#been in the drafts for A LONG TIME

[sylkiddsey]

Prompt: “Hold Onto Me”

Set in the early/ middle of season 8

Sylvie’s going to kill Stella. She’s actually going to corner her behind the rotting benches on their side of the field and murder her.

She did this. She implanted this stupid idea about her and Matt; Matt freaking Casey who has to be the worst possible person to have somewhat feelings for.

Okay, maybe Olivia is the one to blame since she said the stupid six words that can’t stop ringing through her brain like a bell. Still, Stella didn’t disagree. She also didn’t slap Sylvie across the face for even considering wanting Matt. Instead, she smirked and now she won’t let it go.

Now, she begged Sylvie to join the CFD softball team who annually plays against CPD. It’s strictly a pissing contest whose only prize is winning and bragging rights. It’s something Severide created so he could kick Jay Halstead’s ass.

Her best friend, her evil intentioned best friend, encouraged her to join this year. She insisted it was because Sylvie played softball in high school. Her friend knows she has a good arm so of course she’d want her on the team.

Wrong, this decision; this torture, is all because of Matt Casey. Stella convinced her here, so she had no choice but to stare and pine for the man who brings a whole new definition to the word swoon.

He’s hot on any given day, that much is obvious. It’s just a fact because any girl who encounters him on a scene, sweaty, stern and sometimes dirty, gets star eyes. They look at him like some Greek god and Sylvie’s human.

Matt’s incredibly attractive but this scene, this look is ungodly. When she first saw him, she rubbed her eyes so hard she saw spots. She thought she was hallucinating but this man was real.

The second-hand cheap uniform that’s oversized on her fits him amazingly. His shirt is halfway unbuttoned with the sleeves rolled up so all she can see is tan skin. Plus, his backwards baseball cap stirs something inside her that she didn’t even know existed.

Not to mention, his semi-competitive nature is a real turn on. All of it is entirely inappropriate considering he’s Gabby’s ex-husband. Matt’s her friend and she reasons with herself that any woman would admire this look. Hell, maybe Hailey and Kim are right there with her.

However, based on their starry looks for their respective partner’s, she doubts it. Unfortunately, she’s probably the only one foaming at the mouth. Well, she has seen the blonde female patrol cop making heart eyes at him.

There’s that at least.

God, she’s going to kill Stella after this. There’s no way she didn’t know what she was doing. She wanted her to have to see Matt like this. Just because she’s so happy with her own firefighter man does not give her the right.

Although Sylvie has murder on her mind, she’s also sadistically glad to play alongside him. She’s damn good and it’s thrilling to see his reaction. He even swatted her ass in congratulations after she ran into home base when Cruz advanced to first.

He’s never done that before, and she really can’t say she hated it. Although it was a little awkward when Hermann did the same thing. It’s endearing how into the game Hermann gets. She loves seeing his carefree self.

All and all, playing on the team is fun and they are definitely kicking PD’s ass. They are up by five runs in the bottom of the fifth inning. Jay and Atwater are good and Hailey’s surprisingly fast, but Adam and Kim can’t stop flirting to really do any good. Plus, the patrol cops Platt threatened so they’d join the team are clearly not into it. They rarely make contact with the ball or catch anything in the outfield.

Realistically, her team is in much better shape. Matt and Severide are athletes and Stella and Foster are so competitive it turns into skill. Cruz is one of the best third basemen and Gallo has hit more home runs than anybody. Even Ritter is quick on his feet.

She’s sure they are going to win which is probably why Severide gives in and lets her pitch another inning. His arm is sore, so he forfeits his pitcher status so that means she’s up again.

So far, she’s striked out most of PD aside from a few badly called balls. Trudy Platt makes a very biased umpire, but what can you do? Severide, aka the self-elected leader, pulled himself out while bases were loaded. Hailey had just reached first, pushing Atwater to second. Now, Jay is up to bat, and he looks determined.

His used helmet tips down and he adjusts, getting into a proper swinging stance. “Show us what you got Brett.”

What is it about men and trash talk?

She bends her knees and winds her arm. Ideally, it should pass through the strike zone without that bat making contact. She reels back and shoots forward, throwing the pale-yellow ball as hard as she can.

Jay swings, but misses, the softball landing in Cruz’s catcher mitt with a thwack. Platt declares her throw as a strike.

“Atta girl!” Stella hollers from the short-stop position. She smacks her hand into the glove and winks.

Okay, maybe Sylvie won’t kill her. She’s too encouraging for that.

Jay murmurs, scuffs his sneaker against the dirt and then repositions. He holds the bat behind his shoulder, and she winds up again, throwing the ball a little higher this time. Jay swings and misses, Platt declaring a second strike.

One more and he’s out and CFD bats again. She can easily do this.

“You got this, Brett.”

She looks over her shoulder. Matt’s playing first base because, duh, he’s just that good. He grins at her which causes a wave of nervousness to rush over. Before, she felt confident, but now with Matt’s very blue eyes tracking her every movement, she has butterflies.

God he looks so good. This Saturday evening hue does wonders for him.

Once Jay repositions again, she winds her arm back. She rotates her joint in a circle and releases the ball once it’s straight. It soars in the air harder than the previous ones and she watches Jay’s shinny blue bat make contact. Her eyes drift back onto Matt so she can watch him in action. She registers the harsh clinking noise and hears a simultaneous gasp amongst PD players inside the dugout.

She’s not sure what that is about until the ball comes flying back in her direction and beams her directly in the side of the head. Everything goes dark and before she can process anything, she tastes rich dirt on her lips.

There are a lot of voices all around her, but the throbbing inside her skull and eye socket makes it hard to process any of it. Jay can really hit the ball which should’ve been obvious. The man hits doors with battering rams for a living.

He has some power.

“Sylvie, can you hear me?”

Oh great. Matt, of course he’s here. Of course, the man she can’t get out of her damn head just witnessed her not so graceful face plant into the dirt.

This is humiliating.

His warm, rough hand grazes the back of her head. Despite not being able to open her eyes, she knows his face is right in front of hers. His voice sounds close, and she can also smell the faint scent of the cologne he probably put on before all this.

He grips her shoulder with his unoccupied hand. “Hey, I need you to open your eyes.”

The tone of his voice somehow lessens the pain, so she tries to blink. At first, everything is blurry. All she can see is redness and several sets of feet. After she lets her eyes adjust, she realizes she’s on her stomach. Her right eye is also swollen and throbbing.

“Hey, she’s coming to!”

Stella? Sylvie rolls herself onto her back covering her bad eye. Stella’s crouched next to her, shouting at Foster who is rooting around in the dugout. She’s probably looking for a first aid kit.

The game has apparently stopped. Everyone is crowded around her like she’s some zoo extraction. It is so embarrassing.

“Sylvie, hey? Are you alright?” Matt asks, allowing his hand to cup the side of her face. His worried features are blurry, but still tense.

“Geez, is she okay?”

Jay’s bent at the waist, hands on his knees by her feet. His expression is a mixture between worry and guilty.

Matt shoots him a tense glare, voice low and angry. She’s heard him talk like this on scenes with uncooperative people. “What do you think? You beamed her in the head.”

She’s sure poor Jay didn’t mean to do it. He just had a great hit and maybe if she wasn’t admiring Matt, she could’ve ducked.

Matt turns his attention on her again, narrowed eyes growing soft. His fingers brush some dirt off her face. “Hey, can you talk to me? Do you know where you are?”

Unfortunately, she does.

Her stomach churns at the reality of all this along with the pain. She feels herself grow pale.

“I’m going to be sick,” she murmurs, turning onto her right side by Stella. If she’s going to lose her sandwich Cindy packed for all of them, she’d rather Matt not witnesses that. She’s sure Stella won’t appreciate it, but this is also kind of her fault. She talked her into this.

When she’s on her side, the nausea dissipates. After she feels better, she rolls onto her back. Somehow, she ends up in Matt’s lap with his arm supporting her shoulders.

Emily runs over with the pitiful first aid kit someone left behind in the dugout. When she unpacks it, there is only a small bottle of rubbing alcohol and a warm ice pack.

Sylvie feels something wet roll down her face. She touches the skin above her eye and realizes it must’ve split open from the ball's stitches. She’s bleeding.

“You need a hospital, partner,” Foster says. “You’ll probably need stitches and a CT.”

Yeah, she’d agree she has a concussion. A cop’s strength will do that to a person.

“I’m so sorry, Brett,” Jay apologizes.

She gives him a thumbs up and mumbles, “It’s fine.”

Matt looks down at her, gently caressing her head. “I’m going to take you to Med.”

“What about the game?” Severide asks.

Both Stella and Matt glare through his soul. Although, she’s not upset with him at all. She doesn’t expect they stop the game all because of this.

“She’s bleeding and concussed. I think you’ll survive forfeiting the game,” Matt retorts.

“No, keep playing,” she insists, wincing at how talking aggravates her injury. “Cindy or someone from the stands can take me.”

“No way,” he argues. “I got it.”

Oh god. This can’t get any worse. She loves how much he cares, but he’s killing her.

Stella must notice because she pipes up. “It’s okay, Casey. I can take her. You keep playing.”

Matt begins maneuvering her in his arms. She groans as he just barely jostles her. She’s seeing stars.

“No offense Kidd, but I don’t think you can carry her to the car,” he replies.

Carry? She can probably walk.

“Casey, I can walk,” she protests, but he doesn’t listen. He slides one arm under her back and legs.

“No, you can’t Sylvie,” he replies. “Hold onto me.”

She has no choice but to do what he asks. She wraps her arms around his neck, and he hoists her in his arms like she’s weightless. The movement makes her dizzy, so she rests her head on his broad shoulder.

Despite how embarrassing this is, she can’t say she’s miserable. This is surprisingly nice.

“Kidd, can you grab my keys from my bag and help me get her in the truck?” He requests.

“Sure.”

Sylvie ignores the commotion around her and focuses on how nice it feels to be in his arms.

:::

She winds up behind a curtain in Med’s ER with one of Matt’s old t-shirts against her bleeding eye as she waits. Unfortunately, the ER is overflowing with people who are in worse shape so she’s stuck waiting. It doesn’t matter that Matt already made an enemy out of one of the doctor’s she doesn’t know after he demanded she get some ice; she still has to wait.

The bleeding has slowed, but she’s definitely dizzy. Matt had of course carried her in despite the many many times she insisted she could walk. He never listened because he carried her until he gently sat her on the gurney.

Now, he’s standing next to her with one of her hands tight in his. He took off the hat at some point, so his hair is disheveled and messy. It’s not a bad change.

She really didn’t think he’d stick around, but they’ve been waiting almost an hour and he’s stayed by her side. She’s somewhat reclined back with her knees propped up and her left-hand holding pressure against her face.

He told her ten minutes ago that Stella texted that she and Emily were trying to visit, but with the ER so packed, the nursing staff wanted all unnecessary visitors out.

She understands and as much as she loves her friends, Matt is great company too.

She squeezes Matt’s fingers to lessen the pain because her eye is throbbing and swollen. He must notice the additional pressure because he turns his head and frowns.

“Hey, is it getting worse?” He asks.

“No, just throbs every now and then. I guess that is happens when you take a softball to the eye socket.”

So far, he’s been standing next to her, leaning on the railing every once and awhile after stretching his back. Now, he reaches for one of the plastic chairs with one hand and drags it next to her. He sits down, resting both elbows on the railing and moves his free hand to her head.

He sweeps some hair out of her eyes. “Yeah, Halstead hit you hard, Brett.”

She bites her lip to keep from laughing. “Yeah, I know Casey. I felt it.”

Matt chuckles, letting his hand rest on the top of her head. “I bet. You dropped to the ground instantly. I don’t think anyone had time to react.”

God, that’s so embarrassing.

She groans. “Just great. That’s not humiliating at all.”

“Oh, come on,” he replies. “There is nothing embarrassing about getting hurt. It was Halstead’s fault. Not yours.”

“He didn’t mean to hit me. It was a good hit,” she says. “I should’ve ducked or gotten out of the way. It’s not Jay’s fault.”

He leans back but keeps ahold of her hand. “I don’t care. You shouldn’t have gotten hit like that. You’re going to need stitches and you probably have a concussion.”

She ticks one finger in the air. “Definitely have a concussion. Paramedics know these things, but hey, at least I didn’t break anything.”

The second she makes the joke, she regrets it. Matt’s expression shifts and she berates herself for making light of the Arnow fire.

“I…I’m sorry,” she whispers, squeezing his hand. “I shouldn’t have…”

He shakes his head and shifts his gaze down. “No, no, you’re right. I guess it’s kind of hypocritical of me to be upset with Halstead for hurting you when I did the same.”

She’s so stupid. How could she bring this up? It’s not Matt’s fault. She’s never blamed him ever.

“Casey, you didn’t…” she chews on the inside of her lip. “It wasn’t your fault. I would never blame you for what happened.”

He meets her stare. “I called you in, Brett. I told you it was safe. That’s on me.”

She knows he holds so much guilt over that day, especially Otis’s death. It’s unnecessary because it wasn’t on him. It was the factory’s negligence that caused the blast.

“You thought it was,” she replies. “Everyone did. There was no way for you to know. I don’t blame you and you shouldn’t blame yourself.”

“Yeah,” he replies, but she can tell he doesn’t believe it. He probably never will.

She switches gears and lets her gaze settle on his hand, watching as his rough thumb grazes her pointer finger in soothing patterns. Originally, she thought this injury was a curse, but it’s kind of a blessing. It’s nice to see how much he cares.

He’s a great guy.

“You know,” she whispers, looking up at him. She wants this next confession to really sink in. “More than anyone in the world, I’d trust you with my life. I really would, Casey.”

The signature solemn Matt Casey looks changes. The corner of his mouth ticks up in a small grin. “I appreciate that.” He clears his throat, and she swears his cheeks turn a little red, but that might just be her impaired vision. “When Boden came over the radio and said someone was hurt…I was really hoping it wasn’t you. I mean, I didn’t want Foster or anybody else to be really hurt, but I don’t know.”

She holds her breath in anticipation. The confession startles her to her core. What does that even mean?”

“I guess what I’m saying is…worst case scenario for me was that it was you who was hurt…well, aside from the absolute worst…”

She gently interrupts him. They both know what he means. “Yeah, I know.” She decides to shift the tone. “I knew I’d grow on you eventually.”

Huh, maybe that wasn’t a good idea. She is concussed and the pain meds just now kicked in. She’ll blame her loose filter on that.

Matt chuckles, scratching the back of his neck. “Well, I wouldn’t say you never did. I mean, I’ve liked you since the day I met you.”

Platonically, she reminds herself.

She purses her lips. “No, you definitely didn’t. We barely knew each other. I was just…”

Gabby’s best friend.

God, she’s the worst person ever. She shouldn’t be holding Matt’s hand right now. It’s wrong.

She tries to ease her hand away, but his grip never waivers.

Whatever. If he’s okay with it, so is she.

It’s all friendly anyway.

“Okay,” Matt concedes. “Maybe it took me a couple years to really appreciate you in all your glory, but I had a lot going on. Now, I don’t know…I guess it’s easy with you. I mean, talking and hopefully, building a friendship.”

His sentence trails off with a question. She can’t believe he would think for one second that she doesn’t consider him as a friend.

She does.

The pain meds are leaving her feeling fuzzy. She grins, readjusting the shirt that smells like Matt against her eye. “See? I knew you’d fall in love with me.”

Oh my god.

She lifts her head and the room spins, but she’s too immersed in her panic to clock her symptoms.

Did she really just…

To her surprise, Matt doesn’t look appalled by her stupid slip-up. He’s actually grinning in amusement.

“Oh my god,” she whispers. “I didn’t mean…pickles.” She shakes her head, averting her gaze onto the tiled ceiling. “Platonically of course. I meant platonically fall in love. I say the same thing to Severide which I obviously don’t want him in love with me. Not that he would. I mean, he’s madly in love with Stella which I want! I want my best friend so happy. I’m not…oh my god.”

She feels like a human car crash. Every move she makes causes more damage.

“Brett,” Matt laughs.

“Obviously you’ll never fall in love with me,” Sylvie says. It’s true. “Nor would I ever in a million years want you to, Casey.” Unfortunate lie.

He raises his eyebrows. Did she offend him?

“You’re not my type. You’re not unattractive obviously…I mean, I’m not saying I don’t think your…”

Now would be the best time for her blood vessels to pop if she does in fact have a brain bleed. It would shut her up, but also give her an excuse to hide behind after all that word vomit.

“Sylvie,” he interrupts, lightly patting her head. “You’re drugged up on pain pills. Probably best you stop talking.”

Yeah, definitely not a bad idea.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry. You can um…I can wait alone. I don’t want to put you out. You probably have things…”

“You better not be trying to push me away now,” he says. “I like being here for you, okay? And I like that you seem to like it too. Just let me.”

Gosh, he’s so earnest. It amazes her.

“I do like you here. I appreciate it,” she says. “I really do.”

She does.

Appreciate him.

[dilfmobius]

Kneel.

[anakins-starlight]

Oh my goshh, I'm thinking about Toji's girlfriend having like space buns, and while they're outside, he like places his palm on them to navigate the way they go.

“Hey..this way, yeah? We're not going into that store again; you already emptied my wallet enough in there.” Toji grumbles out, his big palm placed on top of your left spacebun to slowly push you towards the exit of the mall.

With loud whines you grab his arm to make him stop walking. He turns to look at you with a harsh stare before you just feel him continue pushing you forward by your hair.

Sadly, you have no other option but to follow him as you obviously don't want the cute hairstyle to be ruined!

“Stoop whining. It's fine. You'll survive the day without buying another pair of new shoes,” he huffs, staring over your head at the exit as he tries to pick up the pace. 

A few people stop walking just to stare at you both. It probably does look silly; the way this tall ass guy has his hand on your head like that, pushing you to where he wants to go.

You noticed the way his disapproving gaze landed on your shopping bags again as he holds them.

“Geez..you drain the money out of my wallet. Y'know how much I spend for all of your frilly stuff today? Almost 200 bucks. Could have bought I dunno groceries for a month with that.”

He scoffs when he doesn't get a reaction, knowing you feel bad. “yeah, keep pouting. That will get you nowhere.”

[thenerdyalien]

The real tragedy of bbc merlin

No matter how many years have passed since the finale, sometimes I still get choked up thinking about Merlin's devotion to Arthur and how cruel destiny really was to him. Because yes, Arthur's death was tragic, but for me Merlin's prophecised destiny was always the real tragedy of the show.

Like imagine being told that your whole purpose in life, your destiny, is another person, and not only that but someone you don't particularly like at first (a prat, you may say). And it's clear that he often feels trapped by this, even going as far as comparing his destiny with Arthur to a marriage (yes, that happens in not only one but two scenes, though one of them was deleted), an arrangement he had no say in but that has dictated his whole life. But the worst part is that he starts growing fond of him, he starts falling in love with the man he is inside, the real Arthur, not the facade he puts on for others. And suddenly it's not about destiny for Merlin anymore, it's about Arthur. He puts Arthur above everything. His kind, his beliefs, himself. He shuts himself off, he becomes a shell of the boy he used to be. Arthur's well-being is everything to him and nothing else matters. That's why he chooses Arthur over magic in the Disir, that's why he never told him the truth about his mother, that's why he was ready to die without ever letting Arthur know about his secret...because he would rather jump into the flames than to ever put Arthur in that position. And then imagine finding out that in the end, it was all a cruel joke, that the man you had come to love with all your being would be ripped from you anyway, no matter how dutifully you fulfilled your destiny, no matter how much you had given away for him. Because it turned out that your destiny was never Arthur, it was tragedy, it was martyrdom, it was giving away your body and soul for a future that will never come, a golden age that you'll never get to see.

That's why we're all still here 12 years later, because the bbc unintentionally wrote the most devastating tragedy of the century under the disguise of a silly family show.

[shakingparadigm]

My Clematis seems to be rather well-known, like a starter song, almost. The children in the Anakt Garden have even been seen practicing it in a shot from ROUND 3.

(the lyrics below the staff read: O MAI CULEMATIS. SYM YEON E SO PIN HIMAN which seems to be a simplified English version of the song's Korean lyrics.)

It's familiar enough that Mizi, who caught Sua practicing it on her own, was able to sing along immediately despite this being their first proper meeting.

It would also make sense for Till and Ivan to sing this song (in quite an easy manner, considering the light-hearted banter and Till's casual tone of voice) if they had practiced it many times before.

And of course, as everyone has already pointed out, it's a song that has been registered onto karaoke machines.

It'd be fitting for a (presumably) starter song like My Clematis to be the opener for ALNST, the star of its very first round. Even better for it to be performed by two girls who encapsulate the song perfectly, even until its final lyrics.

An aspect of Mizi's childishness and innocence could be her love for this "starter" or "beginner" song. She loves My Clematis because she loves Sua, the first person she ever met singing (probably) the first song she was ever introduced to. A song that she associates with youth and early beginnings, just like her life "began" when she heard Sua sing all those years ago.

[hiros-fr]

son

[maythearo]

The cast I drew on sticky notes!

[starry-bi-sky]

fast food is the best course of action after causing a scene. ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀɴʏᴀʟ ᴀʟ ɢʜᴜʟ ᴀᴜ

(First Post Here and Second Post Here

--------

Danny finds Sam easily.

She's right where she said she was over the phone: standing outside on a balcony, in Gotham, at Father's many charity functions. 

("Would you still be willing to fly over to Gotham, Danny?" She asks, her voice ringing clear through the speakers. Danny is already climbing out his window before she even finishes her sentence. He was just about to settle down for the night, his ghosts would know better by now than to disturb him at this time. The Box Ghost not included.)

("Of course." He says, sounding more confident than he feels. Sam was one of his best— closest friends, he would do anything she or Tucker asked. Even if it means stepping foot into his Father's city. He drops down silently, and walks through the house's ghost shield. "Would you like me to bring you anything?")

(Sam sighs through the phone, relief leaking through. "One of the veggie burgers from Nasty Burgers would be great, with their new ecto-fries. Extra salt. I'm sick of all this rich people food.")

(A small smile pulls across Danny's face, tilting at the corner as his living form falls away to his ghost self. "Alright," he says, and kicks himself off the ground, "I'll be there in a few minutes.")

("Thanks, Danny.")

He had the bag of food with him, stored in a container he had to run back to the house to get that would prevent the food from cooling during his flight over. Clutching it in hand, he floats down behind Sam and sheds his invisibility.

Being visible and being invisible always felt different, but in a way Danny can never describe, no matter how many times he tries to think about it. It's like a gut-feeling, a sixth sense, he always knows when he's visible and when he is not.

His ghost form burns away like steel wool being lit, and Danny drops the last foot to the ground silently. In his other hand lies his thermos, but filled with plain ectoplasm — lazarus water. "I have your food." 

(He brought the thermos for himself — his side was still healing from his last fight with Technus. The ghost impaled him with a broken pipe, and Danny returned the favor by wedging his sword into his chest. Technus had been quite offended by him ruining his favorite coat.)

Sam jumps a foot into the air, and her hand slams across her mouth to muffle the shriek she lets out as she whirls around. "Danny!" She hisses, her voice rising in pitch, and her eyes narrow at him into a glare. "Freaking-- Tucker's right, we seriously need to put a bell on you."

"You have been saying that for years," Danny grins, sharp-toothed and jack-knifed, and passes the container over to her. "And yet I've yet to see any kind of bell." He was going to start getting disappointed at this rate.

As Sam takes the container, Danny hops up onto the railing and looks around. He hadn't seen any of Father's other children lurking around the building before he revealed himself, but that doesn't mean they aren't there. He wasn't going to fool himself into thinking that their stealth skills were poor.

He wasn't that arrogant.

...Anymore.

"Oh you will." Sam threatens, unzipping the container and grabbing the takeout bag. "I'll get you a collar and everything, we can start calling you Catwoman." When she pulls out her fries, Danny snaps forward and steals one from the box, ignoring her indignant yell as he pops it into his mouth.

"I spent my own money on these fries, Sam." He sniffs, leaning away from her with a stifled huff of laughter as she swats at him. "So they are technically my fries. And also, Catwoman would be a poor thief if she wore a bell."

Sam grumbles at him, and takes a bite out of a handful of fries. "I'll venmo you money." She says past a mouthful of food, Danny would have been disgusted in the past, when he was still new. But he's gotten used to this... normality. So he makes no reaction to it. "How does three hundred bucks sound?"

Danny immediately frowns.

"Did you have a fight with your parents?" He asks, eyes glancing to the doors. Doors that are covered heavily by curtains and blurred heavily, decadent music passing through in muffled sounds. He shifts himself away from the light. "You only spend that much money when they've pissed you off."

Sam's chewing stops, and her annoyed expression falters into one Danny knows well -- hurt, furrowed brows, a small frown, disappointment -- and she turns her head away from him. She swallows. "Yeah." she says, quiet.

Oh.

Danny knows that tone too.

Guilt settles like a rock in his chest. He leans forward, "Was it about me again?" He wasn't blind to the disdain Sam's parents had for him, far from it. This wasn't the first time Sam had gotten into a fight with them over her friendship with him and Tucker. But especially him. He unsettled people, even after years of observing his age-mates and trying to mimic their behavior, and anyone who knew him in middle school knew it was an act.  

Sam's silence gives him all the confirmation he needs, and the guilt heavies itself with the weight of the sky. Danny's never much cared about others' opinions of him -- he is (was?) an Al Ghul, they never heed to mind what the weight of a simpleton's thoughts.

But.. he cares a little a lot when it hurts his friends like this. He presses his lips together into a thin line, and forces the words out through his teeth. It sounds robotic. Al Ghul's do not apologize. "I... am sorry." But this one does. It doesn’t come easy. 

Sam sighs through her nose, and turns to roll her eyes at him. "Don't apologize on their behalf when you won't even apologize for your own; their assholes." She says, and goes reaching for more fries.

It's a sign, a signal. A silent word for the conversation to move on, to change. A distraction. Danny grasps it with both hands, and makes an offended noise in the back of his throat. And like he has learned, puts a hand to his chest like a scandalized American southern lady. "I apologize! I apologize plenty."

She snorts. "Only when you think it matters." And pokes him in the ribs sharply with her fry. He withholds a wince and snatches it out of her hands. "You're about as unapologetic as they come, Danny J. Fenton. I've seen you look more sincere when you're trying to drive your sword between Vlad's ribs."

"Stabbing Masters is a very important task for me, Sam." Danny says in only partially faux-seriousness. Masters has yet to realize that Danny had no interest in becoming his son, but he had to (reluctantly) admire his persistence. "Of course I will apply myself to it as best as I can."

He grins triumphantly when Sam laughs, and she reaches over to shove him square in the chest. He barks out a laugh of his own as he grips onto the balcony railing and catches himself at an angle.

"Quit with your method actor talk," Sam retorts, grinning sharply while Danny twists himself back up elegantly. "I know you can talk like a normal person, I've literally seen you do it."

Danny sniffs, and snatches more fries from the carton as revenge. "I'm not entirely sure what you mean, Miss Sam." He says, grin-twisting when Sam rolls her eyes. "My speech has always been this way. This 'normal' you speak of, I do not know it."

She waves her hand dismissively at him. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. But if you keep talking like that, I'm pushing you off the balcony."

"Such violence, Sam."

He gets a laugh again, full of disbelief without any of the annoyance. "I'm gonna be the one that stabs you, oh my god. Pot meet kettle." She looks at him again, smiling.

Danny smiles back, and with a flick of his wrist pulls out a kunai from his sleeve. It was one of the few weapons Mother was able to pass on to him whenever she made her scarce visits. He cherishes it well, along with anything else she was capable of giving him. 

He holds the handle out to her, and watches her face shift from disbelief to shock, then back to disbelief. "Then you're gonna need a weapon to do that." 

"Of course you have a pointy object on you." She mutters, and takes the kunai and puts it in her purse. Danny makes a pleased hum, it resonates low in his core, and drops his hand. "When do you not have a pointy object on you?"

As if to make her point, Danny's hands twist near his side, and he holds his palms up to her, revealing the shobo he had also hidden on him. He gives her a shit-eating grin. "Never." He lowers his hand, and pockets the small weapon once again. 

Sam huffs, "Of course," she repeats, "thanks. I was gonna bring a knife but..."

Danny finishes the sentence for her, kicking his feet idly and knowingly. "The security at the door?" He'd seen them on his flight over the building. It wouldn't do much in the face of the Rogues, but at least they were good at keeping appearances and keeping out the smaller threats.

He rolls his eyes and turns his head away, looking up to the ugly, smog-covered skies. There was no bat signal in the air, and while that was a good thing, Danny almost wished there was. He wanted to see it. "I saw, and I would’ve called Father foolish if he hadn’t hired help. He attracts trouble almost as badly as I do."

"Maybe it's hereditary," Sam jokes, laughing under her breath. With her fries finished, she started on her veggie burger. "At least your dad isn't a vigilante like you are."

Danny smiles wryly. It felt nice to be able to talk more freely about this. That he didn't have to hide the fact that his father was Bruce Wayne, now that Sam knew it from her own accord. Maybe he could have conversations like these more often. Even if it was limited to Bruce Wayne only.

(Even if it felt a little terrifying to know that his father was so close by, close enough that Danny could reach out and touch him. To speak to him. But how would he explain that? And with an audience?)

(He’s wanted to see him since he was a kid, and he still does. It clings onto him like a cough that doesn’t go away after the cold already has, and while it has faded over the years, it clings. His mother’s words still ring in his ears however; it’s not safe. It’s not safe.)

(And isn’t that why he faked his death in the first place? So that his little brother would be safe? Why he gave up the heirship, his home, his Mother, Damian, and his chance to meet his Father? Going to see Father, even now, would be throwing that all away. He has to stay away.)

(Why is Damian with Father if staying with Father was unsafe?) 

He just needed to tell Tucker. Danny wouldn’t keep him out of the loop, he was just as much as his friend as Sam was. His eyes draw towards the door, where the golden glow of lights was still pouring through, where music was playing loudly. "Yeah, fortunately." 

They fall into a comfortable silence after that, and Danny finally cracks open his thermos. The pipe Technus impaled him with was covered in a goo that Danny didn’t recognize, but whatever it was, his injury was taking its time healing. The ectoplasm was speeding it up. 

He isn’t sure what the difference between the ectoplasm that Drs. Fenton collected and Grandfather’s Lazarus pools is, but there’s a difference. He swirls the thermos slowly, watching as the ectoplasm inside twists into a small whirlpool sluggishly. 

When left alone, it thickens into a consistency similar to egg whites, or perhaps a thick smoothie, but reverts back into a water-like substance when moved and swirled. It was strange; unexplainable. He can understand, to an extent, why the Drs. Fenton are so obsessed with studying it and the dimension it comes from. 

Sam watches him idly as he brings the thermos to his lips and drinks from it. The effect is instantaneous, a sense of relief washing over Danny as if someone had put a soothing balm onto an injury. It buzzes down to his fingertips, and when he lowers the thermos, he licks his lips and watches the tips of his fingers burn green like frostbite. 

“Your hair turned white again.” Sam comments, her hand reaching out and touching the hair on the nape of his neck. While it’s not the first time Sam’s touched his hair, it still makes him tense up with her hand so close to his throat. Instinct. dan

He ignores the urge to bat her hand away, humming thoughtfully. “I’ve noticed it does that.” He says, pulling down his bangs to see if they’ve also turned white. No, still black. He lets go. “Let me guess; my eyes are green too?” He lifts the thermos again and peers into the chrome casing. 

Sam nods, “Yep, but it’s only the, uh.” She makes a circle around her eyes with her finger. “The iris part. Everything else is fine.” 

Danny can see that. The faint reflection on the chrome casts back an intense green. He takes another sip. It chills the back of his teeth, and he can feel his canines warp and sharpen. He runs his tongue over them, and swallows. 

Sam is still watching him, her fingers drumming against the balcony railing. “What’s it taste like?” 

“Carbonated.” He says dryly, before taking a large swig. He couldn’t name a specific flavor if he tried, it changed every time he took a sip. The only thing that stayed consistent was that it tasted carbonated. And slightly sweet. When he pulls the thermos away, Danny twists his body towards her and offers it out, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “Want to try?” 

Her reaction is immediate. Sam’s nose scrunches up and her mouth twists into a smile, and she makes a huffing-laugh sound. “No, thank you.” She pushes it away lightly with her fingers, “I don’t know how to explain to my parents why my hair is white.” 

Right. Danny pulls the thermos away and puts it down beside him, straining his eyes to see if the rest of his hair has changed colors. Even just his first sip would take half an hour to fade back to its normal black, and he was a halfa. He had no idea how long it’d take to fade on Sam, who was human. 

There’s movement from the corner of his eye, and Danny snaps his head towards the source. There’s a figure, small, a boy, trying to hide behind one of the curtains at the door. His form just barely peeking out from the angle Danny was sitting at. He wouldn’t have seen him if the boy hadn’t moved. 

His fingers curl tightly into the railing, and he breathes in sharp. Sam’s smile crumbles away and she turns to see what he’s looking at. “I should go.” He says, and reaches for his thermos. “There’s someone spying on us. Don’t say anything, just look at me.” 

Sam’s expression warps, twists. Her eyes widen, her jaw starts to drop before fixing itself into place, and her shoulders curl up and tense. She forces it all to smooth over, and she leans casually against the railing. There’s a tick in her jaw. “I see.” Her voice comes through teeth. “Do you think they saw you?”

“I am not sure.” Danny says. He keeps an eye on the figure as he twists himself over and grabs the Nasty Burger bag and the container. He tries not to look like he’s rushing. He is. How long has that boy been there? How much did he see? Did he hear anything? 

“Father, fortunately, has privacy films on the glass. Nobody should have seen me unless they’re specifically trying to peep through the door.” He says. The boy seems to realize that Danny was starting to leave. And, his heart beginning to sink, instead of leaving, moves to grab the door handle instead.

No. No, no, no, no, no.

Danny’s breath catches in his throat, he’s hoping that isn’t who he think it is. But how else would he have not noticed an eavesdropper on their conversation unless it was someone who was capable of bypassing those skills? He told himself that he wouldn’t fool himself into thinking that his siblings’ had poor stealth. He got distracted. 

Five years, five years. He refuses to let that go down the drain. He zips up the container and throws his legs over the other side of the railing, his back facing the door. He hears the doorknob click, and without a word to Sam, slips off down the side and down to the ground below.

Just in time. The once muffled music now sounds blaring as the door presumably is thrown open and the pull of invisibility washes over him like a second skin. He doesn't stay to see who it is.

[sceebybeeby]

⚠️spoilers for the entire aj trilogy lol⚠️

is this even anything? don't answer if it isn't

[itsmespicaa]

The way I literally lost my mind when I saw them in the movie omg...after 40 years, my beloved twins are finally back together 😭🫶💖

(I spent like a good chunk of rewatches just trying to spot every single appearances of them HAHAHA- OTL i hope we DO get a sequel and when we do, hopefully the twins will be there too :"D)

[jadewritesficshere]

Grey

Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Synopsis: Steve gets a wake up call from yall's daughter

Contents: talks of aging, kids being kids, references to smut but nothing explicit

Steve groans as his consciousness comes to. Something is hitting his face. Someone. Repeatedly.

Steve squints his bleary eyes open as a hand smacks him in the jaw again. A small smile appears on his face even though his jaw stings from the impact. "Morning," Steve's voice is still thick with sleep as he turns to look into brown eyes barely peeking over the edge of the bed.

A quiet voice repeats back ,"Morning," to Steve before arms reach up over the edge of the bed to try and grasp something. Small hands grab the blanket and tug it off of him slightly as the child attempts to climb up. At two and half, Amelia Joy Harrington can barely see above the edge of her parents' bed, let alone get on it.

Steve hoists Amelia up and sits her on his stomach. Steve winces as Amelia scrambles, a stray foot hitting his thigh precariously close to his crotch. Arms are thrown around his neck in a hug as Amelia lays her head against her dad's chest.

Steve feels like his heart could burst out of his chest from the joy he is feeling. A hug from his baby? The best way to wake up in the morning. Who cares if his jaw is still stinging and probably red, his little girl loves him.

Steve sighs in contentment. Steve holds his daughter close until she starts to fidget and wiggle. Amelia sits up and throws her hands in the air. "Happy Birthday!" She whispers excitedly, except she has no concept of how quiet a whisper should actually be and says it in a much too loud voice.

"What?" Steve asks, hand hovering near Amelia's side in case she slips. Amelia's eyebrows furrow as she pouts at him, a look that is an exact copy of you. Her arms slowly lower as she stares at Steve. "Happy Birthday. You old." Amelia pouts at him.

Steve blinks at Amelia in confusion but nods his head. First off, rude, he isn't that old. Steve isn't sure where she gets her unfiltered, blunt commentary (it absolutely isn't him). Second, it absolutely isn't his birthday. Not even close.

"Why uh...why is it my birthday?" Steve asks, unsure if Amelia fully understands the concept. Not sure if he can explain the idea of a birthday to a two (and a half) year old. "Grey." Amelia declares giving Steve whiplash. Before Steve can speak, Amelia points at the comforter," Blue." Steve smiles," Yes, blue."

Amelia points to her shirt," Green." Steve nods. Amelia taps under Steve's eye, lashes brushing against her finger causing him to close it. Steve hopes she doesn't attempt to actually poke his eye.

"Brown." Amelia declares. "Thats right." Steve grins, his girl is so smart. Amelia points to his temple," Grey." "That's ri- what?! No!" Steve's mouth drops open as Amelia giggles. "Uncle Dustbin says grey is old. Birthday makes old. Happy Birthday!"

The creak of the loose floorboard in the hall notifies Steve of your approach. You peek into the doorway of the room, seeing your two favorite people. One looking aghast and the other giggling at her father's reaction.

"What's going on in here?" You ask, leaning against the doorway. "Grey. Birthday." Amelia announces, like it explains everything. And it does in her little mind.

You hum in response, looking at your husband who seems lost for words. Amelia slides off of Steve and off the bed, Steve guiding her so her feet land on the ground absent-mindedly. He would never let her fall or get hurt. Or you.

Amelia half walks half dances in your direction. A prance in her step, she stops in front of you and grabs your hands. "It's daddy's birthday," She says before headbutting your leg. You chuckle and pat her head as she dances out of the room, in her own little world.

"You lying to my kid again?" You ask once Amelia is gone. Steve sputters as he sits up," I did not- our kid- did not lie." "Uh-huh, sure," you say sarcastically. Steve rolls his eyes at you as he gets up out of bed.

Steve stretches as he rocks on his feet, back cracking, before strolling over to you. "Good morning," Steve mumbles, hand landing on your hip. You hum back as he leans in and kisses you. Soft. Slow. Sweet. Leaving you longing for more as he pulls back.

"Love you," Steve says, fingers running along the waistband of your pants. "I love you too," you want to melt into him. Curl up in his arms and stay in this moment. Let the love and adoration fill the air around you.

"Do I look old?" Steve is the first to break the silence. Your brow furrows in confusion," huh?" "Amelia she," Steve huffs out a laugh," said I have grey hair." You chuckle as you bring a hand up, fingers threading through his hair," You have some but its nice." "Its nice huh?" "Makes you look distinguished. Handsome." You bite your lip and look up at him.

Steve knows that look. Knows it well. It's the look you gave him the first time you moved past just making out. The same look you gave him on your first anniversary. The same look you wore on your wedding night. The same look you gave before Amelia was conceived.

Steve can't help the smirk that spreads across his face. If getting old gives him that look, well, he won't complain.

"What about me?" You ask, batting your lashes. "Beautiful," Steve kisses your cheek," Gorgeous," he kisses the corner of your lips. He continues to alternate between kissing all over your face and praising you.

"My love," Steve whispers before kissing you softly on the lips. You sigh into the kiss, one hand tangling in his hair, the other trying to pull him closer.

A loud crash from the living room has you two pulling back from the sweet moment you stole. "What was that?" You call down the hall. "Nothing!" Amelia yells back, making you sigh but smile. Steve can't help but grin too. His life was a little hectic dealing with a rambunctious child, but he wouldn't trade it for the world. And he thinks, if life is like this, he can manage getting old with you. He wouldn't want it any other way.

[cobaltfluff]

suuuuper late pocky day akeshus ;w;

[illogicalvulcans]

[Fic Book Covers 11+12/?] Integrative Approaches by Nnm / @mouseonamoose

Demonology and the Tri-Phasic Model of Trauma

As soon as Aubrey Thyme, psychotherapist, had opened her office door and seen her new client, Anthony J. Crowley, sitting in her waiting area, she was observing and assessing him. At first glance, she paid attention to the following: --His clothing was expensive and stylish; --He wore very strange but noticeable cologne; --His relationship to the seat he occupied could only, very loosely, be described as “sitting;” --He looked angry; --He was wearing sunglasses. What Aubrey Thyme, a professional, thought, upon first seeing her new client was: you’re going to be a fun one, aren’t you?

Angel-Centered Therapy Through A Multicultural Lens

“I’d love to meet with you,” Davey said, apologetically, when he had been called up by a fellow looking to initiate therapy, “but I’m all booked up for months.” “Are you sure?” The fellow said, through a poor connection that crackled. Davey had been sure. And yet. Right there in his calendar was a blank spot, just a few days away, which he had somehow completely overlooked before. “How about that…I’ve got Wednesday at eleven, if you can make that work.” “What a miracle,” the fellow said, “that would be just the perfect time.”

[scottstiles]

Every Sciles Touch 1x1 ☾ Wolf Moon

[rjshope]

BV38 Behind

[cr. 0613data]

[mossy-paws]

I miss clementine. I miss vinestaff's adopted creature. Could we see some new clementine. I just want to give the cuty a second hug.

(Bias towards the past? what's that :) )

funny enough! Guess what I’ve been forgetting to post for quite some time now :)