on that stitch. And by stitch I mean set of 2 stitches. Hmmm. Hopefully I've made myself clear?

The sleeve bands are obviously thicker (double fabric) and I don't know if the change in tension came from me holding two yarns or something about the process of knitting both sides at once, but the stitches are looser. I'm okay with that

Again I didn't keep track of how many rows I had made the sleeves, so once I had a fair bit of sleeve band I sewed it to the arm hole and used that as a guide for how much further I needed to knit. But you could be smarter!

Creating things: a wonderful blend of "I'm genius" and "I'm a fucking idiot".

I'm incredibly pleased with how it turned out (and with myself for ACTUALLY FINISHING A PROJECT)

But I was just making it up as I went along. If anyone has advice or suggestions for how to do things differently/ better, please share!

The striped yarn turned out beautifully for this, really highlighting the diagonal pattern. It would be interesting to see how this sweater would look in different yarns, maybe with different stitch patterns too?