#finally writing all this up

[cracklewink]

Harmony Syndrome Part 5/5

The last chapter of my mlp infection AU! Thank you to everyone who followed along. Some final thoughts on my twitter @cracklewink if anyone's interested : )

[bixels]

Posting a sneak-peak of this now because I'm about to be In The Shit school workload-wise, so this'll take me a while to finish.

Doing some character design exploration/expression sheets for Celestia and Luna. Figuring out Celestia's weird ass anatomy while I'm at it.

[azrail-has-a-vendetta]

I think I need a “Kid Tim Drake gets kidnapped and held for ransom but his parents don’t even pick up the phone so now these criminals are like whelp, this kid is ours now. Sucks to suck.” Fic.

[yuuchama]

(Leona Kingscholar x gender neutral reader)

Leona had groaned and ranted against you sleeping in his bed all night. "There's no room," he claimed while sprawled out on a mattress wide enough to fit an entire Spelldrive team. If you laid down to claim the bed's edge, he'd kick you to the carpet or nudge you over the side and quickly pretend to be asleep. The hours he spent coming up with excuses and dirty tricks would have been better spent actually sleeping.

Many times he'd yawn and repeat, "what kind of herbivore willingly crawls into the den of a beast?" while keeping you at arm's length. Every time you thought he was out cold and snuck back over, he'd swat you away. It was a raging battle of endurance.

Yet when morning came, Leona sang a completely different tune. Perhaps it was the exhaustion of staying up late. Perhaps he was just done fighting his feelings. At some point he really did fall asleep, allowing you to take over one pillow and the fringed corner of a blanket. They were temporary luxuries.

You awoke with the heavy prince on top of you, each slow breath warm against your ear as he nuzzled his chin against your shoulder. His arm curled around your head. Strands of long, dark brown hair stuck to your lips. Sunlight poured through the windows, bringing the dry heat of the day with it. You could have cooled off by moving a leg if the prince hadn't hooked his own knee over your thighs.

"Leona...?" You whispered the name. The pressure of his chest pushing down on yours made inhaling an inconvenience. Your hope that he would wake up was successfully answered by a twitch of his ear against your cheek.

"Leona, I can't breathe." Though still half asleep and uncoordinated, you felt uncomfortable. The sensation of pins and needles danced in your hands, along the bottom of your feet, and you wanted to roll over. Leona's tail tuft began to swish lazily, trailing over the hem of your shirt. Bit by bit, it helped you wake. "I want to get up."

You strained to move out from under the mass of muscles, grabbing the mattress's edge to pull yourself up. Leona huffed and buried his face further against your skin. There was an odd sensation at the base of your neck. A little damp, a little sharp, and very warm. Leona gently nipped at your throat until you stopped trying to escape.

"Did you just bite me?" Though tired, you were now fully awake and could take in more of the situation. Leona responded with a sleepy grunt. You retaliated with a couple strikes to his side, weakly aiming for the only spots within reach. "You're hot! Let me up!"

It was the wrong course of action. Leona stirred, only to move his arm across your chest and lock both legs around yours. Fingertips grasped at the fabric of your attire. "Be quiet," he grumbled, turning his face towards yours. He knew you'd talk less if your chin had to fight the weight of his head.

You were more stuck than before. "I can't move."

"Should have listened when I warned you." You were nothing more than captured prey in the lion's embrace.

Leona's chest returned to a rhythmic rise and fall as the morning birdsong lulled him back to sleep. You were going to have to put up with his body heat for a few more hours.

[mrcatlion]

I have been consuming Zack Lives AUs and would like to offer the headcannon: Zack keeps a habit of taking initiative for transporting Cloud to places even after Cloud wakes up. Usually grabbing and leading Cloud places, but sometimes ends up with Zack full on hoisting Cloud over his shoulder and starts walking.

[doctorsiren]

give this angle another tri

[tylidae]

A I L U R A N T H R O P Y 1 0 1

[bluerosefox]

Guys I came up with a new DPxDC AU where we get Deaged!Dani(Ellie), Mom!Cass, and Dad!Danny.

"Cass... Are you sure you want to do this?" Tim asked one more time before he would put the last code in. He knew she was sure, more than willing to deal with it but he just needed one more confirmation before they all started what couldn't be stopped.

Cass stared at Tim, her face straight and her eyes firm without a hint of doubt. She nodded in his direction, despite the growing nervousness in her stomach for a second even with Stephanie squeezed her hand in reassurance and support.

Cass turned her gaze to the little girl, no older than thirteen, suspended in a tank full of green glowing goo and asleep. Her vitals showing up on screens near the tank coming from the wires that were hooked up to her inside the tank.

She said her name was Danielle Masters but had also said she wouldn't mind a new name once she was no longer just a clone but instead Cass's new daughter. She had only asked to include her 'dad', a Danny Fenton/Phantom, in her future naming decision too

Cass took a breath and said softly but determined "Save her."

Tim nodded back and entered the final code into the computer.

-x-x-

Basically-

Cass, while in Hong Kong, finds a destabilizing Dani.

Cass see's the desperation and fear Dani is in and helps as best as she can.

She manages to help but they both seem to know the next time this happens will be Dani's last.

Dani is very, very sick at this point and needs help even standing up.

Cass see's and remembers herself at this age and wants to help.

They do become friends and learn each other backstories

Cass goes to the one person she knows who might to be able to help with the destabilizing clone problem.

Tim, Tim is that person. (Because he's friends with Conner, and no doubt knows Conner's DNA and how it works, AND the fact he tried his hand at the whole cloning thing.... Tim told Cass everything once things settled down after his BruceQuest was done)

They fill him in on what is happening and he starts helping, mostly cause Cass asked and because "Clone rights!" (side note, he asked if its okay to tell Conner, when yes, Conner comes over and chats with Dani the entire time whenever he has free time) (the image of Conner sitting at her bedside as they chat is in my head btw)

Tim finds out the reason Dani is destabilizing so badly is because she's not 'complete', she needs a female donor technically because she's female not male (unlike Conner who is stable because he is male with male donors)

They find out that after trying to see of ways to save her that Cass was the closest that could donate her DNA (they also discover there might be a connection between ectoplasm and the Pits, they don't wanna run the risk of asking a LOA member) (If I remember right Cass grew around the Pits for a while and was even tossed in them after a fight with Shiva)

Tim also brings them news that Danielle's body is rapidly destabilizing due to her body/hormones trying to 'mature' her since she is at that age and she has less than a week.

Everyone knows there is no time to think of trying to save her in any other ways.

Tim says that if they do this, they have to technically 'remake' her body to the actual age she is (a couple months old/a few years old? Depends on the writer) and there was a high chance of her not remembering her old self. That the male DNA in her, the one that seemed to be the most is Daniel 'Danny' Fenton's DNA will be considered father DNA and if Cass does this, her's will be the mother DNA. (Vlad's DNA, because he would try to put his own in, would be 'pushed out')

Cass would become Dani's mother.

Both Cass and Dani talk about it.

Cass wants to help her, she had become friends with Dani and loves her like a little sister already but will try to love her as a daughter as well.

Dani wants to live an actual life.

They agree to it.

Tim sets everything up, Conner is helping around/keeping Dani comfortable/happy.

Cass told Steph and Babs whats happening and they're helping/being supportive once they find out everything.

Meanwhile Tim and Babs has Dick, and Damian go to Amity Park to find out whats happening there/bring Danny to her so they can explain what happened to Dani. (Dick and Damian have no clue why just yet but will find out when they get back, but oh boy is Amity a mess between the GIW, ecto-acts, crazy fruitloop mayor/villain ghost, and other stuff)

Cass and Tim tell Jason and he's helping Alfred (who basically already knows) set up a room for the newest arrival. Jason is gonna stick around if to just see Bruce's face when he gets called a 'grandpa' for the first time.

Duke takes this all in stride when told and just goes along with things now because this is life with the Batfam. He also helps with the room and keeping Dani company until the day.

Bruce was on a space mission thus comes home to find a new group of teens with his kids. One (with black hair and violet/purple eyes) is talking about a purple back gorillas with Damian and swapping vegan recipes, another (wearing a red beanie and has glasses) is getting into tech talk with Tim and Babs, a girl with red hair is talking classic books with Jason and giving Duke advice with school and stress, and another boy (one who could pass as one of his own adopted kids) is cracking jokes/puns with Dick, and telling Steph stories about his Rogues(!?).

Bruce isn't ready when Cass comes up behind him, nearly dancing in her spot and hands him something.

He is given a baby/toddler that looks like Cass but had darker hair and bright blue eyes.

He almost faints when Cass signs to him that he's holding his granddaughter, her baby.

He does faint when Cass notices the signs and takes her baby back before he falls over.

[stevebabey]

it was supposed to be short n small and now its 3k & its unedited and u all have to just deal with it bcos it was supposed to be SMALL | ao3

The driver's side car window makes a resounding thunk when Steve’s forehead falls against it.

Through the glass, his keys glint tauntingly back at him.

Still tucked in the ignition, locked in on the inside. So close and yet so far from Steve who is, unfortunately, locked on the outside.

I’m such a fucking idiot.

He lets his head raise up a bit just to drop it back against the window again, this time more in punishment. Of course, of course, he coughs up the money needed for a warrant of fitness and then he goes and locks his keys in the car the next day. Like he needed one more cost added to his finances.

Steve steals a glance at his watch. Fuck, if he doesn’t get on the road in the next 10 minutes, he’ll be more than late to work.

His eyes glance across to Eddie’s van, parked beside his own car, outside the trailer home in Forest Hills. Then he looks back at the trailer.

He can ask. He can just go inside and ask Eddie for the lift— and explain that the reason he can’t take his own perfectly fine car is because he’s so goddamn thick between the ears that he’s locked his keys inside, like some kind of moron.

The voice in his head sounds suspiciously like his father.

Something thick grows in his throat. He swallows it to no avail. Embarrassment begins to flush down his neck, hot and uncomfortable.

No, no— he can’t ask Eddie because as far as Steve knows, Eddie hasn’t quite figured it out yet.

Even while Dustin and Mike make their jokes about him being a bit slow, even when Robin says at least you have your pretty face, Eddie brushes them off and laughs. Takes them as jokes with no merit to them. Steve knows though.

So what if he doesn’t want to burst his bubble just yet?

He knows Eddie will figure it out eventually— because they always do. When he asks too many stupid questions and needs things explained twice and— and it’s just inevitable, okay? He knows that.

Fixing his glare through the window of his car at the shiny pair of keys within, Steve wrestles with what would be worse; being late or accidentally tipping Eddie off when they’ve just gotten so close.

Close enough to share a kiss, two nights ago, under the covers. It was barely more than a peck. But Steve knew it had taken a miraculous amount of courage from Eddie to do it— to surge forward and grab Steve’s face, his rings cool against his skin, and press his mouth against his Steve's own.

Eddie’s lips had been chapped but his smile had been pure sunshine and Steve thinks he could’ve stayed forever under that blanket, memorising the shade of pink Eddie’s cheeks turn after a kiss.

They’ve been dancing around it ever since. Each interaction is more charged, more flirty, more gooey. Long lingering looks and pointed nudges that make Steve feel like a 14-year-old with a crush again, in the best way.

So, no. He exactly can’t go ask.

With a heavy sigh and glance up at the darkening sky, Steve is only glad he’s not supposed to pick up Robin today as he begins to walk.

—

One phone call to the auto-shop reveals exactly how much it’ll cost to get his keys retrieved. Which is, to say, entirely too much for one adult living on the wage of a Family Video employee.

And they won’t be able to get anyone out for another whole day.

Growing more and more frustrated with himself, Steve angrily jots the number down into his little notebook, the pen pressing down hard enough to leave indents on the page behind it. Keith is somewhere out the back, snacking no doubt, and leaving Steve to man the front.

Normally, it wouldn’t bother him— especially because he could discretely make the phone call he needed— but now it’s just him, the empty store, and the number in his notebook that stares back at him.

Oh, and it’s raining.

The darkening sky from earlier had transformed into something closer to a thunderstorm, rain lashing against the windows and driving any and all customers away. Which is fantastic— just what Steve needs now, really the fucking cherry on the top.

The phone rings, the noise unusually shrill in the silence of the store. The film playing amongst the aisles has been on mute as soon as he’d gotten his hands on the remote and Keith had disappeared out the back.

Steve stares at the phone, watching it ring once, twice, before he picks it up with a heavy sigh. He dredges up his customer service voice.

“This is Family Video, how can I help?” He greets, putting as much pep into his voice as he can manage—which turns out to be a meagre amount.

“Did you walk to work today?”

Steve straightens up at the sound of Eddie’s voice on the other end of the line. His free hand instinctively smooths down the front of his vest before he quickly remembers Eddie can’t actually see him.

“Eddie?” He asks, instead of answering the question.

“Your Highness, himself,” Eddie responds. His tone is that usual jaunty playfulness that Steve’s come to adore. “Now answer the question, Steve-o. I thought you were one of those smart guys who actually listens when the weather report comes on the radio. Why the hell did you walk?”

Steve’s shoulders curl in, just an inch, and his eyes seek out the open notebook with the quoted amount, underlined and circled, staring back at him. His throat grows a lump at Eddie’s unknowingly poor choice of words.

“Thought I would walk today.” He replies, his voice clipped. “You know, walking, exercise, good for you? Any of these ringing a bell for you, Munson?”

It’s supposed to be a joke but Steve can tell by the end of the sentence, it’s come out way too sour to land that way. He sounds mean.

Steve cringes, clutching the phone a little tighter and screwing up his eyes. He waits for Eddie’s response.

“You know,” Eddie says, sounding a lot duller all of a sudden. “I was calling to maybe offer you a lift through the rain—”

“Sorry, I’m sorry, that-“ Steve cuts in, that same strange embarrassment swelling in his throat. “I didn’t mean for it to come out like that.”

“—But if you’re gonna be a dick about it, you can enjoy the walk.”

Steve grits his teeth and pinches the bridge of his nose because this feels a little too much like a line from his Dad— but it isn’t because Steve is the one digging this hole all on his own. He’s the idiot who fucking locked his keys in his car and walked to work and snapped at Eddie and—

“No, I’m sorry.” He says, still a bit too tense.

Idiot, idiot, you’re being a fucking idiot, Harrington.

“A ride would be appreciated. Please.”

A pause. This time when Eddie speaks, he’s a little softer. “You off at five today?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. I’ll see you at five.”

The dial tone sounds as Eddie hangs up but Steve stays where he is, phone pressed against his one good ear, with a sinking feeling in his stomach. The rain begins to flood the parking lot.

—

Five o’clock comes around too soon.

The rain has let up, just barely, but enough that Steve can actually see Eddie’s van when it pulls up into the parking lot. It rocks about dangerously in the wind and Steve suddenly feels bad for making Eddie come out to get him.

He could’ve stayed here, taken the longer shift. Told Keith to take off early and just walked back home when the rain let up a little more— or just camped out the back on the couch in the employee room if it never did.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

He’d started doing it more and more when his parent’s visits to home became more frequent. It was easy to pull a few white lies out and Steve far preferred answering questions like: Where were you last night? than Why won't you come out to our event tonight? Show face for the Harrington's? It's not like you're doing anything with your life, right?

The only reason he’d stopped, actually, was because he had become good friends with Eddie.

Eddie, who loved his company almost any hour of the day. Who gobbled up each and every morsel of food Steve cooked up, whether it was good or partially burned on the sides. Who told him he had a place in the trailer, day or night, rain or shine.

Eddie who… was waiting outside at five o’clock exactly, pulled up to the curb so Steve wouldn’t have to walk through the rain for more than a moment.

There’s a sliver of surprise, deep within his chest; like he thought Eddie might’ve not shown up and forced him to walk through the rain, just to learn his lesson. It would make sense, Steve thinks. You reap what you sow.

He clocks out hastily, barely murmuring his exit to Keith who doesn’t look up in the slightest. Steve heads for the door and decides then and there, he’ll happily pay the number in his notebook if he doesn’t have to tell Eddie what a fucking moron he actually is.

Water splashes as he dashes down the steps and Eddie’s leaning across, pushing the door open so Steve doesn’t even have to wait to yank it open in the rain. He slides in, sprinkled with rain, slams the door closed, and instantly gets blasted with heat.

“God, you’re a lifesaver,” Steve sighs, sticking his hands out towards the air vents which are working in overdrive. They whir loudly in complaint. Eddie smiles, the apples of his cheeks glowing in the warmth, and twists the wheel, his eyes on the road before him.

The van groans and the bumper dips, kissing the gutter, as they roll out onto the road and head for Forest Hills. For a moment, Eddie focuses on driving straight before he flicks his gaze across to Steve.

“You know I wouldn’t have actually let you walk, right?”

Steve blinks, unsure of what to say in response, because he actually did think that was a possibility until about 2 minutes ago. He shivers as a stray drop in his hair sneaks under his collar, cold and wet.

“Right.” He answers, giving a hesitant smile back.

They’re driving slower than usual due to the rain. Steve lets himself sink back into the worn seats of the van, comforted by the familiar smells. A tang of tobacco, a stronger hint of weed, and that musky deodorant that Eddie swears by— even if Steve has never heard of the brand before.

But, well, it must be working in some sense because when Steve takes a deep breath, he smells it and feels a sense of calm. He doesn’t even notice he’s begun staring.

The strange weather has made Eddie’s hair frizzier than usual and paired with his rosy cheeks, Steve thinks he looks goddamn delectable. He gets caught up in a daydream about having a hot chocolate when they get back to the trailer, maybe even sharing a blanket on the couch and—

And then, Eddie turns and says, “So, wanna tell me why you walked? For real, this time?”

Something shrivels up within Steve. The tightness in his throat from this morning returns. He turns his head and looks out the window.

“I don’t get why you don’t believe me when I say I walked because I wanted to.” He grumbles, almost too low for Eddie to hear over the rain.

Why are they still talking about this? He thinks of the keys through the driver’s side window, thinks of the number in his notebook and the much smaller one in his bank account, and has to hold back from thumping his head against the glass again.

Something metallic jingles behind him.

Steve whips around, his eyes zeroing in on his keys dangling from Eddie’s hand— clearly just retrieved from his pocket. Something ugly and warm wakes up inside him, his stomach knotting uncomfortably, and his cheeks start to burn in embarrassment.

Idiot, Idiot, Idiot.

He knows, he already fucking knows how stupid you are.

Eddie’s eyes dart off the road to look at Steve. “Cos you’re clearly not telling the truth.”

Steve averts his gaze, turning his face back to the window and the wet pavement rushing by beneath the car. He swallows but the lump in his throat doesn’t move.

“Okay, look I don’t actually care that you walked to work,” Eddie continues, placing the keys down in the cup holder between the seats. “I just don’t get why you wouldn’t tell me that they were locked in your car.”

Steve can’t help it, the way his shoulders hike up. His teeth sink into his bottom lip meanly, nearly drawing blood. He doesn’t get it, he doesn’t get it— Eddie’s still trying to rationalise away what everyone else has already figured out.

“I just—” Steve starts, on the defence, but it comes out a bit too wet. He forces himself to swallow again, thankful there’s no sting of tears in his eyes. “I can fix that shit on my own. That’s all.”

“Well, yeah,” Eddie agrees.

Below them both, the hum of the van begins to dwindle and Steve realises abruptly that Eddie’s slowing down, pulling over to the side of the road. He looks to the side, at Eddie.

“Please, c’mon, I just wanna go home, man.” Steve pleads, not even caring that he’s referred so casually to Eddie’s trailer as his home.

“Wait, just,” Eddie waves a hand as he sticks the van into park, releasing the wheel and properly turning to Steve.

“I just want to understand. You know I can pop the door to most cars in, like, 5 minutes. Why didn’t you just ask?”

“Eddie,” Steve stresses, turning away with a pointed sigh. He runs a hand through his hair, latching onto the roots and tugging at it. “Just leave it, please.”

“Or asked for a lift!” Eddie continues, his hands gesturing out a bit wildly. “I could’ve given you a lift even.”

Steve's eyes slice across the van and he wills back every emotional outburst that wants to lash out of him, to poke the right spot that will hurt to get Eddie to back off.

But Eddie is just staring at him, brown eyes wide, a little furrow between his brows, and is just confused. Concerned.

“If you keep driving,” Steve murmurs, almost dejectedly. He ducks his head low and turns back to the window. “I’ll tell you.”

It works— the engine rumbles back to life and the wheels roll gently back out onto the road, just a couple more minutes from Forest Hills. Steve watches the road and tries to grasp for the right thing to say, each possibility dissolving like smoke. His eyes squeeze shut tightly. The rain dins loudly on the roof of the van, a song and dance of the elements.

By the time they’re entering Forest Hills, Steve still hasn’t said a word. The van crawls up into its usual spot, next to Steve’s own car, and Steve stares down at it. He can hear the soft click of Eddie’s seatbelt as he releases it.

He supposes it’s too late now, anyway. Eddie already knows. He keeps his eyes out the window as he speaks, his voice flat and dull.

“I just... I didn’t want you to think that I’m an idiot, too.”

There’s a questioning noise behind him, a little noise from Eddie’s throat that slips out, unbidden.

“Too?” He echoes. “Steve? Who thinks you’re an idiot?”

Steve huffs loudly and turns back, throwing his hands up. “Jesus, who doesn’t? Would you like a list?”

Eddie’s face twists into a meaner expression than Steve's ever seen before and for once, he properly matches the dark clothes and spooky tattoos he dons.

“Yes. And I’ll go door to door— wait,” He shuffles, shifting up onto his knees so he can stretch over the console and place his large hands on either side of Steve’s face, directing his gaze towards him.

It’s reminiscent of a kiss not too long ago. Despite all the burning self-deprecation that churns inside, the pleasant reminder dulls it significantly.

“I’ll go door to door to anyone who ever made you feel that way,” Eddie repeats, now face to face with Steve, their noses nearly touching. His brows are still pull tight into a furious frown. But it's not at him, Steve realises. “And I’ll do something— I’m not sure what yet, but it’ll be foul and like, maybe I’ll put instant mash potatoes on their lawn and— okay the specifics aren’t relevant but this— this is.”

He searches Steve’s face intently, eyes darting around, making sure the message is sinking in. His expression softens out, his eyes suddenly sweeter than before. “You’re aren’t an idiot, Steve. You aren’t an idiot for making a mistake and I’ve never thought that about you.”

Steve blinks. Swallows heavily and god fucking dammit, is the thickness in his throat ever going to disappear? This time it feels different though. He’s not sure how.

“You don’t think I’m an idiot, do you?” Eddie asks.

Steve shakes his head, moving Eddie’s hands with them at the same time. It’s true, he doesn’t. Eddie is… goddamn fucking wonderful. He’s like a warm summer shower through the wretched seasons of Steve’s life. One of the reasons it was worth living through the entire ordeal of 86.

The rain outside continues, pitter-pattering on the roof, somehow softer than it was a second ago.

“Okay,” Eddie says, a small smile on tugging on his lips.

“Okay,” Steve says back. He tries for a smile and it’s easier than expected, though it wobbles at the ends. It doesn’t matter— Eddie is still gazing at him, brown eyes shining and Steve believes what he says.

“Okay,” Eddie says one more time, his smile turning closer to a grin. “Let’s go make some cocoa, yeah?”

He moves to retract his hands but Steve moves faster, his hands darting up to hold them in their place, palms against his cheeks.

“Wait,” Steve murmurs, watching how Eddie stills and keeps his closeness, their noses still a couple inches from touching— and Steve clings to the threads of courage in him tightly.

His hands slide off Eddie’s, grasping lightly at his wrists, and it’s easy to lean forward and connect their mouths in one swift motion.

Eddie squeaks— then melts.

It takes half a second before he remembers to kiss back, equally as enthusiastic and it’s nothing like the first kiss they shared under the covers. The rain dances around them and Steve swipes his thumbs over Eddie’s pulse soothing, feeling the barest jump of his rabbiting pulse.

When he shifts back, breaking the kiss, Steve keeps the closeness, the tips of their noses bumping together. Eddie’s hands feel blazing warm on Steve’s cheeks but when his lashes flutter open, catching sight of Eddie’s glorious pink cheeks, he thinks it might be his face burning up too.

They tumble inside through the rain and with all of Steve’s prayers answered today, they also share a blanket on the couch, ankles linked beneath the rumpled fabric. They make hot chocolate, Steve’s style, and sip it at, making googly eyes at each other over the rim of their mugs— until Eddie laughs too much and spits it down his front.

Steve doesn’t feel stupid again— unless that is, you count feeling stupidly sappy.

(He does not.)

[zan0tix]

JAKE AND TRANSFEMININITY: PART 1

IVE ALWAYS WANTED TO TALK ABOUT THIS im gona make a series of posts about jake because. Im crazy and i like writing (will also help me with writing my scripts bc im bad at doing that but im good at yapping on social media lol)

This first post will be about Grandpa Harley because yknow he was the foundation for Jakes text later.

(Take these with a grain of salt bc this is skaianet archive stuff) but Its stated over and over that HIC in both universes Despised Jake because he was a boy and saw him as an annoyance. (The reason he is even named Jake is because HIC just swapped a letter from Jane to make a male name) and this started a pattern of jake being waved off and disregarded.

Already day fucking one as a baby Jake isnt doing gender right😭 his name is a reminder that he isnt what people want him to be.

So he left home and sought off to find adventure at age 13. His shitty home-life already left him with a fraught relationship to his autonomy and control over his life (Again skaianet archives grab that Salt) But he gets groomed and taken advantage of by an older man. I believe this only further Jakes feelings of helplessness and desire to exert power over something.

Grandpa harley would then proceed to try so hard to embody the Old most admirable western masculine archetype to a T. The wealthy globe trotting adventurer/entrepreneur/inventor with female lovers galore and nothing tying him down! A mans man who isnt afraid to get his hands dirty, wrestle a few animals. Wield violence to exert power and control (hunting animals) I see this as his outlet to exert autonomy and establish an Identity for himself but its at the expense of innocent lives. But its how you are seen as successful and powerful living under patriarchy and imperial capitalism.

Though while being this stereotype of old timey masculinity, he has this fascination with a specific brand of femininity. A delicately composed vision, a photoshoot, a performance. Something unachievable.

Its something he brings everywhere he goes. The blue ladies photos and imagery litter both his Hauntswitch house and Jades island house juxtaposing all of his Trophies (taxidermied animals that he obtained through overtly violent masculine means) With his self titled “Beauties/Daughters of Eclectica” (IF THAT ISNT THE MOST OLD GAY MAN THING YOUVE EVER READ. BUT ANYWAY)

Hussie always describes it as “Haha old man jake is horny for blue ladies” but i think the fact he views them as aspirational figures, and holds them in such high regard, Telling Jade that She should aspire to be like them and maybe one day she could take a place amongst them in their elegance and beauty I believe was him projecting; where he believes he isnt able to emulate them because he is a man so he tells jade to instead. (then we see teen jake who is living in more progressive times with his blue lady equivalents and he Directly attempts to Emulate them)

I think theres something more happening here guys nerm..

A. Claire was a Ballerina, A performer of a very traditionally feminine art that is calculated, asking for pin point accuracy with your body as the instrument. The fact he was her “Biggest fan” I assume he went to see alot of her performances and greatly admired her for her beauty and performance skills.

Ive said it before but I dont think he was attracted to her sexually, I think he wished he could be what she was. Embody a finely tuned image of femininity he was barred from ever exploring, so he was drawn to women who could do what he couldnt. And i believe he conflated his gender envy with attraction (teen jake does this too really hard but well get there later) because they didnt have the terms for gender envy or anything back then. Jake grew up in the 1920s. I assume he believed his feelings were average hetero attraction and not something deeper.

I feel like its an elaborate gag that Jake made himself into a straight up Caricature of the burly gruff Adventurer Man. His houses are overflowing with hunting trophies and weaponry like hes over compensating Its insanely comical when you know Really on the inside hes a gay man with a great affection and identification with the effeminate and is actually really loud about it but everyone brushes it off as “Haha what a kooky old geezer!” OBVIOUSLY ALL OF THIS FUNNY. Homestuck is a tragicomedy, everything is simultaneously one huge elaborate gag but also offering commentary on what its pointing and laughing at, in this case its cisheteronormativity (thats the same for an ungodly amount of cases with this work)

I find it tragic, poetic, and endlessly hilarious that his final moments were spent Roleplaying Heterosexuality with a doll He dressed up and put makeup on; made with his image of femininity, and he dies by his own gun, the same kind of weapons that he used to exert violence upon innocent animals in attempt to posture his masculine persona. The ones he arrived to earth with, he was pushed and destined to embody this image of masculinity because of the world he was sent to and the connotations of violence instilled into those weapons by society and reality by Lord English; a being his alt universe self played a great part in shaping. Who too wields a Gun as one of his signature weapons.

Blows smoke off the red hot irony pistols! 😉

PART 2 WILL COME SOON (will add link when it does)

[thresholdbb]

I'm a Kai Winn apologist but not because I think she's a good person. She's a compelling tragic character

[kedreeva]

Okay if you haven't yet, and you have Netflix/Paramount+, consider giving "School Spirits" a chance.

It looks like a silly little cheesy teenage ghosts show, I put it on for background noise, and then got totally engrossed in the mystery. It's VERY well written, very well filmed, the mystery was GREAT and the payoff at the end is also great.

One of the things majorly lacking in shows I've recently tried to watch is that they try to do a twist/reveal at the end that comes out of nowhere. They don't want you to guess what they're doing. This show doesn't do that. This show wants you to guess. They give you seven different mysteries and enough clues to guess (most of) what is going on, so that when you get the final puzzle piece to any given mystery, it feels GREAT.

The story premise is this: a teenager in hs wakes up as a ghost in the hs, and doesn't remember how she died, and with the help of the other ghosts, tries to solve the mystery of her own death.

Simple premise. BEAUTIFULLY executed. Not all of the questions that arise get answered, but the main one (what she doesn't remember) gets solved by the end of the season, leaving the "why/how and what comes next" to be carried to the next season. It does a cliffhanger RIGHT. But now I desperately want to see the second season (which I believe has been approved, so it's a matter of waiting).

So pretty please, if you're looking for something to do and a great, engaging lil mystery to watch, consider! School Spirits!!

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Why would you—That's not—I just wanted to ask for help, why did you have to go and make it awkward???

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[starry-bi-sky]

Blood Blossom Au: before the nightingale sings

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for my batdad blood blossom au, the one where Vlad poisoned Danny with blood blossom extract and Danny ran away from him and ended up tumbling into the care of one Pre-Robin Battinson Batman :). A quick oneshot telling the tale of the tragic deaths of the Fentons

TW: Major Character Death Warning

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Not all deaths are created equal.

That is a valuable lesson in life to learn. One that Danny learns when he is eleven years old, standing in the pit of his parents’ creation; the culmination of their life’s work. The portal to the other side, the realm of the dead. To the infinite. 

He learns that when he’s eleven years old, in a hazmat suit that sags on him, and boots that clunk when he walks because the only ones that fit are his mom’s, and even those are too big. In gloves that he has to clench his fists in because otherwise they fall off. In goggles that slide down his nose even when he’s tightened them the farthest they can go. 

He learns that when he’s eleven years old, choking on giggles that harmonize with the laughter of his friends’ who stand at the mouth of the tunnel. Sam’s holding a polaroid in her hand. They’re just being kids. 

They’re not laughing when Danny’s hand hits the safety lock — the one with faulty wiring, the only one in the tunnel. The only one he could possibly hit. They’re not laughing when the portal buzzes to life, and the lights inside switch on row by row as the generator begins to rumble and hum. 

They’re not laughing when Danny dies. They’re screaming. They’re not screaming when he comes back.

Not all deaths are created equal.  

Some are poetic, beautiful. The satisfying close of a book as it comes to an end, of the hardback thumping soft against the pages like the sound of a door closing. A train run its course.

Some are violent; unsatisfying; unfair. The unexpected shattering of an egg as it rolls off the countertop when nobody is looking, the unmistakable crack as it falls to the floor. It is abrupt and messy. 

But most are just… unremarkable. Unintentional. Clumsy. 

Danny’s family dies one night in late January. He is thirteen years old, barely a month away from fourteen. It is unforeseen. It is preventable. It happens. 

It happens like this: 

Their water heater breaks one Monday in January. It’s old, sitting in the garage, and has dealt with nearly sixteen years of Fenton-grade chaos and shenanigans. Of parents tossing scraps and junk into the garage as brief storage to come back to later. Of illegal tune-ups on their vehicles that result in something exploding. Of little children running around and knocking things over, playing with poles and sticks they find on the ground, on the shelves. Of being lived and used.  

Something had to give. 

Jack Fenton notices it immediately when he comes upstairs that very afternoon — his children at school, his wife downstairs — to grab something from the garage. The very same scrap and used material they store like squirrels to use later. 

He stops what he’s doing to fix it.  

It wasn’t supposed to be permanent. 

Despite what many believe, Jack Fenton is not the idiot people make him out to be. He knows what he’s good at, he knows what he’s not. He knows he can be passionate and obsessive and single-minded about things. He knows that he is a scientist, an inventor; an engineer. 

He knows that he is not a plumber. That fixing water heaters is not something he knows how to do, not safely. And he loves his family. What he does is only meant to be temporary — a fix meant to only last a few days until they can call someone in who can fix it for them. 

So Jack Fenton futzes with the water heater, gives it a temporary stitch to last a short while, and reminds himself to call a plumber later that day to come in and fix it. He turns and leaves the garage with the part he came for —  a sheet of metal for his wife to melt down — and disappears back downstairs. 

He does not make that call; it slips from his mind. 

It is not his fault. 

One day passes, then two, then suddenly it is Thursday. The water heater has still not been fixed, the water heater has been forgotten. It is nobody’s fault.  

Danny asks his parents at breakfast if he can stay over at Tucker’s house for the night. Just one night. They’re going to study for their math test and then play video games until midnight, but he only tells his parents that first half. 

He’s been doing well in school. Really well — better than he has in a while. There’s been a delightful lull in ghost appearances for the last few weeks. The living don’t know why, but Danny does. The Winter Truce always calms the dead down for a while, something about how the Zone cleanses itself twice a mortal year and that fresh wave of ecto clears out the old and brings in the new. 

This year Danny got to participate. He’s feeling the effects of it too, and he’s been sleeping consistently well for the first time since the accident. 

It’ll never happen again. 

His parents agree under the condition that he doesn’t stay up late, and Danny harmlessly lies through his teeth and agrees. He goes and throws overnight clothes into his school backpack, and when he leaves for school with Jazz his parents are already departed into the lab. 

The last conversation he has with his sister is in her car on the drive to school. Inane, mindless conversation to fill the air and pass the time. Jazz comments on how relaxed he’s been lately; Danny tells her about the Winter Truce. She listens in rapt attention. 

She tells him that she’s glad to see him so well-rested. She thinks her little brother’s been growing up too fast these days. She thinks he’s been too tense. Too caught up with the spinning of the world around him that he forgets about himself sometimes. 

When they reach school, before Danny can get out of the car, Jazz looks to her little brother and says; “I love you.” 

Her little brother’s cheeks turn an embarrassed shade of red. He makes a scrunched up, grossed-out face, but can’t hide the smile pulling across it. “Don’t be a sap, Jazz. I’ll see you later.” He tells her, yanking his hood up over his head. She hears the bashful, ‘love you too’ before he walks away. 

That is the last conversation she ever has with her brother. 

Thursday is unremarkable, passing by in its normality as it always does. There’s one, maybe two ghost sightings; shades lurking around in curious infancy that are easily spooked away by the presence of a greater being. Danny doesn’t even have to go ghost. 

Thursday evening is even less so. Danny goes to Tucker’s house — Sam has a prior arrangement with her slam poetry club — and the two of them study for an hour before they toss their textbooks aside and reach for the game console. 

Danny sleeps in Tucker’s room with one of the extra blankets on his bed, curled across the room in one of the bean bag chairs. It shouldn’t be comfortable, but to Danny it is. He sleeps throughout the night, the portal shut down by his parents before they’d gone to bed. 

Early Friday morning, before the sun has even risen yet, before it’s even so much as a concept to grace the horizon, the water heater breaks again. It was supposed to be fixed. 

Carbon monoxide is a silent killer. Odorless and scentless, it kills within minutes. It fills the house like a shadow casting over the ground, creeping into the rooms. 

Danny’s family die in their sleep; painless and unaware. 

It’s not Jack Fenton’s fault. He didn’t mean to.  

Nobody wakes up with their alarms. 

Danny wakes up to Tucker Foley’s alarm on Friday morning, and he turns his head intangible and shoves it into the beanbag chair like an ostrich hiding its head in the sand. Tucker gets up before him, and throws a pillow at him as he reaches for the alarm. 

There’s laughter, messing around. The both of them get dressed, and Danny has breakfast with the Foleys that morning. He takes the bus to school with Tucker, and they meet Sam by their lockers. 

To him, everything is as normal as it should be. There are no ghosts for him to fight right now, school is as school does, and he’s on top of all his schoolwork. 

He does not see Jazz at all that morning, he doesn’t notice. Their schedules are so different, their routes on different paths, that it’s not uncommon for Danny to not see Jazz until he gets home some days. That’s if there’s no ghost attacks. 

At lunch, he gets approached by her friends. Worried creases between their brows, they ask him if he’s seen Jazz. She hasn’t shown up to any of her classes. She’s not answering their texts. It’s unprecedented of her; unheard of. 

Danny doesn’t admit to the concern that swells in his gut when they tell him this. He shrugs at them, and says he hasn’t seen her either. But it was probably nothing to worry about; she might just be sick and sleeping it off. 

He offers to text her and let them know if he gets a response, and that seems to ease her friends enough that they shuffle away in uncertainty. He keeps his word, and does exactly that. He pulls out his phone and opens her contact, and shoots her a message.

‘Where are you?’ 

He doesn’t get a response back, Danny is left on sent. He puts his phone in his pocket, and with a sense of unease creeping in the back of his mind, goes on with his day. He gets no response by the time the final bell rings; and he tries not to be worried. 

The house is quiet when he opens the door. Unusually quiet. He drops his backpack to the floor, it lands with a hearty thunk, and begins to take off his jacket. “Mom! Dad!” He yells. He hangs it up, and slips his shoes from his feet. “Jazz skipped school today!”

A laughable untruth that would get his sister all riled up normally; she should be able to hear him from the front door if she was in her room. The house just stays dead silent. 

He can’t even hear the usual banging and crashing from the lab. His unease returns. He reaches for the intercom that leads directly down to the basement, and presses the button to turn it on. A burst of static, and then he speaks;

“Mom? Dad?” 

Danny lets go, and waits for a response. He gets none back. That never happens, not when the house is this quiet. Not when he knows they should’ve heard him. 

Something sickly and fearful borns in the pit of his stomach, and begins to snake upward. He heads for the lab. The cool metal of the door is familiar in the grooves of his hand, and he doesn’t even need to think about the code as he punches it in;  he simply lets muscle memory guide him. It’s been the same since he was little. 

The door hisses as the pressure is released, and he swings the door open. He takes the stairs down two at a time. Something is wrong. His parents aren’t answering him. His feet pound against the metal. 

“Mom? Dad?” He calls again, more worried, more frantic. More scared. His voice echoes down the stairwell, and he reaches the bottom before it’s fully faded. The lab is empty. The portal is still shut down. 

It was four in the afternoon, they should still be down here. 

Danny races back upstairs, fear-raised nausea coiling in his throat. “This isn’t funny you guys!” He yells when he reaches the top, shoving open the door with more force than necessary. His head swims, his voice cracked. 

He checks the garage, the car is still there. 

“Mom!? Dad!” His voice bellows out throughout the first floor, loud enough that it bounces back at him and rings against his ears. He’s never raised his voice this much — mom would scold him if she heard him. But she doesn’t show up. “Jazmine!” 

Finally, he goes upstairs, and he can’t tell if what he’s feeling is anger or terror. Something is very, very wrong. 

He swings the door of his parents’ rooms open first, and there they are, with the lights still off and the curtains still drawn. As if they hadn’t left their bed all day. Some of Danny’s fear lifts from his shoulders just by the sight of them, but he’s still trembling. Something is still wrong — the room smells… off. Not good, not bad. Just… off. 

He swallows dryly, his throat still thick, and steps into the room. “Mom, dad?” They do not stir. “Didn’t you guys hear me yelling?” 

There is only room static. Danny’s heart shrivels in his chest with a tenfold return of terror, he feels ill. He remembers, just now, that they’re not heavy sleepers, and his dad should be snoring like a freight house. 

Danny reaches their bedside in seconds, hand outstretching for the covers, “Momma? Dad?”

Not all deaths are created equal. 

But many of them are accidental. Unmeditated. Shocking.

Danny Fenton finds his family dead in his childhood home. He runs to his neighbors in hysterics, inconsolable, in tears. Nine-one-one is called, but there is nothing that can be done. They were dead for hours by the time Daniel Fenton returned home. 

He sits on the front steps of the neighbor’s house beside FentonWorks, his jeans slowly becoming wet from the snow that was unable to be scraped off, and watches the paramedics cart out his family beneath white sheets. There are police cars blocking off the street, yellow tape blocking off his house, red-blue lights lighting up the block, an ambulance on the scene. He is wrapped in a shock blanket, and he is missing his jacket and his shoes. His tears are freezing onto his face, he can’t feel the chill. 

Not all deaths are created equal

But all of them are unforgettable. 

[cfffrk]

[fatedroses]

And some days, I just wish you wouldn't look at me at all.