#bit more experimental... this was fun to make :]

[cosmicalily]

"written by the aces" - a mini series by @cosmicalily. view series masterlist, and outline here

8. "younger" | yang jeongin x fem!reader

It all will work out, you're not gonna feel this way, not forever, and you'll lie awake in tears til the morning, you're not gonna know everything when you're 14, you don't even know at 25, and that's alright

author's note: there's just something about childhood sweetheart to best friends to lovers yang jeongin that gets me freaky (in a wholesome way trust). also this is like an entire love story seperated into chunks of the important bits bc otherwise it would be a full series (which i'm actually considering writing based on this fic would you guys fw that?)

warnings: implied sex (no actual smut, you nasties)

Yang Jeongin was the boy at kindergarten who played with the kids in the year below. He liked looking after people, especially people who couldn’t manage to do certain things on their own. He’d teach them everything he knew and play their games with them, hold their hands as they walked around the playground and smile and wave to them when they were in their separate classrooms.

Yang Jeongin became the boy who was friends with the older kids in school, namely the group of boys in third grade, consisting of Jisung, Seungmin, Felix and Hyunjin. He preferred sitting with them at lunch to sitting with people in his own grade, and frequently sat by himself in his year level. He didn’t mind not having any best friends in his own second grade class; people still talked to him, and he had friends, but none he could talk to deeply in class, or offer snacks to.

When you moved into town during the summer, you were unsure of how you’d make friends. Your parents encouraged you to go outside and meet the other kids in the neighbourhood, but you much preferred to sit inside and colour in while the kids kicked soccer balls along the quiet streets.

One day, there was a knock at the door. Your parents were out, and had told you to go next door if you needed anything. You reluctantly opened the door, to find a boy with dimpled cheeks and fox-like eyes staring at you. You’d seen him before, playing soccer, wrestling, running around with a group of older looking boys. However, you hadn’t seen him or the group of boys recently.

“I saw them bringing a trampoline into your backyard when you moved. Can I play on it with you?”

You nodded without realising, feeling a strange amount of warmth towards him.

He smiled widely, his eyes forming into crescents. “I’ve always wanted a trampoline. Are they fun?”

“I guess so. It’s probably more fun when you have someone else to play with,” you replied, opening the back door for him.

“Don’t you have siblings or friends to play with?” he asked.

“No. I don’t have any siblings, and I don’t want any since they seem annoying, but I want a pet dog. And I don’t really have any friends here. My best friend lives where I used to live,” you explained as you climbed up the ladder to the trampoline.

He nodded thoughtfully. “Siblings are annoying. I have a dog, and he’s very cute but a bit slobbery. And friends can also be annoying. Han Jisung stole my ball once and he still won’t give it back.”

“Who’s Han Jisung?”

“The boy with puffy cheeks. He looks like a squirrel, but he doesn’t like it when we call him that.”

He experimentally let himself fall onto the trampoline, squealing when he was propelled back up. “This is so much fun!”

You smiled. “I don’t like jumping on it by myself, but it's more fun with another person.”

“We should be trampoline buddies,” he announced, sticking a finger up. “I can knock at your door and say a special word, maybe I’ll say bounce, and then we can go on the trampoline together.”

“We should also be dog buddies,” you added. “I can knock at your door and say puppy, and then I can come in and we can play with your dog.”

“Yes!” he beamed, grabbing hold of your hand suddenly. “And we should do this forever, even if I don’t have a dog and you don’t have a trampoline when we’re older.”

“Are you trying to ask to be friends?” you giggled.

“Not just friends. I think we should be special friends. Best friends,” he explained.

“Well, best friends know each other's names. I’m Puppy Queen Y/N,” you introduced yourself, doing a little twirl.

“I’m Trampoline Best Boy Jeongin,” he decided, doing a big jump as if to prove a point and landing in an uncoordinated pile. You snorted with laughter and then squealed as he pulled you down by your leg beside him.

“Are you going to school here, too?” he asked, suddenly very seriously.

“I’m in second grade,” you replied.

He smiled, wider than you’d seen before.

“We should go somewhere,” Jeongin said suddenly as you rode your bikes home from Jisung’s house.

“It’s too hot,” you whined, tugging at the back of your shirt, which was stuck to your back with sweat. Even though the end of summer was nearing, the days were still long and the weather didn’t seem to be changing anytime soon.

“That’s my point. What if we went to the beach?” 

You side eyed him. “The beach is an hour’s drive. We can’t get our parents to take us, they’ll be working till late.”

Jeongin wouldn’t give up easily; he never did. “You’re so boring and logical. You never want to do anything fun,” he whined playfully, knowing it would frustrate you.

“I’m not boring, Yang Jeongin, you’re just a dreamer,” you retaliated, tossing a braid over your shoulder. You suddenly thought of something, your eyes sparkling. “We should sneak into the school’s pool.”

“Isn’t it closed, since we’re on summer break?”

“Now who’s being boring? We can climb through the gates easily enough, and I’m sure there will be a window or something we can climb through. We’ll hide our bikes and backpacks in this bush here and sneak inside. It’ll be fun, and the water’s going to be so nice,” you sighed wistfully.

Jeongin pressed on the brakes and shifted his bicycle, shoving it behind the shrub you’d pointed out. “Let’s go then.”

“Really?” you unbuckled your helmet and pushed your bike beside his.

“Yeah,” he smiled, grabbing hold of your hand and leading you towards the school grounds.

You laid on your bed, bodies half-covered by rumpled sheets and pillows strewn across the mattress. 

The window was open, and a warm breeze blew through the curtains. Your bedroom was hot, despite the fan being on full blast, and you felt as if you were going to melt into a puddle.

Jeongin laid beside you, your leg on top of his. His bare torso was warm against your shoulder and had a glowy sheen to it, and you suddenly felt very aware of your body in its pale blue underwear and loose white t-shirt. You definitely hadn’t been this aware of yourself five minutes ago. You didn’t know how or why you’d let yourself go, not like this, not this fast.

Jeongin rolled over to look at you. He opened his mouth to say something.

“Don’t say it,” you whispered, staring at him. “It’ll make it all more real.”

Jeongin took a deep breath and nodded.

You stayed where you were, bodies entangled, the heat of a summer afternoon and the glow of the midday sun filling the room.

Yang Jeongin glanced out the window, noticing you waiting by his car. He sprinted downstairs and grabbed his keys, running to his car and flinging open the door, letting you in before jumping in himself.

You were both nineteen now. Your parents were going to move houses again, to be closer to the university they wanted you to attend.

You were leaving tomorrow.

Well, you weren’t anymore.

A room booked in a motel four hours away, money saved up for the past year, and a duffle bag with only your favourite belongings was all you’d prepared. You didn’t know what would happen next. All you knew was that you trusted Jeongin with your life, which was exactly what you were doing.

You drove along an empty road, his hand in yours, listening to a playlist you’d made together on your phone.

“Pull over,” you said suddenly, breathing deeply as you looked out the front windscreen.

Jeongin turned his head to you. “What? We’ve only been driving for twenty minutes. What if they catc-”

“I said, pull the fucking car over, Yang Jeongin,” you repeated, louder, looking him straight in the eyes now.

He did as he was told and pulled the car. He turned to face you. “What is it?”

You unbuckled your seatbelt and hauled yourself across the console, settling yourself on his lap, forehead against his.

“I want you to say what I didn’t let you say two years ago. What I was too scared to hear you say,” you whispered.

Jeongin’s eyes widened, and he took a deep breath, then cupped your face and crashed your lips against his. You let yourself let go, reciprocating and pulling yourself closer to him. He suddenly pulled away, eyes sparkling.

“I love you, Puppy Queen Y/N.”

“I love you so fucking much, Trampoline Best Boy.”

[1-have-no-idea]

how they kiss you: part one

Clone force 99:

character(s): Hunter, Tech, Wrecker, Crosshair, Echo

genre: fluff, romance, crack (kinda)

overview: this is literally just how the boys would kiss you. literally just that.

warning(s): Tech doesn’t know how to kiss, Crosshair is a freak, (jk, he just gets a lil spicy with it), mentioned of making out, slobber, Hunter’s a lil suave, sexual innuendos, references and implications of smut

Hunter:

-okay, but he’s such a gentleman while doing it?

-it depends on his mood really, and what the occasion is.

-Hunter doesn’t overdo kisses, but out of all of them, he is the one who probably will give the most (besides Wrecker, ahem.)

-He’ll kiss you when you wake up, when you make him food, right before he leaves, and when you go to bed.

-Unless he’s feeling a little… ahem. Y’know. A lil teasing that day

-His kisses are deep but short. Enough to make you blush but also leaving you yearning for more

-he’s a lil tease, but if you pout about it, he’ll just send you that boyish smile and give you another one

-”don’t gotta miss me that much, mesh’la,”

-yeah. That’s him..

-Hunter probably has somewhat chapped lips, (as most clones), but not to the point where they scrape yours. And they’re also somewhat thin (like most clones), so basically, they’re not that different from a regs

-except they’re a bit plushier, if that makes sense

-his stubble WILL scratch against you

-he’ll rarely give tongue unless he’s feeling a little freaky and has the intention on, well, y’know.

-”spread those legs, mesh’la,”

-yeah, y’know, the fun stuff

-so yeah.

-kisses are like a 10/10, would recommend

———————————————————————————

Tech:

-SO AWKWARD.

-sorry Tech lovers, but like. We’re talking about the Tech, the one who can’t understand or take hints whatsoever…

-a NERD.

-he’s such a virgin, smh

-but like… a subtle virgin, ykwim?

-you wouldn’t know he was a virgin. Like, you literally wouldn’t.

-until you kissed him and he expressed his shock and stated that this was an ‘interesting development.’

-”....fascinating. Do it again. This time I’d like to record the acceleration of our heart rates and the texture of your lips against mine. Allow me to retrieve my datapad–”

-yeah. Like. It’s either the most hottest thing hearing him talk all smart after the kiss or the most ‘dude, are you serious’ kinda thing.

-Tech is not really a kisser, but a pecker

-they’re not frequent, but they’re enough for you to still kinda expect them, yk?

-his kisses are chaste and respectful. Never awkward, but usually quick.

-such as, a kiss on your knuckles or your temple or hair. Tech doesn’t go for lips, but he doesn’t mind if you initiate those to him and he will depending on the mood you or him are in

-i actually like to think his lips are actually kinda soft. Not like, baby smooth, but soft.

-i don’t think he gets needy for them, but there are times where he really just wants to feel your lips on him

-he loves the texture and the warmth.

-he won’t really ask though.

-it’s more for ‘experimentation’, in his words.

-”I’d like to explore this further with you. This time, can you kiss me a little bit firmer?”

-7/10 in the beginning, but Tech learns quickly and is extremely observant, and soon learns exactly where to nip, suck, bite, lick, and kiss.

-just give him a little more lessons

-for science, of course

———————————————————————————

Wrecker:

-okay guys

-he is NOT as innocent as he looks, i’m sorry

-respectful, yeah. Gentle, yeah.

-but INNOCENT?? Yeah, no.

-have you seen that deleted scene in clone wars with the Padme art?

-”Yeah, she could negotiate with me any time!”

-erm. Guys.

-and that translates in his kisses.

-he’s not shy whatsoever.

-gentle, of course, but you want him to be rough?

-oh, he’ll be rough.

-okay, let me backtrack, so when y’all are still new to a relationship and all that, he’s nervous. Holds you like glass and kisses you like he’s unsure if he even wants to.

-he was scared. He knows he’s a big guy, and doesn’t wanna hurt you.

-but once you get to that point in your relationship with a lotta reassurance and carefulness and praise and teasing

-my man is most definitely a tank

-and packing one too– ahem.

-he kisses a lot. Anywhere. Kinda worships you with his mouth, lips, tongue and all. Take that as you will.

-his kisses are passionate. Deep. Like his love for you, but they can also be gentle. Soft.

-Large hands will come and cradle you or hold your hips in place, he loves picking you up when you kiss.

-his lips are different, they’re PLUSH. Plump, and bigger than his other brothers. Fully cushioned. It’s nice.

-”Hey! One more, baby! Miss ya already!”

-he’s actually a good kisser. Like, you’ll be starstruck

-and he’ll be giggling

-the type to be giggling and grinning into the kiss

———————————————————————————

Crosshair:

-holy. Where do I even start with him.

-he’s smooth. Annoyingly so.

-the type to kiss you to shut you up

-out of all his brothers, I feel like he gets hit on the most when he’s out and about.

-it’s just cuz he’s ‘mysterious’

-he’s actually never really interested, unless he’s feeling rather frisky and pent up

-when he’s not being angsty and emo, he’s actually low-key kinda flirty with you whenever moments like that actually do pop up.

-and you better believe, all his kisses include tongue.

-you go in for a kiss, that’s you asking for a makeout session, and if he’s feeling mischievous, he’ll tear away and walk away leaving you a breathless and yearning and hot and bothered mess.

-”So desperate for me and all I did was kiss you.”

-BULL. That’s bull. He knew what he was doing.

-there are moments where he’ll be gentle with you though. Usually when he feels vulnerable.

-others, they’re rough yanks to him. Hand on the back of your neck and slamming his lips on yours.

-tongue swiping over your bottom lip before pulling it between his teeth, soothing it with his tongue again before licking into your mouth and sucking on your tongue once or twice.

-messy and they lead to a messy bed afterwards too.

-most definitely a lil freaky

-and guess what? Despite having one of the thinnest lips, they’re baby smooth.

-wanna know why? Skincare.

-he’s obsessed with it. What a princess.

-yet he still looks sixty.

-not down below.

-definitely doesn’t feel like one.

-anywho, that’s not the topic, so he has really soft lips and knows how to use them

-WILL smirk into the kiss

-cocky bastard

-100% recommend if you wanna get laid.

-”Careful what you’re asking for, doll.”

———————————————————————————

Echo:

-my sweet baby

-i love him sm

-he’s shy in the beginning, but so gentlemanly

-his kisses really express his love for you. Every emotion, every feeling is poured out into that kiss.

-whether it be I love you, I missed you, I’ll be back, be safe, don’t be back too late,

-yeah.

-they’re deep and firm and gentle, but not timid

-he is NOT shy of his love for you

-one arm around your waist, his bionic hand cradling the back of your head, it’s so sweet

-he loves cupping your face with his flesh hand while kissing you

-he just loves the contact

-kisses are frequent, but not too

-he loves dancing with you and dipping you into a kiss.

-cliche, but Echo is an old-school romantic, believe it or not

-swaying around you, spinning you with a warm smile on his face, pale brown orbs glowing gold as he looked at you,

-”you’re beautiful,”

-and it’s a soft-spoken promise as he presses his lips to yours

-he does have cold lips, but it’s a nice feeling against your warm ones

-please pepper his cold skin with kisses, he’ll be a puddle for you and feel so loved, (and warmed up.)

-anywho, he doesn’t have that much experience, so teach him, because he’d love to learn.

-all in all, he just loves you so much–

-so sweet

-”Love you, angel. C’mere, lemme give you another one.”

[victoriadallonfan]

End of Act 1 - Author Thoughts

So, this concludes Act 1 of Dead Eye. 

​It's been a struggle for me to write this afterthought piece, because I have learned so much from writing this original story.

This was not the first time I've written original fiction, of course. I had a brief attempt at a web serial back in late 2016 (I can't even remember the name of it), I've written numerous short fiction stories for Reddit Writing Prompts, and I've dropped some short stories here in Creative Writing in the past. Not to mention contest submissions over the years IRL (nothing gained unfortunately).

However, what made this different is that I actually committed to the act of finishing an entire arc and do my best to flesh out the characters as much as possible. I kept a plan, I followed it, and I tried to make it enjoyable for the readership.

​Admittedly, going from the hundreds of likes and views of my fanfic to the thirty or dozen on these posts felt initially disheartening. 

Initially.

But then I realized that I wasn't thinking about things in perspective. I was no longer using larger fandoms as a crutch for engagement or relying on readers already having a basic understanding of the characters: I was needing to WORK and gain the TRUST of the readers for a totally experimental project.

And bonus, I got amazing comments and analysis each chapter, with people seeming to really enjoy the mystery and action I wrote. I got people investing in characters in just a little under 30k words, which I think is pretty darn decent!

Is there room for improvement? Yes, absolutely. I ended up unhappy with how little screen time Milian got, but a lot of my plans for him involved future plot points that couldn't fit within 6 chapters that I challenged myself. I struggled a lot with describing the city (because I find building descriptions boring), and perhaps I made the tension between Sabra and Persa a bit too thick?

More things I could discuss on that, but there are also things I'm proud of. I really enjoyed the action set pieces and how I distinguished character behavior. I really like that my magic system (based on me noticing how special eyes are so prevalent in fiction, why not make an entire system set around them?) flowed so easily for me to write, and that it allowed me to do fun things with the world. Giant glowing eyeball in the sky makes me giggle all the time.

​So, what is the plan going forward?

For now, there will be a small intermission. I would like to get back into Janus and HITF, maybe do some other fanworks too, just to flex my brain a bit from being in Persa's pov for so long.

The plan is that after a month or two, I will then return for Dead Eye - Act 2 for another 6 arc continuation.

Finally, I want to say: Thank You

Thank you to everyone who supported me, be it by like, comment, or Ko-Fi donation. It was you who kept me going, and made me achieve a dream of becoming an actual author of original fiction.

I promise I won't let you down!

[wickedsmille]

broken and still breaking

uhhhh, this is a little fic technically titled Angsty McAngst Pants Angst in my notes because Jason goes to his Re-Welcoming/It's A(n Alive) Boy! gala then gets triggered into a PTSD episode of dying which Tim helps him through. It was SUPPOSED to be gen but then they started flirting and bantering so. Welp.

Buyer beware cause I haven't beta'ed this, aforementioned PTSD episode, mild depictions of blood and injuries and what nots.

Alright then *thigh slap*

If it weren’t for the overwhelming feeling of being settled in his own skin, Jason would’ve told Bruce to fuck a cactus for offering to make Jason Peter Todd a real boy again. On principle alone he nearly said no. Besides, creating aliases is fun. James Austen, John Red and, to be nothing if not a mature adult with refined tastes, Dick Dickins. So many others, too. He could get the utilities at a new safehouse hooked up under Stephen Wolfe’s name then turn right around and renew Emmerson Bronte’s license at the downtown DMV.  

See? Being legally dead has allowed him room to express himself creatively in a way that has nothing to do with experimental ammunitions and testing the limits of the human body. One might even say it’s a healthy passtime. Sort of. Relatively speaking, okay. He’s not a perfect person, wouldn’t even dream of entertaining the thought. Not when he’s had so much practice turning the inside of someone’s skull into a modern day Picasso. 

But he’s been trying. Is trying. 

So, rather than testing the integrity of Bruce’s dental implants, Jason bit his cheek so hard it bled, swallowed back every bitter, snide remark dancing along his tongue and nodded tightly. He can’t think about the way Bruce deflated after. How his eyes went soft and the weight of the cape and cowl fully slipped off to reveal an infinitely exhausted but relieved Bruce Wayne, Failed Father Extraordinaire. If Jason does, he might ask himself what it was all for anyway and if any of it really ever mattered. Those kinds of thoughts lead to nothing but self-imposed isolation and self-destruction. 

He’s definitely regretting his decision as his gaze scans over the crowded ballroom of the Grand Hotel in downtown Gotham. A sea of opulence swims below the upper landing he has stalled out on. Men and women stand around in circles, chatting one another with plastic smiles etched into their faces. The sound of faked laughter grates, making his jaw clench and his teeth grind together. Wouldn’t it be just his luck that the food tables are all the across the room.

“Ha, ha, ha. Oh my, this little thing?” a woman simpers loudly at the bottom of the stairs. “Why, it was my mother’s.” She fingers the delicate gold chain around her neck. On the end is a diamond large enough it could feed a family of four in the Alley for a couple years.

A man across from her, entrenched in his own conversation partners, tips his head back and holds his belly as he chortles. “Mr. Campbell, you’re in luck! I have a penthouse in uptown and a condo on the westside and they’re alright but, if you’re looking for a sound investment, I suggest getting a cabin or three in the Northwest. Best decision I ever made!” he says blithely like there aren’t families and children sleeping in their cars because every apartment building is leased up and the list for voucher programs are thousands long.

Jesus fuck, he did not miss this.

Being a Wayne again means he gets the horrific honor of taking a half-step into the limelight. At first, Bruce wanted to do a full spread. Interviews and press conferences, staged sightings by the paparazzi and several welcoming events. Jason promptly shut him down by threatening to find every copy of his adoption papers and burning them. He’d rather chew off his own arm and beat Bruce with the appendage than do any of that. The compromise? A single gala as a re-introduction then Jason could fade into the background once more. 

So long as you don’t cause a scene, Bruce had said sardonically, knowingly. Bastard.

With the implied threat to his privacy, Jason has smartly decided to be on his best behavior. Even though the simple, black suit he’s wearing feels too tight and too hot. Though his hair is stiff from all the product in it. Despite the shiny leather shoes pinching his toes. No matter the way he feels like everyone is staring at him even if they’re not. 

Sure, quite a few of the guests are surreptitiously staring, thinking they’re oh so clever with the way they side-eye him before quickly looking away. They’re subtle, or so they think. It’s not like everyone is facing him, gazes boring into him. He almost thinks that would be better. At least he’d have a good reason to sneer and dip out scot free. Would it really be a scene if he were to loudly trip coming down the stairs? He’ll feign embarrassment at drawing attention to himself if it means he can back out. 

An elbow bumps into his side, making him jolt. Jason’s head whips around, intending to give whoever has invaded his personal space a thorough tongue lashing until he sees Tim. Calm, cool, collected Tim holding two champagne flutes, one held towards Jason. He’s smiling softly with his head tipped to the side in an unspoken question. The gold and white of his corset vest contrast well with the black of the rest of his suit and make the blue-gray of his eyes pop without washing him out. Tim would look right at home if he were down on the floor swimming with the other sharks. Goddamn him for fitting in so well.

“I’ll back you if you want to leave,” Tim tells him. “Due to your violent bout of diarrhea and uncontrollable gas.”

Snatching the offered glass out of Tim’s hand, Jason drains the entire thing in one go. “I hate you,” he murmurs miserably, only partly meaning it. Then he snags Tim’s own glass and downs that as well. 

A thoughtful frown makes its way onto Tim’s face. “I’d be careful. Getting tipsy won’t actually make this any easier to navigate.”

“Stop talking like you know me.”

Tim shrugs amiably. “I might not know you as well as I’d like to but I know them.” 

He inclines his head towards the dodos guffawing over their latest insider trading power plays and gossiping on whose husband is sleeping with which of the help. Or lamenting on how finicky children can be, not realizing their kids aren’t really the problem because they’re capacity for introspection matches the frigidity of their hearts somewhere below absolute zero. Jason tries very hard to not bite and snarl at Tim since he’s one of the blue bloods. Born and bred for the hoity-toity bullshit with a silver spoon shoved so far down his throat he must’ve been gagging on it. 

Tim isn’t like that and never has been, he reminds himself. In fact, for all the ways Jason had to show Tim how to effectively coupon stack and explain why he microwaves his sponges, Tim is as far removed from the vultures and roaches and leeches they’re surrounded with as he could be given his upbringing. For one, Tim isn’t a total douchebag. Unthinking at times and eccentric, but not outright malicious. He can be surprisingly sweet like when he requests Alfred make one of Jason’s favorite foods when he knows Jason will be coming over for dinner or upgrading Jason’s helmet when his own tech know-how fails him without Jason ever needing to ask. 

The guy is a squishy ball of good intentions wrapped in a deceptively tiny package which has never, not once, held him back from putting dusty, crusty board members and hardened, violent crooks in their place. Once he’d had a chance to actually get to know Tim, Jason found himself feeling grateful. Bruce didn’t concede to just anyone stepping into Jason’s pixie boots. At least he went for the best. 

“If you knew me any better you’d have a key to my apartment and a drawer in my dresser,” Jason drawls, steering the conversation away from the swarm of jewels and silks he wants to pretend doesn’t exist.

“I already have a key to your apartment,” Tim points out. 

Rolling his eyes, Jason stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, but you come over so I can make you buy pizza and kick your ass in Mortal Kombat. Not fucking you into the mattress and making you breakfast in bed after.”

“You never asked, did you?” Tim asks him slyly.

Just about every coherent thought in Jason’s mind fucks off into some deep, dark hole. Leaving him a flustered mess with vague recollections of waking up sticky and wanting. So his witty, top of the line comeback is, “Nope.”

“Eloquent as always,” Tim laughs, patting Jason lightly on the shoulder like he didn’t just break Jason’s brain. “We should get down there before they start chattering about how egregiously anti-social we are.”

All the clamboring what if’s and could be’s get ruthlessly, shamelessly smothered and die a quick and violent end so he can get himself back on task. “I don’t want to,” Jason says petulantly to drive the conversation back to safer, calmer waters.

Now it’s Tim’s turn to roll his eyes. Huffing, he points at Damian to the far left where he’s leaned against a pillar with his arms crossed tightly. “Suck it up. If he can do it, so can you. Now come on.” 

Tim holds out his elbow which Jason bats away with a scowl. He can make his own way down the stairs, thanks. Telling Tim as much, Jason nearly trips over himself when Tim challenges him to put his money where his mouth is. There’s a reason Tim is his favorite because it’s just the thing he needs to unstick his feet and get him moving despite the way his skin prickles the closer they get to the main floor. Although Tim had been joking when he volunteered to escort Jason down, he finds himself wishing he’d taken Tim up on it if only for the grounding comfort of a familiar touch as the smooth soles of his shoes land on the polished floors. 

Graciously, Tim does see him through the crowd to the food tables Jason had been eyeing up. As a kid, they were an oasis. It’s hard for others to talk to you when you’re stuffing your face as fast as you can while chewing as slowly as possible to delay and discourage conversation. Plus, it’s good. A little bland because the chefs have to cater to the tastes of so many, watering down their usual Michelin star flair to a point that probably pains them. But still good in spite of it being pretentious.

Once satisfied Jason can be his own keeper no longer in need of a handler, Tim drifts off. He switches over from the insufferable geek Jason has come to like to the smoothed, glacial veneer of a corporate socialite. The totality of the shift leaves Jason reeling. One thing he’s never understood, no matter how much he puzzled through it and tried to emulate it, is how Bruce and Tim can switch between the two extremes so flawlessly. It’s like trading out coats for them. A flick and a swish then, poof, like magic they’re entirely new people. What that says about their psyches and the inherent fault in their neural wiring is something he shies away from.

Jason tucks in with gusto when an older woman in an inappropriately low cut halter dress and coiffed hair sets her sights on him and starts striding over. With nimble fingers, he loads up the plate his grabs and shoves whatever in his mouth, hoping the age-old trick still works despite being over a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier. 

Score because it totally does. She wrinkles her nose at his puffed out cheeks and actually sniffs haughtily when he chews purposefully with his mouth open. He even smiles, masticated mush on full display, and waves cheekily. The woman redirects her steps to take her closer to where Dick is holding court about twenty yards out. She joins the gaggle of women and men magnetically drawn in by Dick’s natural charm. He doesn't quite fit like Tim and Bruce do but he has his natural personality to make up the difference.

Unlike Jason. Which he has no problem with. He’ll take himself, authentically cynical and caustic and brutally honest, over being a fake fuck any day. 

The bacon wrapped, maple seared figs don’t settle well as more people attempt to approach him. Even for him, there’s only so much he can eat. Rapidly, he’s reaching his limit. The twisting viper pit turning his stomach inside out isn’t helping his appetite either. So far he’s been successful in warding people off but his stomach flips, signaling his need to find a new method to avoid unwanted advances and carelessly hurtful words. 

Setting his plate aside, Jason casts his gaze out across the crowd once more. Being tall does have its advantages. Like being able to pinpoint where exactly the rest of the family is and relatively what they’re up to. Dick is wholly unaccessible with the amount of attention he’s getting. He can keep the center stage, Jason is trying to move behind the curtains. Bruce is similarly front and center with his own gathered horde so that’s a no go even if he thought he could handle it without fisting Bruce’s collar and dunking him into the champagne fountain in the corner. 

Damian is somewhere. It’s a toss up whether Jason just can’t see the shrimp or he’s faded into the shadows to either eerily stare out at the crowd from a corner or making his way towards a Bat bothole to go on an ill-advised patrol. As helpful as it would be to have Cass, she’s no better handling these things than Jason so Stephanie has been guiding her. Her attempts at bumbling but Stephanie is nothing if not determined and relentless. It’s why Jason likes her even though he hates those qualities, a reflection of his own, weaponized against him. Duke, the lucky duck, got to skip.

Then, there’s Tim. He’s making amiable small talk with a couple to Jason’s left. They’re too far for Jason to make out the words but close enough Jason feels comfortable weaving between bodies to reach him. So what if it makes him needy or weak. Everyone has to take a knee from time to time and he doesn’t need anything more than a temporary crutch to get him through the next hour or two before he can leave without causing a fuss. Tim is crutch-shaped. It makes sense. 

Saddling up to Tim’s side, Jason inserts himself into the conversation. The man speaking stutters, words petering out as he looks up, up, up at Jason. Jason flashes what he hopes passes as a polite smile. He’s not sure it works when the guy recoils minutely. The woman, his wife Jason assumes if the three-figure rock on her finger is anything to go by, gives him a flat grimace he assumes is supposed to be a smile.

“Jason, it’s good to see you. Enjoying the party so far?” Tim asks him, voice level and almost serene.

“It’s a blast,” Jason deadpans, bumping his hip into Tim’s as he shifts his weight from foot to foot.

“It is a fabulous venue,” the woman says. “We were delighted to get the invitation and haven’t been disappointed yet.”

Yet. Goddamn. He forgot just how snippy these people could be. 

“I’ll be sure to pass your praise along to our event planner,” Tim replies so Jason doesn’t immediately make an ass of himself. “By the way, Jason, this is John Anders and Mary Ann Anders. They’re the founders and CEOs of Anders Packaging. Wayne Enterprises is lucky to call them partners.”

“Jason Wayne,” Jason introduces himself. He holds out his hand which John hesitates to take but social norms win out. Jason makes sure to squeeze on the side of too tight and doesn’t stop till John winces. He goes easier on Mary Ann though, maybe he shouldn’t have because she digs her nails into the skin of his hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”

When Tim’s hip bumps into him, Jason reads it as the warning it is so he backs off. Tim takes back the reins of the conversation to steer them away from Jason himself. The transition back to dull, unassuming chatter is easy when Tim is the one leading. The tension from John drains away as he falls under Tim’s spell. Jason does feel some small amount of respect for Mary Ann as he notes she isn’t as enamored with Tim’s performance as her husband is. She gives Jason a shrewd look as if to say I see you both, I’m watching you and, yeah, he kind of likes her and hates that he does. But she probably hates him right back since she has to like him. Or pretend to.

Jason rises to Mary Ann’s challenge when she narrows her eyes at him. It becomes a game where they both adopt an air of cordial confidence whenever Tim and John are looking. Then they cast it aside for suspicion and mutual distaste when the other two aren’t. It’s kind of fun. If Mary Ann doesn’t think so, sucks to suck. Jason has had an entire lifetime of pissing people off by doing nothing but existing to hone his craft of being a nuisance without lifting a finger.

Tim looks at him askance, drawing Jason away from his silent feud with Mary Ann and back to the conversation. 

“I thought it would be fun,” John laments ruefully.

“You’re adventurous,” Mary Ann says as she pats his arm. 

“I suppose so,” John replies, giving her a small, genuine smile. “I certainly have a better appreciation for remodelers! Doing the kitchen in our summer house? Never again! I was trying to knock out the cabinets with a hammer for ages until Mary Ann grabbed me a crowbar.”

Jason’s blood runs cold. He abandons the game with Mary Ann in favor of racking his mind for a graceful, or graceless if necessary, way to leave. 

The mention of a crowbar sinks its hooks into his mind, making it run syrupy slow. Too slow to slink away before John keeps going. 

“Now that did the trick! It still took me an hour but, whoo, let me tell you. That is a workout,” John laughs. The arm he has around Mary Ann’s waist unwinds and he takes a step back to give himself some more room. Then he’s miming swinging his arm back and forth. High above his shoulder then down and across, grunting from the effort and smiling from the humor of it all. “You have to throw your shoulder into it. Really get into it. It was fun!”

John laughs again but it’s not John. Not to Jason. It’s too high, too loud. The sound echoes in his head and amplifies with every reverberation. He would cover his ears if he knew it would do any good but it’s all in his head. Now would be a good time to leave, decorum be damned. But his feet feel rooted to the spot and every muscle is coiled so tight he’s shaking with it and immobile. Jason's hands start trembling as John keeps going. On and on and on about his skill with a crowbar. Proud of himself for it. 

In horror, Jason watches as John’s smile keeps curving and twisting into a rictus grin so wide it should be splitting his face but it isn’t. The white straight line of his teeth shift and dull to a pale yellow while all the color of his skin drains away to an unnatural white. The charcoal gray of his suit bursts into color Purple and green and red. So much red. John’s hand isn’t empty anymore either. Now he’s swinging a real crowbar with the end of the metal dented from where he used it to shatter Jason’s femur and tailbone. 

Jason watches as John as the Joker pummels Jason as Robin right there on the ballroom floor. A deep dark red spreads out across the ground. Jason as Robin screams and pleads. Snot and blood and a broken jaw making it difficult to form words but he knows what he said. He was calling out for Bruce. But Bruce never came and the pool of blood has spread far enough he’s standing in it and Jason can’t do this anymore - 

He’s off like a shot. All the restless, animalistic panic inside him zips through his veins. His chest heaves with the effort to suck in as much air as possible but it’s never enough. There’s nothing but the jagged, wet sound of him breathing and the pounding beat of his pulse in his temples. Maybe someone is yelling his name, too, but it’s muffled like someone is holding his head underwater. The elite, esteemed guests gawk at him as he flies by and he doesn’t understand why they aren’t in a tizzy about the dirty warehouse they’re in. 

When he reaches the door, it isn’t locked with a winding length of chain. His hands scramble to clutch the knob of the door but it opens easily under his hands. Over the din of the crowd behind him, Jason can hear the tick, tick, ticking of the bomb. But the door leads to another warehouse so he sprints to the next door, hopping over the puddle of blood on the concrete. The next door opens without issue but it leads into a small, black hole. Yawning and bottomless and hungry.

“Get out!” someone commands from close behind him.

On instinct, he lashes out but whoever it is isn’t having it. Their arm smacks into his wrist, redirecting his punch. Then there’s hands on his chest, shoving him back and into the void. He expects to be falling endlessly but his ass crashes into the ground, arms buckling from the way he catches himself to keep from toppling over completely. He hasn’t even completely settled on the floor before the darkness is chased away by a bright cascade of light from above. Shadows lurk in the corners, wriggling and writhing like a mass of worms and maggots. 

“Jason, Jason,” someone says urgently. They try again gently, “Jay.”

“I need you to breathe with me,” they say, tone brooking no argument. It’s all a serious, low tone Jason can hear clearly over the he ha, ha, HA in his head. “You need to follow me. Fuck. Okay, okay. Can I touch you?”

He wants to understand who it is crouching next to him but the black spots dancing across his vision, the blurry edges of it, keep him from piecing it together. A hand encircles his wrist and he tries to twist away from it. They’re strong though. Stronger than he thought they’d be. His hand is planted firmly on a plane of smooth, warm fabric. The fingers around his wrist pop lose and disappear completely so he moves his head up until the pads of his fingers brush against skin. 

Then he latches on and squeezes with his teeth bared and all the higher thinking of a cornered wolf spurring him on. 

“J-Jay,” they choke out. “Alright then. Feel that?” 

They draw in a comically large breath around the pressure Jason is putting on their windpipe. The pulse beneath his fingers is thumping hard and quick but controlled. Up and down their throat presses against his hand. Unconsciously, he finds himself mimicking the movement. His focus narrows down to the rhythmic movement of their throat and the stuttering attempts his chest is making to imitate it. 

“Jay,” they say faintly. 

Jason becomes aware of two things immediately. He’s in a spacious store room. It smells like a hodgepodge of herbs and spices co-mingling into something overpoweringly herbaceous. The smell is enough to tickle his nose. Several overhead lights are shining down on the packed shelves of nonperishables and Jason and Tim. Because Tim is there with him, on his knees in front of Jason with his pants rucked up and jacket rumpled. With Jason’s hand around his throat and the pale skin of his face a worrying shade of red.

Like he’s been burned, Jason’s arm snaps back. The dimples from Jason’s fingers fade, leaving red indents sure to turn a nasty purple later. Tim gasps loudly and pitches forward onto his hands. He coughs and sputters, rubs at the tender skin of his throat. Checking for any cartilage damage, Jason realizes.

He did that.

The thought has Jason leaning to the side and emptying the contents of his stomach. It’s disgusting. Everything he ate earlier comes up for an encore but its decidedly less appetizing this time around. The bitter taste on his tongue makes him gag even after he’s done. All he can smell is bile as shame wells up, threatening to muscle everything else out because he was choking Tim. Fuck the food. They can get more food. If he seriously hurt Tim, they can’t get a new Tim. 

“Why didn’t you stop me,” Jason rasps, clearing his throat and spitting it out onto the rest of the mess. Not like it's salvageable anyway. “Why didn’t you stop me?”

Tim looks up at him sharply. He pushes himself back onto his haunches. Defiance draws his shoulders up and back. Out of them all, Tim has never let him get away with shit. The kid spat in his face even after Jason beat him to a pulp. Never once has Tim backed down from Jason’s misdirected anger or shown fear the times they’ve needed to play fight for the villains intent on pitting them against one another. Dick lets his guilt bleed through too much and lets him be lenient with Jason. In contrast, Bruce is as immovable as Tim but where Tim is kind and even sweet at times, Bruce is a complete and utter asshole.

“It worked, didn’t it?” Tim snarks. 

Jason really hates how little Tim values himself sometimes. Especially given Jason’s own high regard of Tim. 

“Never do that again,” Jason orders, whole body quaking with the aftershocks of his episode. PTSD, one doctor had told him. A normal side-effect of The Life, Jason had privately corrected him.  

“LIke to see you try and stop me,” Tim says, cheeky and sharp with a half cocked grin to match. 

This fucking guy.

“Can I hug you now?” Tim asks with a hint of hostility hiding in his tone. 

Jason can appreciate Tim’s innate ability to understand him and all the ways Jason would outright reject him if he were nicer about it. The contrast to Dick’s antsy need to use touch as a comfort is stark and wonderful. Grumbling, Jason nods his head at the nasty puddle of ick next to him. 

Tim rolls his eyes so hard Jason’s surprised they don’t pop right out of his skull. “Oh, yeah, like I don’t deal with worse on a nightly basis.”

“Touche,” Jason mutters. 

He scoots closer to Tim and away from the gross. His palms stay flat on the ground but Tim shuffles to fit himself against Jason, molding them together as he winds his arms around Jason’s neck. One hand buries itself in Jason’s hair. The nails scratching at his scalp break apart the gel in his hair. It kind of hurts but it keeps him present and helps chase away the jittery feeling in his limbs. The other hand splays across the broad expanse of his shoulders. This close, he has no choice but to follow the rise and fall of Tim’s chest so the quickened pace of his breathing slows to normal. 

Jason’s gut says to push Tim away and maybe even kick him in the jaw for daring to touch him. The impulse dies a quick death as warmth spreads out from his center. It’s soft and sweet and gentle. He presses his face hard into the curve of Tim’s neck and breaths in Tim’s overpriced cologne. Although he’s bigger than Tim, he feels protected like nothing can touch him in this bubble of fragility they’ve created. Finally, finally his mind goes blessedly silent and he settles back into his own skin, not the phantom corpse of a boy who lost more than he ever gained and was cut down before he ever really had a chance. 

Shifting, Jason moves so he can wrap his arms around Tim’s torso and cling tightly to the back of his suit jacket. The ribs of the corset vest flex under his hold. Aside from a quiet grunt, Tim doesn’t say anything. To be a shit, Jason makes them flex again. A warning rumble reverberates from Tim’s chest straight down into Jason’s bones, shaking out the cobwebs of memory and making him puff out a breath through his nose in a parody of a laugh. 

“How do you breathe in this thing?” Jason mumbles into the damp skin of Tim’s neck.

“Force of will and spite,” Tim tells him succinctly. 

“Anything for fashion.”

“More like anything to make Mr. Williams as horrendously uncomfortable as possible after he let slip a couple choice words to me at the last gala.”

“Your commitment to pettiness is unrivaled.”

“Have you met yourself?” Tim accuses him incredulously. 

“I don’t have a commitment to pettiness. I am pettiness.”

The sound of Tim’s easy laughter washes over Jason. He can’t help but to join in even if his own is weak and half hearted at best. Things feel less heavy than they did, less inevitable and better. So much better. Tim still hasn’t let him go and he has no intentions of releasing Tim either. 

With the silence comes the realization of what happened and how it must have looked to everyone else. Jason curls into himself, arms tightening around Tim. In an uncharacteristically small voice, he gives life to his uncertainty and shame. “Everyone saw, didn’t they?” he asks. 

Tim shrugs as much as he can in the vice of Jason’s arms. “You were more subtle than you think you were. Nothing a quick cover of explosive diarrhea won’t fix,” Tim tells him lightly. The callback and absurdity of the idea forces a bark of laughter from Jason. More subdued and serious, Tim adds, “Besides, it doesn’t matter. To hell with them. What matters is that you’re okay and everything else we can fix.”

“Trying to say I can’t be fixed?”

Making an irritated noise, Tim bops his head into Jason’s in chastisement. “I’m saying you don’t need to be fixed. You are who you are and we wouldn’t have it any other way. If it means you need more support, we’re happy to give it but you don’t need to be fixed, Jason.”

“Cool it on the soliloquy, Timberly,” Jason teases so he doesn’t start tearing up. “Ain’t nobody wants to hear your bleeding heart.”

“Charming as always,” Tim sighs, resigned, but he still hasn’t let Jason go.

So Jason smothers the poisonous voice in the back of his head whispering about Tim backing away to leave him cold and bereft, mocking him then relaxes entirely in the safe space Tim carved out for Jason between his arms.

[gl1tchy-4rt]

Piece of Towel 2 :0

Okay, so in past post I had mentioned that Pizza rebuilded the Tower out of spite to take rightful revenge on Peppino and the others.

So I decided to draw The New Tower!

Behold! The New Tower.

As you can see this Tower is taller but more scuffed and rushed than the previous one.

PizzaMan had to cut budget in order to effectuate his completely reasonable revenge but hey! It's standing and in one piece!... Most of the Time....

Five floors of pain! Four levels each! One New henchmen protecting the key to the next floor, Fun for the whole Family!

• Floors!

(Cause a tower has floors and lots of levels :D)

• Floor One: Reception Room

The Main area for visitors, Tell your motives and get going!, since PizzaBoy's Pizz-Pizza is a busy company with busy employees you should also be busy and movin'!

Level 1: Entrance

Level 2: PizzaRuins

Level 3: Mozzarella Museum

Level 4: Olive Offices

BOSS: Michael Jones (Yup he's Dougie's brother)

Hidden Level: Old Tower = Lobby

• Floor Two: Mediapolis

Studios, cameras and totally real news that hadn't been altered to cause fear mongering! The perfect place to promote your brand and become famous in exchange of your soul and privacy!

Level 1: Hot-Sun Studios

Level 2: Withering Arizona

Level 3: Faux Vegas!

Level 4: Rootbeer Pub

BOSS: Dj Ananas (AKA: Peter C. Ananas)

Hidden Level: Old Tower = Western District

• Floor Three: PizzaLand!

"Enjoy, Buy and Consume!" That's our motto! Come to enjoy the many attractions that PizzaLand has to offer! (PizzaLand doesn't make themselves responsible for the loss of items, money, family, health, dignity or innocence)

Level 1: Cheese Resort

Level 2: PizzaLand Park

Level 3: GOLF 2 (Not affiliated with Billy C. Greaseball)

Level 4: PizzaBoy's Mega-Mall!

BOSS: The Prince (AKA: Kingsley Hamburg)

Hidden Level: Old Tower = Vacation Resort

• Floor Four: Sacrifice Zone

What? Did you seriously think that a company like this would care about some plants? Heck nah! Where lame-os see "Destruction of both emviroment and quality of life" WE SEE BIG PROFITS.

Level 1: Industrial Streets

Level 2: Ah Crap... (Chemical waste disposal area)

Level 3: Drippin' Boilin' Melterator (Climate change :D)

Level 4: War-bot Factory

BOSS: T0N1 the Task Maneger

Hidden Level: Old Tower = Slum

• Floor Five: PizzaBoy's Private Offices

The Blood of the Company, This is where the... "Magic" happens, all the deals, transactions, stock management, Tax tax evasion, invention brainstorming, unethical experimentation, Magical researching, ect, ect… Everything that's helpful and essential for PizzaBoy's Pizza-Pizza!

Level 1: Pizza Offices

Level 2: Make Sound, Lemme hear You!

Level 3: Secret Labs

BOSS: "Bulldozer" the Last Clone

Level 4: Crumbling Walls (Outside of the Tower)

TRUE BOSS (Top of the Tower): PizzaMan

Hidden Level: Old Tower = Staff Only

• Hidden Floor: PizzaMan's Private Studio:

"You six aren't supposed to be here…" Level: Private Studio -------------------------------

HOOO BOY THIS WAS A LONG ONE

This is the Layout of the New Tower, the New Levels and PizzaMan's New Henchmen!

Im going to be posting the Floors with Their Bosses

It WILL take a while but ill try my best! besides Summer is soon! so ill have a bit more time to draw

Anyhow Everyone take care and

See y'all later!

[rapid-artwork]

Had an Idea in my head for a fun AU. The characters from my game Mother's Favorite where all the robots are humans and all the humans are robots.

It was fun to try and translate the designs in reverse, to make them cute, and then put them in horrible situations.

In this AU, No.4 is an experimental robot made of unknown alien materials. Unfortunately, the project is top secret and when a computer virus within No.4 transfers to the cybernetics of the human crew, a quarantine lockdown is initiated and 4 of the scientists are trapped inside with No.4. They try to get along and repair the damage to No.4 in hopes of reverse the virus, before it is too late. Warning: versions with the gory body horror bits uncensored are under the cut.

A robot that is DEFINITELY not sentient despite having the literal heart of a human powering her. DO NOT imprint upon her, you must remain objective and do NOT see her as the adorable baby that she is.

Little Brother:

Just a happy little doctor man with more PhD's than he has non-traumatic memories. He is totally fine being locked in here, and is NOT repressing any of his emotions, you are acting crazy right now!

Big Sister:

Once a soldier, always a soldier. After the accident, she had to get work as a security officer. She keeps everyone safe inside the quarantine... and keeps them from leaving. Be gentle with her, she is very fragile.

Auntie:

She wasn't even supposed to be working the day the quarantine began, and so she has to make the best of a bad situation. She is terrified of No.4 but has to put on a brave face because it's the only face that keeps her alive.

Mother:

She was supposed to be observing the experiments, but now that she's locked in with the rest of them, she has to get her hands dirty again. Maybe if she keeps replacing the parts of her that feel pain, things will go back to the way they were.

Full resolution images with the scary parts below the cut, click for better detail:

It is my solemn vow that if I make an OC, you WILL see them tastefully disheveled or deeply suffering at some point, you can count on that.

[verflares]

i thought i felt your shape, but i was wrong. really all i felt was falsely strong, i held on tight and closed my eyes. it was dumb, i had no sense of your size. it was dumb to hold so tight.

also on inprnt :]

[clegfly]

Hey guys would it be cool if I killed myself right fucking now

[koddlet]

don't wanna talk baby i just wanna dance

[lavenderjewels]

Closer to seeing animated Kenjaku being a tired babysitter and lecturing Mahito during the Mechamaru fight

[blanketforcas]

Is this about cockles or about Jensen vs destiel? yes

[daevilpanda71]

While im workin on other drawings ended up redrawing an old piece I did forever ago based off a dream I had once! These kinda drawings are the only ways I get myself to work on backgrounds, environments and the such, and I like to think I'm improving~! lil bonus one from a different dream too XD

[simplydnp]

I get the sense that Phil just likes to make “”weird”” stuff and has somewhat dialed back his weirdness due to his popularity and age. But I would love to see what an unfiltered 30 year old phil Lester video would look like. What stories does he want to tell? How does he want to tell those stories?

honestly i think phil is really good at playing out whatever his brain is thinking at the time. i think a lot of people struggle with ideas because they'll be seen as too 'weird' or 'strange' or even 'impossible', and what's neat about phil is he either doesn't have those boxes, or he's able to push through them in pursuit of creating the thing to its full potential. people describe him as creative, which he is, but i think it leaves out some of his best attributes as a creator. he's inventive--remember the countless trends and challenges that came from him that have swept the internet? he's fearless--and this doesnt mean that he's not afraid of anything (for phil its probably the opposite actually) but he does things despite the fear, regardless of the unknown. he's a relentless and passionate creator who likes to make things and values seeing them through to the end. but he's not naive either--he and dan have talked about each other being their harshest critics. it's not just that he's an ideas guy, he's a good ideas guy who knows how to make something flourish.

i don't think current phil is sitting in a box waiting for his chance to break free of his popularity. he could've stopped years ago, similar to dan, if he didn't want this. but he likes doing it. he gets to have his choice on which of his ideas turn into projects, without having the stress of Needing a brilliant idea and execution every week. right now i think a lot of his energy is focused on the gaming channel. as he's expressed to us a few times, it was him who really wanted it back, and he's been ready for a long time. dan's even admitted that he's been enjoying it, and i think a lot of that comes down to phil's creative directing. he loves the gaming channel and is so thrilled it's back--his own content has taken a step back in terms of upload regularity, and i genuinely don't think he could be happier about it.

i would love a big phil project, but i honestly don't see him doing a tour of his own unless he brings dan with him, and then why not have it be something they can do together? does that make sense? that seems to be his thought process about things. it's why i've suggested taskmaster cause it's a local thing that wouldn't keep him from home for a long while, but he does get to flex his creativity, intelligence, and humour.

i'm looking forward to anything phil does. his current project seems to be making dan happy and they're both having a lot of fun doing that

[brekitten]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Danny Phantom, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Characters: Danny Fenton, Original Characters, Peter Parker Additional Tags: Crossover Angst Week 2024, Human Experimentation, Needles, Guys in White | GIW Organization (Danny Phantom), Ambiguous/Open Ending Series: Part 1 of Bre's Crossover Angst Week 2024 Summary:

Peter has done some really dumb stuff over the course of his life, especially when he became Spider-Man.

Breaking into a government facility out in the middle of the woods when he's supposed to be camping with his aunt really takes the cake, though.

Surely this won't backfire on him too horribly, right?

Or,

Peter does a dumb and very quickly comes to regret it.

  GIW experimentation

So, I'm a tad bit late to the party, but tbf I did just find out about this today, and I'm pretty happy that I was able to get this out in just a few hours XD

Anyway, here's Day 1! I'm planning on writing something for every day of the event, including the days I missed, such as this one. Yall can look forward to more angst to come >:3

[roseverdict]

don't cry. pour a small-seeming serving of any pasta noodle you'd like in a deep microwave-safe bowl, just barely cover the noodles with water, microwave for roughly 2 minutes 30 seconds, stir, microwave for 2 more minutes, carefully drain the pasta water from the pasta, liberally mix shredded non-mozzarella cheese into the hot noodles, and pour small amounts of milk in (maaaybe a school milk carton's worth or two at most) to taste and to make it creamier, okay?

[cathalbravecog]

i'm the antonymph of the internet