#but let's address it

[lying-on-floors]

TW: mention of CSA!!

Okay, so a Teen Wolf AU idea...

Teenage!Derek Hale-- HEAR ME OUT:

Remember when he was a teenager again during that one episode? I don't know a whole lot of stuff about TW, actually, because I consume most of my information about the show through fandom spaces, but iykyk--

ANYWAYS, make Derek a teenager throughout the whole series.

He could still be a teacher to Scott since he was born as a Werewolf and has more knowledge than him. He could still be introduced the same way, and his family dying can be pretty much the same, but the part of his story that I would change is his "relationship" with Kate Argent.

In Canon, when Derek was 15/16, Kate took advantage of his grief and groomed Derek into a sexual and romantic relationship with her in order to get more information out of him. In my AU, the grooming happened when he was 13, so two years ago, as of S1, and when he sees her again, he has a hard time processing all of it, because he would absolutely bottle that up. Kate would probably try to manipulate him again, and it would be a whole arc of Derek being able to stand up against his abuser, because I need that part of his story to be addressed more by the masses. Also, I want to give Kate Argent a very gruesome and painful death. Fuck predators!

Also, what if Coach took Derek in?? Hmm? Just think about it...

And, if you're a fan of Sterek, it's a much more age appropriate ship now! Bc instead of it being a 22/23 yr old with a 15/16 yr old, it's two 15/16 yr olds!

I'll plan to write a fic of this, and if you wanna write a fic about this AU, tag me in it so I can read it!!

[hamletthedane]

I just found the earliest email I ever sent from my email address, and it’s the funniest goddamn thing I can possibly imagine a fourth grader sending her teacher:

(Context - my fourth grade teacher was on maternity leave, and the class had conferenced at recess regarding the poor state of the classroom goldfish’s tank. We decided to inform our (24yo, new mother) former teacher of the dire situation, and I was selected as the duly appointed representative for this solemn communication.)

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Hello Madam. Sorry Madam.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[horsemeatluvr23]

i had a dream where etho accidentally called bdubs 'john' on stream,, and in retaliation bdubs said 'yes horace'..... and that's how we found out etho's real name is freaking. Horace.

[starry-bi-sky]

this just in: danny fenton is just as much of a mask as Brucie Wayne? - another danyal al ghul au

Turns out, being placed in a civilian family who have no knowledge of your background is actually detrimental to the health and development of a child assassin due to lack of proper support! Surrounded by strangers in a foreign city, Danyal Al Ghul does as assassins do best. He hides. Espionage is one of many teachings one learns in the League, and it only takes half a day for Danyal to construct a new persona to hide behind: Daniel Fenton.

By the time dinner rolls around, Danyal al Ghul is safely and securely tucked behind the face of Danny Fenton; brand new adoptive child of the Fenton family who came from overseas. A shy, quiet little boy with a thick accent and curly hair, with brown skin and blue eyes, and an avid interest in the stars. The best fictions are always cobbled together in a little bit of truth, it's some of the only truth he ever lets through. He apologizes in a meek voice for his behavior early, he didn't mean to be rude, and he watches the three of them eat it up with coos.

Lies roll like silk against his lips, he struggles to meet their eyes and offers them his weakest, shyest smile. It's too easy. It's easy to go from there.

Danny Fenton, adoptive son, shy and awkward and unconfident but friendly. Who struggles in his classes and isn't the brightest, but tries his hardest. He makes bad jokes and has a quick tongue and a sarcastic mouth. He wants to be an astronaut. He's got the best aim in school, and is a terrifying dodgeball player. He's one of the least athletic kids in his grade.

It's like playing two truths and a lie, but there's only one truth, and the rest are lies. It's easy to pretend when he knows it's insincere.

Danyal Al Ghul, grandson to the Demon Head. Deadly, trained assassin. Has spilled blood, has had blood spilt from. Environmentalist, animal activist. He loves the stars. He owns a calligraphy set. A sharp tongue, an even sharper blade. He's clever, quick-witted, he would be top of his grade if he tried harder. He purposely doesn't.

He misses his family. He misses his mother, and he misses his brother. Mother visits a few times a year, so few times that he can count it on both hands. He cherishes every visit, as brief as they are. It helps remind him who he is.

Sam and Tucker are Danny's best friends. They've never met Danyal, but Danyal's met them.

It becomes routine to become Danny Fenton. As familiar and as easy as pulling on a shirt in the morning. Danyal wakes up and is always first to the bathroom in the mornings; stares at himself in the mirror until he can finally see Danny staring back at him. At night, he locks his door and sheds the mask.

Dying throws a wrench in his mask; splits a crack straight through the porcelain. He's able to smooth it over with sandpaper and liquid gold, but it's a little hard keeping his ghost form under wraps. It instinctively wants to shift to show his true self. Danyal can't have that, he's spent four years as Danny Fenton, he'll spend another four as him as well. Even if the feeling of the hazmat suit in his ghost form feels restrictive, like a too-small shirt suctioned to his skin that needs to be peeled off.

He'll live. Er-- well, you know what he means. It's frustrating however, trying to keep his Danny Fenton mask up even as Phantom - fighting in the air is something he needs to get used to, and the sudden propping of powers throws him off. But he is nothing if not adaptive, and he hates that he needs to slow his own skills down in order to keep pretenses up in front of Sam and Tucker.

The first time Danyal summons a sword when he's alone, is one of the few times Danyal gets to grin instead of Danny. He's fighting Skulker, and from an invisible hilt he draws a katana from thin air. It startles them both. Skulker takes a step back at the smile that spreads across his face.

They're both silent as Danyal examines his new sword.

"Do you know what people like me do to people like you, poacher?" Danyal finally asks him, the accent he began to hide a few months in slipping through. He drops all pretense, dragging the flat end of the blade slow and appreciatively against his palm. It's a good make, and when he cuts it through the air, it slices through like butter. He looks up at Skulker with a smile; "are you ready to find out?"

When Sam and Tucker ask about why Skulker seems so skittish around Danny now, Danny shrugs at them and says with a playful smile; "I don't know, I guess I kicked his butt too hard after our last fight." and he watches as Sam rolls her eyes exasperatedly, and Tucker snickers with his own joke.

By the time he reunites with Damian before their 15th birthday, Danyal is buried beneath so many layers of Danny Fenton that his brother will need a shovel to dig him out. He's not sure what he'll find.

[peipwecallitpeep]

[writerfromshikahr]

--------------------------------------------------------

A Frustrating Service - Lucanis X Rook Fanfic

--------------------------------------------------------

"Can we sit?" Rook gestured to the large couch in the centre of her room, which doubled as her bed. She quickly rearranged the blankets, tidying them to make room for the two of them.

Lucanis nodded, following her to the couch. He perched at one end, his posture rigid, while she settled at the other.

The silence between them stretched thin until Rook finally spoke, her voice hesitant. "I’m not sure how to bring this up....."

“It’s about what happened in the pantry the other day, isn’t it?” he interrupted her, but his tone was calm but unreadable.

Rook glanced at him, her shoulders relaxing slightly in relief that he had brought it up first. "Yes," she admitted softly, holding his gaze.

Lucanis sighed, the sound heavy with something she couldn’t quite place. "It shouldn’t have happened," he said flatly. "I shouldn’t have let it happen."

Her heart sank. She felt the weight of his words like a blow. Here she was, believing they’d shared a connection—something meaningful—and once again, she had gotten it all wrong. "Oh," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. She forced herself to look away, adding more firmly, "Well, that clears things up. I guess you can leave."

Lucanis shifted uncomfortably, his jaw tightening as if trying to hold something back. "No, Rook, that’s not what I—ugh, fuck," he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. His frustration was palpable.

"No, it’s fine. All good." She waved a hand dismissively, though her voice wavered. "Honestly, I’m okay with this. It makes things easier, I think." Her eyes dropped to the floor, trying to mask the sting of rejection.

"Rook," he said, his voice low and full of warmth—the same tone that had always calmed her in the past. Right now, though, she wanted to slap it out of him.

"Lucanis," she met his gaze with sharp defiance. "I’m a grown woman. I can handle rejection."

"Can you let me speak?" he asked, his voice steady but tinged with irritation.

She nodded silently, her lips pressing into a thin line as she waited.

"What I meant to say… what I need to explain," Lucanis began, his hand gesturing between them as if trying to grasp the right words, "there’s something here, but right now, I can’t. I want to explore whatever this is..." He exhaled sharply, his shoulders tense. "My head’s a mess, Rook. My life, Spite, the last year of being imprisoned—it’s all a fucking disaster...I'm a disaster." He glanced away briefly, gathering his thoughts. "Whatever this is, it deserves care. It needs more than I can give right now. I don’t want to start something important when there’s so much unfinished."

Rook turned toward the window, her gaze following the fish darting and swirling beyond the glass. Her fingers tightened around the blanket before she spoke. "You’re asking for time," she said quietly, though there was no edge to her tone.

"If you’ll give it to me," he replied.

She hesitated, then let out a soft breath. A small, tentative smile curved her lips. "I think I can do that."

Relief washed over his face, softening his sharp features as he offered her a faint smile. "Thank you," he said, his voice thick with gratitude.

"I thought I had imagined it," she admitted. "I thought I got it all wrong."

"You didn’t," Lucanis replied firmly, his tone steady and reassuring. He paused, running a hand through his hair, his gaze thoughtful. "I'm not good at this kind of thing. I usually leave matters of the heart to Illario. I've never had a relationship; I don’t do those." His voice softened as his dark eyes met hers again. "But this—it matters. It’s important. I want to do it right. You deserve nothing less."

Rook’s smile grew, just enough to show she believed him. "For what it’s worth," she said after a beat, glancing at him with a glimmer of her usual humour, "it was the best almost-kiss I���ve had in a long time."

Lucanis huffed a soft laugh, shaking his head as a rare, fleeting smile crossed his face. "A frustrating service I'm skilled at providing."

The quiet returned between them, stretching but not uncomfortable. Lucanis leaned back slightly, his gaze dropping to the floor for a moment before flicking back to hers.

"I should go," he said softly, though there was no edge to the words—just the same careful restraint he always carried.

Rook nodded, though something in her chest tightened. "Right. You’ve got daggers to sharpen, people to dispatch."

"Always." His voice was light, but his eyes lingered on her for a second longer than usual. He stood, making his way to the door.

As his hand reached the doorknob, he paused.

"Rook," he said, his voice low but sure, "you didn’t get this wrong. I don’t want you to think that."

Her breath caught, and for a moment, she wasn’t sure what to say.

Lucanis offered the barest hint of a smile. "If I ever walk away, it won’t be because I don’t want to be here."

And with that, he left, the door closing quietly behind him.

She sat on the couch, her hands twisting the edge of the blanket as she replayed his words in her head. The ache in her chest remained, but it wasn’t sharp anymore. Instead, it felt softer—like the quiet promise he’d left behind.

[unclewaynemunson]

Alt version of this post bc too many people asked for both &lt;3

It's Saturday night and, like almost every Saturday night, Eddie wishes he didn't have to be at some jock party. The flashing lights, the scent of cheap mixed drinks, the incredibly mediocre loud music... And worst of all, the fucking jocks. Everywhere.

'Eddie!'

He looks up to find Steve, with a dopey smile on his face, basically skipping towards him and throwing his arms around his neck. Oh. He didn't know Steve still went to parties like those. Hadn't seen him at any of them in a while. But as soon as he gets wrapped up in an enthusiastic full-body hug, he decides there's one jock, and one jock only, that he doesn't mind running into at those parties.

'Eddie, what're you doin' here?' There's an unfocused look in his eyes and he wobbles on his legs a little bit, grabbing tighter onto Eddie for support. The touch burns through Eddie's t-shirt and he tries to ignore the shiver running down his spine.

'I didn't know you liked parties!' Steve drops his voice, slurring: 'I thought you hated the jocks.'

Eddie can't help but smile. 'I hate all jocks but one, big boy,' he tells Steve. 'Not here to party, only to get some cash.' He rattles with the metal lunchbox in his hands to illustrate his point. 'Can you let me go now so I can get on with my business, pretty please?'

'Noooo,' Steve says with an exaggerated pout. 'I'm too happy you're here! Dance with me!'

Eddie chuckles. 'I don't think you're in any state to dance right now. Jesus, Stevie, I don't think I've ever seen you this wasted before. Thought you were planning to pick up a girl tonight?'

'I was,' Steve says, suddenly sounding oddly serious. 'But it doesn't matter. Just needed to forget. The rum helped, too.' He frowns. 'Til you showed up.'

'Forget what?' Eddie asks, trying to make sense of this drunken string of words.

Something happens; something that's been happening quite often lately. Steve's eyes flash downwards, just for a second, right to where Eddie's lips are.

Eddie's heartbeat involuntarily picks up speed.

'What did you need to forget, Steve?' Eddie asks again.

'Can't tell you,' Steve mumbles so softly that Eddie can barely make it out over the loud music. 'I don't wanna make you feel guilty. I'm not judging you, y'know. 'S fine.'

He abruptly lets go of Eddie and takes a step away from him, stumbling right into some girl who pushes him back with an annoyed scoff; if Eddie weren't still standing right behind him, he would've fallen on his ass for sure.

'Alright, you're not making any sense tonight, big boy, but I can't in good conscience let you stay here by yourself. How 'bout I'll drive you home?'

Eddie glances at his watch. If he hurries, he can probably still be back to do what he came here for before the good part of the party is over. He does kinda need the cash.

'Can't,' says Steve. 'Can't go home with you.' Something in his voice is breaking and suddenly there are tears in his eyes, and Eddie still doesn't understand what's wrong; he feels like he's overlooking something huge, something that should be obvious.

'Let's just go outside to talk, then?' he suggests.

'Can't. Dance with me, Eddie.'

But when Eddie starts gently tugging Steve towards the open door leading to the garden, Steve easily lets himself be led outside. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath when the cool night air reaches his lungs, as if one gulp of fresh air will instantly make him sober up. But he's still swaying on his feet, making Eddie grab onto him tighter.

Eddie likes to think of himself as moderately strong, but unfortunately, hauling 180 pounds of muscled jock around is starting to take its toll on him. He spots a bench in a secluded corner of the garden and guides Steve towards it.

'This better?' he asks.

'Yeah,' Steve breathes out. Even now that they're both sitting down, Steve keeps clinging onto him. 'Look at the stars, Eddie.'

Eddie looks up at the scattering of lights twinkling far above them - but he can feel Steve's eyes still burning into his face.

When he directs his gaze back to the guy sitting next to him, Steve's face is even closer than before. The starlight is reflected in his hazy eyes, tiny specks of silver hidden in various shades of brown and black.

'I wish I could kiss you,' Steve whispers, looking at Eddie with nothing but admiration behind that glassy drunk gaze.

Eddie almost forgets to breathe. He knows that it seemed like he and Steve were headed exactly toward something like this for a while now, but he still can hardly believe that it is real. That Steve Harrington is really looking at him like he's just as precious as the stars in the sky above them.

He brings up a hand, gently caresses Steve's soft cheek.

'Maybe you don't have to wish,' he whispers back, unable to stop his eyes from flashing towards Steve's beautiful lips for a moment. 'Tomorrow. When you're not drunk anymore. If you still remember this.'

'No.' Steve shakes his head, so fiercely it makes his hair flap in all directions and his complexion at least two shades paler. 'Can't.'

'Why do you keep saying that, Steve?' Eddie asks softly.

'Cause.' For a moment Eddie thinks Steve is gonna grab his ass, but then... he randomly frees Eddie's handkerchief – the one with the skulls – from his back pocket.

'Cause of the Russians.'

Eddie can only stare at him in confusion.

'They tied me up,' Steve all but whispers. Eddie hates how small and broken his voice suddenly sounds.

He has always known – broadly speaking – about what happened to Steve and Robin miles beneath Starcourt last year. He's never actually heard Steve talk about the details, though. All he knows is that he and Robin were captured by Russian spies and somehow made it out alive. He could always see how difficult it was for Steve to talk about it whenever it came up, but he never wanted to pry. And now here they are, at some goddamn high school jock party of all places, and all of a sudden Steve willingly brings it up.

'I was with Robin,' Steve continues, still in that scared and broken voice. 'And they tied us to a chair. We couldn't move. And they – they hurt me. They hit me. 'Til I was bleeding all over. I thought I was gonna die. Robin thought I was dead.'

'Jesus Christ, Steve,' Eddie breathes out, tightening his grip around Steve's torso.

'So I can't,' Steve mumbles, holding up Eddie's handkerchief as if it's some kind of logical explanation for whatever it is he's trying to tell Eddie.

'Wh- What?'

'I know what it means, Eddie,' he says, as if he's even remotely making sense right now. 'You know John?'

'Who the hell is John?' Eddie only keeps finding himself more and more lost in this conversation.

'My cousin,' Steve says, like it's obvious, like he's ever talked about some cousin named John to Eddie before. 'The one in New York. He knows all about that shit, right? He sends me the good magazines sometimes when my parents aren't home. That's how I know.'

'Know what?'

Steve only waves around with that stupid handkerchief again.

'You're flagging, aren't ya? You like pain. Like BS... BM...'

Eddie feels his jaw drop.

'What the fuck are you talking about?' he asks. 'It's – this is a metal thing. It looks metal. I literally have no idea what you're – flagging?'

Now Steve's face finally mirrors the confusion Eddie has been feeling for the past ten minutes.

'Are you serious?' he asks, for one second showing more clarity in his eyes than Eddie has seen all evening.

Eddie nods.

'So it's not...' Steve stops himself, swallows, frowns. 'You're not into, like, hurting people and shit?'

And finally, it all clicks together in Eddie's mind: the repeated chorus of I can't, the story about the Russians, the goddamn handkerchief... Flagging. BDSM.

'Why the hell would I get off on hurting you, Steve?' is all he can get out of his mouth.

And Steve honest-to-Satan starts giggling; it sounds so relieved that Eddie kinda feels like giggling too, scary metal image be damned.

'I dunno, it's more common than you think,' Steve mumbles. 'I wouldn't judge you, alright? But I knew I could never give you that. No matter how much I like you. And then you'd get bored of me.'

'Oh, Steve,' Eddie whispers out. 'You don't need to worry 'bout that, I swear. For all I care, we can have the most vanilla sex in the world forever. Or never have sex at all. As long as it's with you... I'm good.' Eddie cringes as soon as the words leave his mouth: it sounds too cheesy, too sincere. He kinda hopes Steve will have forgotten this particular part of their conversation tomorrow morning.

But Steve doesn't look at him like he thinks it's stupid at all: his eyes are wide and he's smiling a soft smile.

'You sure? You won't get bored?'

Eddie chuckles. Now that he's being too goddamn cheesy anyway, he might as well double down on it. 'I can't imagine getting bored of getting to hold this body in a million fucking years. In any way you'll have me.'

Steve heaves out a relieved sigh before he buries his head against Eddie's chest.

'Can I bring you home, now?' Eddie asks.

There's a twinkle in Steve's eyes when he lifts his head again.

'Ooohhh... You wanna have the most vanilla sex in the world with me now?'

A chortle escapes Eddie's lungs.

'Um, maybe tomorrow, when you're not drunk off your ass,' he answers with a wink. 'For tonight, just lemme get you to bed, 'kay?'

'Okay, big boy,' Steve answers, and Eddie can't help but laugh before he presses a kiss against Steve's forehead.

[eerna]

imma be so real with you I did NOT care for all the cutesy ways they presented Vi and Cait's disbalanced social status in arc 3

[ganondorf-ganondorf]

ganondorf

[caycanteven]

"You are a stubborn little thing, do you know that?"

"I do. Though, would you have me any different?"

"No, I would not."

"Why?"

"I would miss the way your soul burns with passion for what you believe in."

"How romantic. Anything else?"

"...and with how adorable it is that you think you can challenge me."

"Ah, there it is."

[cata613]

I’m sorry, WHAT does this ad have to do with ISRAEL? Did I miss something? Or do you have nothing to do with your pathetic little lives and derive pleasure only from being antisemites?

God, every day it gets SO MUCH HARDER to maintain hope and faith in humanity.

[cupcakeslushie]

Thirds

pt 1 || pt 2

Donnie thinks he knows what he has to do reconcile Three with Donatello. To leave everything from that time behind and move on, but…maybe there’s a simpler solution?

[starry-bi-sky]

danny and officer martinez's relationship in "late at night, when the nightingale sings" in a nutshell:

Martinez: FREAK! GET YOUR FUCKING KID!

Battinson, on the other side of the crime scene: he don't bite

Martinez, with Nightingale firmly attached his arm, visibly biting him: YES HE DO!

*points at them* Danny is the Bugs Bunny to Martinez's Elmer Fudd.

Another Officer: i can't believe you're fighting with an actual twelve year old. Martinez: i swear to god that is not a twelve year old, that is a little hellion that crawled out of batman's shadow one dark and stormy night and decided to dedicate his existence to tormenting me. Officer: Are you really that mad about him putting a sticky note on your back-- Martinez: thats not the point

in danny's defense: the word "freak" is. a mini beserker button for him for.... obvious ghostly reasons, so like, even if its not directed at him, he still very much unappreciates Martinez's insults at Battinson. Danny may or may not be projecting.

he's not going to hurt the guy! not in any serious or permanently disfiguring way at least! But he is going to leave mean sticky notes on the square part of his spine that he can't reach, and stick salt in his 3AM Late Night Crime Scene Coffee, and kick the bottom of his heel while he's walking so he stumbles. And other petty, infuriating things that tally up and boil over, over time.

[deadchaoticcosmos]

1976

regulus: hey, your eyes have a little green in them

james: *grinning like an idiot, he has only ever been told he has brown eyes* huh

1996

draco: hey, your eyes have a little green in them

harry: *grinning like an idiot, he has only ever been told he has his mother's eyes* huh

imagine the huh as kinda a laugh

[bisclavret]

this is so funny i knew eoin said he thought gwaine got up and went on his merry way with a concussion and zero recollection of the entire series but i didn't know he got super excited about making a short film about it. it's kind of a huge-brained idea actually since gwaine's character arc starts out with a concussion. mr macken please this could be your magnum opus there is still time