#i love them and had fun writing them!

[almondpiglet]

ppl were drawing mikus from all over so heres habesha miku and her lil twin sibs rin and len!!

[clarionglass]

here we go :) part one of three, updates to be released weekly!

---

sam says 4 (game master cinematic universe, part 3)

Ruby was at her mum's for a family dinner she couldn't miss on pain of death, apparently, and the Doctor was many things, but a family dinner kind of guy wasn't one of them—particularly when Carla had already slapped him once in the short time he'd known her. He thought he'd broken his streak of bad luck with mums, but… well, seemingly not. So he was companionless for a few hours, and while he could wait for her to get back, maybe catch up on his reading—what was the point of waiting when you had a time machine? 

He ran his hands over the TARDIS console, marvelling at her clean lines and metallic flourishes, the way that even now she felt brand new but familiar, and paused. He’d just pop off for a quick adventure, nothing too dangerous, but—where to go?

He could scan for a distress call nearby, and pitch in to help. He could drop in on Donna and Shaun and Rose, beautiful Rose, and see how they were all doing. Or he could just hit the randomiser button, and jump in feet first wherever he ended up.

He remembered a conversation from a long time ago, when he wore a different face, and his gorgeous TARDIS wore a face too, for the first and only time.

“You didn't always take me where I wanted to go.”

“No, but I always took you where you needed to go.”

He grinned. Who could resist an offer like that? He pressed the button and whooped as the time rotor spun into action, ready to see where the universe would take him.

---

Apparently, he was needed pretty close to where he already was. Earth, 2024. Huh. Same planet, same time—within a few months of where he’d left Ruby, even. The main thing that had changed was the location: he was now in the good old US of A. California, to be more specific, and Los Angeles to be more specific still. And to really narrow it down, the Doctor discovered as he poked his head out of the TARDIS doors, he was in… a broom closet. Not bad, as a parking spot—a bit squeezy, but out of the way. And as he poked his head out of that door, he could finally see he was in the backstage corridors of a studio of some kind. Film or TV, if he was to hazard a guess, it was a different vibe from Abbey Road.

With a shrug, he decided to go exploring.

It couldn’t have been more than a minute before a young woman wearing the full-black outfit, headset, and permanently stressed expression of a production assistant came running up to him.

“Are you the fill-in Sam organised?” she asked breathlessly, and honestly, seeing the look on her face, the Doctor didn’t have the heart(s) to tell her no. And really, what was the Doctor, if not a professional fill-in? This, this was why he had a randomiser button on the control panel, because whatever he was about to get himself into was going to be fun.

“Sure!”

“Oh, thank god,” sighed the production assistant, relief dawning across her face. “When Ally tested positive this morning, I thought we were sunk for the record, because we called around and we couldn’t get a hold of anyone. But then Sam said he could get someone in, and, you know, here you are, and just in time, so—ah, yeah, if you could follow me this way?”

Smiling all the way, the Doctor followed his guide through to hair and makeup, looking around as they went. The studio seemed to belong to a company called Dropout, according to the branding scattered around, and things seemed, at least on the surface, to be… well. Fine. He couldn't tell why he'd been brought here yet, which meant that when he found the reason, it was going to be particularly tangled. He couldn't wait! 

And then he looked back at his guide, still engulfed in a miasma of anxiety, and realised he'd been too busy looking for clues to notice the person right in front of him. 

“Hey, it's cool, you've found me,” he started with a gentle smile. “You can relax. Hi, I'm the Doctor. What's your name?”

“Oh!” she said, startled. “The Doctor, yeah, of course. Um, hi, I'm Kaylin. Look, sorry, it's just that I've been so busy this morning, I'm so distracted… Shit, and I would've completely forgotten to get your details too. There's paperwork to fill in, but you can do that later. Um, just for now, though, can I get your pronouns?”

The Doctor thought for a moment. “He/him, for now.”

Kaylin nodded, making a note on her phone. “Okay, cool! And do you have any socials?”

“Not me, babes,” he replied. “I'm hardly sitting down long enough to be able to update, you know?”

“On a day like this, I know exactly what you mean,” she said. “That's okay, Lou didn't have socials either for the longest time. Right, so if you go through there, the team will get you sorted, and once you're done, someone will take you up to the greenroom. All good?”

“All great,” the Doctor replied. Kaylin flashed him a quick, relieved smile, then hurried off.

Hair and makeup was a fairly quick process, the sound mixer fitted him with a microphone, and before too long, Kaylin was back to take him upstairs. 

“This is the greenroom,” she said, pushing the door open. “The rest of the cast for the episode are already here—they’re great guys, and they’ve both been on the show a lot, so they’ll be able to help if you’ve got questions. And if you need anything else, just come find me or any of the other PAs, okay?”

The Doctor nodded, beamed at Kaylin, and walked in.

---

The greenroom was small but comfortable, and its occupants, two men around the same age as the Doctor appeared, looked up as he entered.

“Oh, you’re new,” the taller of the pair said, clearly giving him the once-over.

The other sighed with a mixture of fondness and exasperation, just as clearly used to his friend’s antics.

“Hey, I’m Brennan,” he said, levering himself up to standing from his perch on a chair arm, and holding out a hand. “That’s Grant.”

The Doctor took it warmly. “The Doctor. Just passing through, and happy to help.”

Grant’s eyebrows quirked. “Doctor… something?” he prompted.

“Or is it just ‘the Doctor’?” Brennan asked.

“Just ‘the Doctor’,” the Time Lord confirmed cheerfully. “You’ll get used to it, everyone does.”

Grant didn’t look convinced, but—

“Copy that,” Brennan shrugged, and settled back on the arm of the chair, returning his gaze to the door.

Grant, in turn, looked at the Doctor and rolled his eyes in a clear expression of ‘no, I don’t know why he’s like this, either’.

“Okay,” the Doctor said after a moment of watching the watching. “I wasn’t going to ask, but now I think I have to. What’s up with the door?”

Brennan huffed a laugh. “Well, the last time there was one of those up—” he pointed to the Out of Order sign stuck to the bathroom door, “—we got locked in here for the game.”

“He’s paranoid,” Grant interjected.

“Well, yeah, maybe,” Brennan retorted. “Or just cautious. Because Sam’s been acting weird lately, and we’re coming up to the last few records of the season, so he’s probably planning something way out of the box for the finale. And the original cast was you, me and Beardsley, so…”

He shrugged one shoulder meaningfully, and Grant nodded, conceding both the point and the potential for chaos.

“So if Sam comes in to give us the briefing, rather than waiting til we’re on set,” Brennan continued, “or there’s anything else weird going on, I’m gonna know about it right from the beginning.”

He turned to the Doctor. “The only reason I'm not quizzing you is because I know for a fact Beardsley was genuinely scheduled for this, so you can't be a plant by the production team. No offence.”

“None taken,” the Doctor smiled. “That sort of thing happen often, does it?”

Grant and Brennan exchanged a look. 

“More than you'd think,” Grant answered with a grimace. 

“Alright,” the Doctor said slowly, then brightened. “So what is it we're actually doing?”

Grant gave him a disbelieving glance. “You don't know—?”

“Very last minute fill-in,” the Doctor said breezily. “But don't worry, I'm a quick study.”

“Well, you're not that much worse off than the rest of us,” Brennan said encouragingly. “You know about Game Changer, obviously, if you know Sam, and we only find out the rules of the game once we get on set. Hopefully,” he added, with a dark look back at the Out of Order sign. 

The Doctor nodded. No, he didn't know Sam, and he didn't know Game Changer, but he could work out the situation from context clues. This was a game show. And with the Toymaker banished, and Satellite Five not coming into existence for another 198000 years, give or take, he found himself smiling. Maybe third time would be the charm. 

“Mmm, hopefully they aren't going to throw you in the deep end,” Grant said. “Because Brennan might seem lovely now, but as soon as we get out there, he's a whore for points. He'll stab you in the back and won't even blink.”

Brennan barked with laughter. “Yeah, and you wouldn't?”

“Excuse you, I'm always a goddamn delight,” Grant replied, the very picture of injured dignity. 

“Oh, absolutely!” agreed a new voice. The Doctor turned to the now-open door to see a bearded man in a pinstriped suit smiling broadly. “That's why we keep inviting you back!”

Grant bowed sarcastically. “Why, thank you, Sam. Good to know I'm appreciated by someone here.”

“Always,” Sam replied, gently but firmly ending that particular path of the conversation. He scanned the room, and his eyes lit up when they landed on the Doctor. 

“Ah, you must be the Doctor!” he said with obvious delight, walking over with his hand outstretched. “I'm Sam—thanks for filling in for us, you've made sure we're going to have a good show. Seriously, it's a pleasure to have you here.”

“Aw, cheers!” the Doctor smiled, shaking the offered hand. “Glad I could help out, I'm really looking forward to this!”

“Well, great!” Sam exclaimed, then took a step back, regarding all three players in turn. “Now, folks, I'm just letting you know that we're just about ready to start the record, so if you can start heading down, that'd be great.”

Grant and Brennan nodded—Brennan, the Doctor noticed, with relief. 

“See you down there,” Sam said, smiling. “Have a great show, and—”

His eyes caught on the Doctor's for a second, twinkling. 

“Good luck.”

---

Backstage, the Doctor, Brennan and Grant were marshalled into podium order and given a final briefing from the crew. And then, with a thumbs-up from Kaylin, that was it.

Showtime.

“Get ready for a Game Changer!” came Sam's voice from onstage. “Tonight’s guests: he can shoot off a monologue with laser accuracy; it’s Brennan Lee Mulligan!”

Brennan, his back to the camera as the curtains opened, spun on his heel and, with a stone-cold expression, pointed finger guns straight down the barrel, before letting the facade crack open. “Hi!” he exclaimed, and walked over to the leftmost podium.

“It’s his first appearance, but he’s already on fire; it’s the Doctor!”

The Doctor leant against the archway to the stage and flashed a broad smile towards the camera, then in a few skipping steps, had bounded over to the next free podium. What the hell, why not make an entrance?

“And even in the toughest of mazes, you’ll always be able to find him; it’s Grant O’Brien!”

Grant dipped his lanky frame into an approximation of a curtsey, spreading his arms wide, then sauntered over to the closest podium with a grin.

“And your host, me!” Sam announced, a ring of manic white showing around his irises as he beamed down the barrel of the camera. “I’ve been here the whole time!”

“This,” he continued, pushing his microphone shut and stowing it in his jacket pocket, “is Game Changer, the only game show where the game changes every show. I am your host, Sam Reich!” 

As he said his name, he looked at his hands, front and back, as if he was pleasantly surprised to be himself, then gestured towards the three podiums.

“I am joined today by these three lovely contestants! Now, you understand how the game works.”

“Of course not,” Grant started. “You know we don't.”

“We can't, Sam, that's the whole point of the theatre you've set up here,” Brennan said over him. 

“Not yet,” was all the Doctor said, anticipation starting to drum a tattoo of excitement against the inside of his ribcage. 

“That’s right!” Sam said brightly, shooting finger guns at the camera. “Our players have no idea what game it is they’re about to play. The only way to learn is by playing. The only way to win is by learning, and the only way to begin is by beginning! So without further ado, let’s begin by giving each of our players fifty points.”

The Doctor, biding his time, watched the reactions of his fellow contestants. Grant looked at the front of his podium, checking the point total, and nodding approvingly when he saw that yes, it was sitting at a round fifty. Brennan, on the other hand, was starting to frown.

“Players, Sam says: touch your nose,” Sam began, and Brennan sighed the sigh of someone who wasn’t happy to be proved right.

“Oh, no,” he groaned. “Oh, you son of a bitch. Wasn’t one this season enough?”

He touched his nose anyway, as did the others, and Sam smiled encouragingly. “Sam says: touch your ear.”

When they all did, Sam nodded. “Touch your other ear.”

Everybody held still, fingers on the ears they had originally touched.

Sam beamed. “Easy, players, right?”

“You say that now,” Brennan said darkly. “Which makes it worse, because all you're doing is setting us up for failure.”

Sam gasped, pretending offence. “Would I do that?”

“Yes,” Brennan and Grant replied in unison, which drew a grin from the Doctor and set Sam off chuckling.

“And I'm not having it,” Brennan continued, leaning his elbows against his podium and pointing at Sam with the hand not touching his ear. “You better watch yourself, because I know how this game works, and you're not going to get one over on me.”

“Strong words, Brennan!” Sam said, clearly delighted by this response. “Okay, then, let's start making things a bit more interesting!”

The game continued as per Sam Says usual, some rounds done as a group and some individual. Points were won, sure, but lost slightly more frequently, and even the Doctor found he was having to concentrate to avoid getting caught in the host's traps. 

It was fun. Genuinely, it was like playing a game with friends, and the Doctor felt himself leaning into it. There wasn't any sign of danger—maybe there wasn't a mystery to solve at all, and the TARDIS just decided he needed a total break. 

Well, probably not. But the way things were going, he was able to let himself hope. 

“Alright, players,” Sam said a good few rounds in, just as pleasantly as he would start any other question, and the screen behind him dinged as a new prompt popped up. “Survive the death beam.”

For a second, everything was frozen perfectly still. 

And then came the crash, the explosive noise of heavy machinery moving relentlessly through a drywall set.

The Doctor was already moving. “Everyone down!”

“Duck!” Brennan yelled at the same time.

The two of them hit the ground within milliseconds of each other, but Grant was still paralysed in the face of the giant, science-fiction type laser cannon that had just ploughed through the wall. 

It whined ominously, screaming its way to fever pitch. And then a sharp pain in Grant’s ankle made him stagger, pitching forwards onto the carpet behind the podiums as the Doctor rolled away to avoid getting pinned.

“Sorry, babes,” the Doctor whispered. “But it was either kick you to get you down, or—”

A hideous metallic screech ripped through the air, and all three of them could feel the crackle of ozone as a beam of energy swept across what had, moments ago, been neck height.

“…Or that,” the Doctor finished with a grimace.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Grant breathed, suddenly very conscious of every inch of his 6’9 frame. “Thanks.”

“Well done, players!” Sam exclaimed delightedly from above them. “But… sorry, I didn’t say ‘Sam says’, so that’s a point off for everyone.”

“What the fuck!” Brennan snapped.

“Are you actually insane?” Grant demanded at the same time, his voice overlapping with Brennan’s.

In response, Sam just wheezed with laughter. “You can come back to your podiums,” he said, cheerfully ignoring them.

Nobody moved.

“Very good!” he acknowledged, and even without seeing his face, the grin was obvious in his voice. “Okay, Sam says: come back to your podiums.”

Although the words were innocuous, and his tone was just as light and breezy as usual, there was nevertheless an edge hiding just underneath the surface. And while the death beam loomed large in the minds of all three players, it was impossible to consider disobedience as an option.

Slowly, they stood, returning to their places. Now they had the time to look at it properly, the death beam was even more sinister, and Brennan and Grant both kept flicking nervous glances its way, ready to move if it looked like it was charging up again.

The Doctor, however, was focused purely on the man standing in front of them. Unbothered, Sam met his gaze like a challenge, a mischievous smile playing about his lips.

“Oh, you’ll love this one,” he said, and the screen changed. “Sam says, starting with Grant: say my name.”

Grant frowned in confusion, but answered quickly nonetheless. “Sam Reich?”

The man himself shrugged tolerantly, moving on. “Brennan?”

Brennan just stared at him coolly. “Do you take me for a fool?”

“Well caught, Brennan!” Sam said happily. “Sam says: say my name.”

“Sam,” Brennan replied, suspicion clear in his voice. “Samuel Dalton Reich.”

He nodded, still with a hint of indifference. “And lastly, Doctor.” His smile broadened. “Sam says: say my name.”

It was easy. Too easy. And as the Doctor looked into the eyes of the man calling himself Sam Reich, he felt his hearts stutter in recognition, because something had changed. He wasn’t hiding himself anymore, and while the face was different yet again, the Doctor would know the shape of that soul anywhere. It was impossible. It was inevitable.

“You can’t be,” he breathed. 

Sam smirked, leaning in across his podium. “Oh, but Doctor… I’ve been here the whole time,” he stage-whispered with a wink.

“He said you lost,” the Doctor said, shaking his head, looking wrong-footed for the first time that Brennan and Grant could recall. “You lost, and he trapped you.”

The other two watched, uncomprehending, but Sam just smiled, drumming his fingers against the podium with an audible beat, fast but distinct. Four taps, four taps, four taps. “I’m waiting.”

The Doctor took a slow, deep breath. Set his jaw. 

“Master.”

---

missed an installment of the game master cinematic universe?

original idea by @ace-whovian-neuroscientist: x

art by @northernfireart concept: x scissor sisters sketch: x sam and his doppelganger: x

writing by me (!) part one (escape the greenroom): x part two (deja vu): x part three (sam says 4): you are here!

[hootyhoowoo]

A little 15 min doodle but first post of the year has to be Bingqiu!

[wolfsnooze]

in which hunter’s possession goes a whole lot worse

[anna-scribbles]

chapter cards for thirteen: november - april

read on ao3

[numberonetribble]

For a guy who talks a lot, he sure did a good job keeping this one a secret.

Once Piston is discovered, everyone assumes it's just some kid B-127 found out while on a scouting mission. Until one day Piston slips up and calls B-127 "carry" in front Wheeljack. Everybody starts placing bets, Hound being the number one suspect due to the green but it's not him. Piston was sparked right before Breakdown was conscripted into the Decepticons as a Stunticon, B-127 never had the chance to tell him.

B-127 never tells anybody, not even Piston. He just smiles. No one asks this of them, but growing up in the Autobot base, surrounded by suffering and war, Piston naturally wants to be apart of the fight. They develop an unhealthy hatred towards Decepticons, especially after what happens between B-127 and Megatron. Piston is utterly consumed by grief watching Cybertron crumble around them.

[Piston is in a crate as everybody knows to look for B-127 in Sublevel-50 so he can't keep them there. He visits often to let them out. They don't like the crate.]

Okay! So I've been thinking about writing a pregnancy journey fic of Earthspark Bumblebee and it got me thinking about how different B-127's would be. ES!Bumblebee is surrounded by people who love him and take care of him while he goes through the most excruciating thing in his life, yet he's worried non-stop. The whole fic is about his stress, the secret stress everyone else is feeling as there's several complications. Relationship stress, new parent stress, Piston is placed in a maturation tube, Bumblebee's body shuts down, etc, etc, but everything works out! Piston grows up in a positive environment, they know they're loved and are a goofy lamb. Despite everything that will happen to them, they get forgiven for their actions.

In TF One, B-127 is entirely alone. He can't tell anybody and due to Piston growing so quickly, he has to figure it out. B-127 finds a small cave to crawl in and removes Piston himself. But the two have to remain hooked up connected together, B-127 using himself as a battery. He's dying in slow motion, watching his Sparkling slowly come to life. The whole fic no words are said, everything is B-127's train of thought while this is happening. We'd follow him as he finds the cave, sets up what he needs, make decisions on what parts of himself to put in low power mode, think up a lie to tell base why he disappeared for a week. Ultimately ending up stuck in an odd position on the ground trying to will himself awake long enough to see Piston come online.

(As promised by Alpha Trion, there was the T-cog, nestled perfectly in their chest. It was the most beautiful thing B-127 had ever seen. If he wasn't so weak he could've cried. "We really were, " he thought, "You really are. ")

The imagery of B-127 laying on the cave floor like a broken toy, chest plating removed and spark chamber exposed to the world with all these cables running out of him into Piston, oh it knocked me out. Piston is a nervous lamb who gets battled hardened and can not be forgiven despite how hard they try.

[joelsflower]

you’re so vain | eddie alden x f!reader

you and eddie are roommates and work at the same newscast… but the news aren’t the only things you’re reporting together.

or

some moments sfw and nsfw between you and your ‘friend’ eddie

warnings: sexual and romantic tension, eddie is a munch, they love each other but won’t admit, funny silly goofy moods, pussy eating in public/work place (the door was locked no one saw it), protected piv… while it’s raining outside… and you make love while still not admiting your feelings… the fwb drill we all know and love

a/n: hmmm did someone ask for… fwb!eddie? ☝🏼cause i did!!!

wc: probably around 2.3k i wrote it here sorrys !

the pictures are from this post and this post by @divinesols (both highly recommended as moodboards for this btw!) and i couldn’t find the creator of the gif :/ if anyone knows pls let me know so i can tag!

🗞️🗞️🗞️

“And… cut!”

“We had a bigger audience tonight. Looks like you’ve finally managed to draw the public’s attention.” You handed Eddie a smirk and a cup of coffee while he took off his earphones.

“I always draw attention, baby” he took it and winked at you, taking a sip but immediately making a face of disgust indicating the sugar that was not there.

You knew exactly how he wanted it, but you loved pissing him off.

“And you always brings me the coffee the way you know I don’t want it,” he said as he paced to the studio’s kitchen, followed by your fast steps behind him.

“Ops! And I don’t always bring you coffee, I jus-“

“You just happened to be passing by the coffee shop. Mhmm. I know,” he mocked your tone and expressions, “and you also just happen to be thinking of me all of the time, hm?” He pinched your nose.

You gave him an annoyed look, “well, the world doesn’t revolve around you, Mr. Alden!” You said jokingly, pronouncing the “Mr. Alden” with very much cursive letters.

“Don’t call me that… At least not here.” You were always impressed by the way Eddie could manipulate the look in his eyes to translate exactly what he was thinking about. And, 99,9% he was only thinking about one thing.

Sex.

“Oh I’m not calling you that anywhere, believe me”

“Hmm, cause you rather scream my name, huh?” He raised his brows at you in a funny way, using his arms to cage your body between his and the kitchen counter while swaying a little, making you laugh in that way he loved; when your eyes squeezed together and your head hanged back with a big grin on your lips.

He just loved seeing you happy, specially if he was the reason. When was he going to admit it to you? Probably never.

“Eddie, Jesus! Not here!” Now both of you were laughing unglued his hands from your sides and pushed him away, giving him light taps on the chest.

“Alden, newsroom wants to see you.” Someone from the staff peaked from the door, causing your bodies to distance from each other at the speed of a Formula 1 car, him pretending to still put sugar on the coffee and you weirdly looking for something in the sink.

“I’ll be there in a minute, thank you,” he nodded his head, “wait for me tonight,” he smirked and taped your bum lightly, making you jump.

“Oh yeah bet on it,” you gave him a teasing tone.

“I’ll be watching you,” Eddie motioned his point and middle fingers from his eyes to yours, already by the door.

“That’s cause I always draw attention!”

🗞️🗞️🗞️

“Oh… fuck-“, you tried your best to whisper half of the depravations that were slipping from your lips and to swallow the other half that were stuck in your throat.

But it was very hard when Eddie had you sitting by the end of his desk, skirt up and legs spread wide upon his shoulders so his head could sit perfectly between them.

“So sweet, princess,” his praises were muffled against your throbbing clit, both of his hands hardly squeezing the sides of your thighs. He spent the whole morning dreaming about the taste of your pussy, and by lunch he couldn’t wait anymore.

“W-we have five minutes, Ed,” your worried little mind kept you looking every 5 seconds towards the foggy glasses on his door, but this time got interrupted by your eyes screwing shut and your mouth hanging open in a silenced cry when Eddie quit the sucking in your bud to fuck your hole with his tongue.

“I- we-,” every time you tried to say something and your words died in muffled little moans and cries he sucked and fucked harder. Eating you out was for sure one of Eddie’s favorite things and making you come when you couldn’t scream or cry freely was like a reward for his tiring day.

Having the opportunity to give you pleasure and piss you off at the same time? He was in.

“C’mon baby, cum on my tongue, hm? Wanna taste my girl,” he used two of his fingers to spread your wetness all over your center before nuzzling his head back again, nose stimulating your clit while his tongue entered you hungrily, in and out, in and out, the vibrations of his moans exploding fireworks in your veins.

The man was devouring you.

You came in a quiet moan, fingers gripping Eddie’s roots while his nails dig in your upper thighs and his face drowned in your cunt. He sucked and lapped you clean, until you were too sensitive to bear anything else, “fuck, thank you, baby. Here,” he gave you a paper tower from the adjoining bathroom he had in his office and helped you put your panties and skirt back. If you didn’t already knew all too well the smirk he had on his face you’d think by that he was something that he actually wasn’t.

A gentleman.

But deep, down, he was. For you, at least.

“Can you stand?”

“You have done better performances”

“Oh of course. ‘oh, fuck! Eddie! so good! we have 5 minutes!’” he joked while pulling you in for a see you later hug and a kiss on the cheek before you could run away from him, “thanks, bub. Best lunch ever”

“You’re disgusting,” you laughed, pushing his chest and stepping towards the door.

“If I was I wouldn’t have your pussy all over my face now, would I?”

“Disgusting,” you mouthed and closed the door, not giving him time to fry your braincells that had just started working again.

🗞️🗞️🗞️

“Shhh. Almost there, baby. You can take it, just a little more”

“So good,” you whispered, the words slipping from your lips while the raindrops slipped down your window.

Your plan definitely wasn’t to end up under Eddie tonight, but the thunderstorms got louder than you thought they would. And as it always happens between the two of you, one thing led to the other, and…

“Fuck- found your spot, pretty girl? So good t’me,” Eddie was fucking you tonight. You didn’t know if it was because of the rain painting your frames with the moonlight, the fact that it’s been a little while since you’ve slept together or if he found it cute every time you shivered and gripped his biceps cause a thunder was a bit too loud.

His cock was nestled deep inside your walls, messaging your favorite spots with each thrust. He was going slow, fierce, calculated, and he had all the patience in the world.

You could feel him everywhere.

From his fingers in your scalp to his hot tongue slow dancing with yours to every vein rubbing your walls deliciously. Sometimes his dick split out because of how wet you were together and he didn’t even bother, he kept fucking your clit with his tip, up and down, up and down, making you see stars until he felt you couldn’t take it anymore and tucked himself back in. His words? Praises and praises and praises hanging from his lips like sugar. You’ve never felt so full and so… Adored.

“Yeah, c’mon princess, can feel your little pussy squeezin’ me. Think you can come now, baby?” Eddie slowed even more his pace to watch your face contort in pleasure while tears fell down your eyes, every pulse of your warm cunt around his cock sending him closer and closer to the edge. You came within seconds, nodding your head “yes” while your little pants and moans being muffled by his own, your mouths tangled while he came with you, filling the condom you help him put earlier on.

Both of you had - intentionally - little to no sex like that; but it happened. And when it happened, it was usually because you either lost yourselves or one needed so much. You tried not to be too much in your head about it, but it was difficult when Eddie kissed your forehead and played with your head, still inside you.

He didn’t want to go, either.

“You don’t look so afraid of the noises now,” he tried to break the silence between you, knowing very well it wasn’t the awkward or comfortable types, but the emotional kind.

“The rain stopped,” you let out, with tears still leaking from your eyes.

“And are you sad about it?” he dried them from your cheek.

You smiled, “fuck you.”

“You just did,” he stared at you for a bit, caressing your cheeks as your eyes stopped watering and the last raindrops flowed down the window.

“Stay? It might rain again…”

You lifted your pinky between your bodies, “just this time,” and he embraced your smaller finger with his, “just this time.”

But both of you knew it wasn’t just this time.

It would rain again.

🗞️🗞️🗞️

When your keys turned on the locket the last thing you expected was to meet Eddie eating ice cream directly from the pot at home 20:17pm on a friday.

Sitting on the counter.

Shirtless.

“…What are you doing here?”

“Uh.. I live here? I should be the one asking you that,” he motioned the spoon in your direction.

“Eddie, it’s 20pm on a friday,”

“Actually, it’s 20:17pm on a friday”

Yeah you weren’t doing this tonight.

“Fine, whatever.”

“Hey, what’s that?” His tone was softer, he always knew when you had a bad day.

And good ones too. And any kind of day you have had and exactly how he should react to it.

“Just… Pierce screamed at me again,” his eyes followed you as you took the wine glass out of the fridge.

“So… She did her job cause you weren’t doing yours…”

“Try again,” you poured a glass.

“She’s just a bitch who can’t let you do your work without complaining about whatever shit she caused”

“Bingo!” You swallowed the whole wine in one go, watching through the glass as Eddie’s hand reached for it and took it from you, “no no no, this will not help you.”

“And what will? Being dumped by a freshman college girl and Ice cream?”

He gave you a disappointed look but reached for your hands anyway, “come here,” he pulled you to his body, arms embracing you while you positioned yourself in between his legs, head resting on his chest and arms around his waist.

“You know what you really need?” His words were muffled on the top of your head.

“Hm?”

“To shut the fuck up”

“You shut the fuck up” now your words were muffled on his chest.

“I know you don’t mean it. You love me.”

“Sure”

And actually you sure as hell did. And he loved you too. When were you going to admit it to each other?

Probably never.

🗞️🗞️🗞️

[xxplastic-cubexx]

Chat have we discussed drunk chess with cherik cause i just think. That would be the darnedest silliest thing they could do

[parchmentknight]

speedrunning this drawing but im still a day late to hanzo's birthday 😩 but i got so inspired and the original image was just so good:

[duu-kiwi]

I bet aziraphale wrote about the day the universe was made, about the angel whose voice recited the words that created the stars, about how bright they shone, and still shine, in those angel eyes✨🪐

Here you have some detailss and a cropped version with just!! them!!!

edit: prints link !

[lisondraws]

Illustration to celebrate the incredible Saturday Keynote of Terror Camp!

Make sure to preorder it this weekend on my shop, and use your discount code! The golden part of this illustration will be gold foil!

(And a huge thank you to the whole Terror team for this incredible event! What an amazing keynote that was!)

[erinwantstowrite]

what are your thoughts abot how Damian and Tim's relationship is portrayed in most fanfics?

personally, although I like the angst part of their relationship I wish there was more fanfics where they're closer and have real siblings dynamic (like u know they 'hate' eachother but they would destroy anyone who would want to hurt their brother)

oh, boy, do i have a lot to say about this one. buckle in, folks.

i feel like a lot of the time, if they're in a fic together and the fic author doesn't like one of them, the other is going to be mischaracterized to hell and back. sometimes... both are mischaracterized.

i'm all for a fanon interpretation of a character- obviously, because i have fanon interpretations in my fic too at least a wee bit- but sometimes it goes too far and it no longer feels like we're reading about the same character

let's talk about Tim.

Tim doesn't have a good view of himself or his standing in any emotional aspect. which is often misconstrued about him believing that he was Jason's replacement (neither he nor Bruce thought this, but it was Bruce's fear), or that his worth as Robin wasn't enough. that's not true at all. i'll say it again here: Jason didn't nearly kill Tim at Titan's Tower, nor did he go there to kill Tim. and Tim fought him back. he even told Jason to his face:

"you can't be that good" "I am."

he knows he's a damn good Robin! he trained with the best, he helps lead the YJ! he doesn't doubt that he was the best person for the job. but when it comes to the emotional aspect of Robin, i think this is where Tim stutters

this is because of how Tim's parents showed their affection.

i think canon neglects that aspect of his trauma, which is why so many people hang onto it. in the comics, Tim is shown to have a lot of friends both in and out of suit. he's abrasive and isn't afraid to ask the hard questions. but he is riddled with self worth issues. his parents were barely around him, they didn't know him well at all. and they loved him, but from a distance.

Tim now sees himself as someone that can receive love from a distance. he is incredibly self reliant, and has been from a young age. he sees all of his accomplishments as obligations. he does well at school because he had to. he takes care of himself because he had to. and in his mind, taking up Robin was partly another obligation. he does his job well because he has to, and he might doubt this sometimes like anyone else, but at the end of the day he is confident in his ability to get shit done.

now, the emotional part of Batman and Robin is where i believe i enjoy a fanon interpretation more. he actually does have a good relationship with Dick, but I'm not too sure about Bruce at this point. this topic is nuanced because Batman writers make him so diabolical at times to the point that i would consider it ooc. but other times they're very close and Bruce admits this. so i replace it in my head with a more stable and realistic version that i've seen written by fic authors very well.

Tim views himself as someone who is there for a job: help Batman. but there is a lot of wonder and awe there. his favorite Robin was Dick. (I'll say this again so everyone hears me: his favorite Robin was Dick. yes you are allowed to have nuance and put Jason in there as someone he looked up to as well, please do. but put some respect on Dick's name!) now that he's working with Dick Grayson, someone he admires so much, as well as getting the honor to wear the Robin suit, he feels more like himself than he has in years. he's good at this, and it's also fun. he meets so many people and he gets to make a difference in the world. yes, it's a job, but it's also very freeing

he never did this be Bruce's son, or to replace Jason. his relationship with Bruce started off extremely rocky, with Tim forcing himself into his life in some way because he believed that Batman was going to get himself killed or get someone else killed, or Batman would cross the line. and Gotham would lose the only person who had such unwavering optimism for them. he and Bruce come to an understanding of being partners but not father and son. Bruce doesn't want to open himself up to that hurt again. but we all know Bruce, and that's not what ended up happening. Bruce would never be the same person he was before, but he is not incapable of love.

Tim would not understand that change. I'd get more into this but i don't want this post too long and i wanna save it for when i'm not supposed to be sleeping and when i'm writing one of my Tim fics for once. all we really need to know is that Tim's emotional intelligence is dogshit, and him coming to see Bruce as a father, and Bruce seeing him as a son, would baffle him. because his parents love him... at a distance. and Bruce sees him every day. that's not how it's supposed to work, right?

so.

sometimes, Tim is treated like a porcelain doll who can do no wrong. many aspects of his canon has been altered by fanon to be "worse" than it is. his neglect by his parents did, indeed, happen, and it affects him deeply. but his parents weren't like. beating him, or leaving him without food or shelter or supervision. Tim was clever enough to get around that supervision all on his own. which is why they should have been there in the first place. (they should have been there regardless). and emotional neglect is still a very real issue??? no one has to make it "worse" by making the Drakes out to be monsters. i think Jack often emotionally manipulated Tim when he was around, and I don't know if Jack was even aware that he did so. (which is why i can see some people delving into that nonexistent relationship that DC gave us, and finally giving those implications more depth. there are a lot of good fics that go over this)

often it's hard to read a fic for Tim because they go too hard into making Tim an anxious shy ball of sunshine. Tim is weird, and he stalked the Bats, he stalked Nightwing, he broke into Titan's Tower before he even became Robin. he's a weirdo. he fits right in with the Bats for that reason. some people make him out to be the victim or some kind of damsel in distress, and sometimes we get to see a phenomena where other characters talk like a book about emotional intelligence that their therapist gave them. which is... fine, if you're just writing to write it, maybe helping yourself. but let's take a step back and see Tim is not like that. he is a very capable person, and his not some "uwu, woe is me, i'm so shitty at everything and if you even look at me wrong i'll cry." i honestly believe that Tim is the type of character to hate crying in front of someone and even if he was actively dying he'd be holding back those tears.

whereas Damian? gets the opposite treatment??

granted, i don't actually know too much about Damian, but i at least try to understand him and his background

he's the youngest of them, and i think many people forget that Damian isn't a reader of the comics like we are. he wasn't going into that family with the emotional connections to these characters and their backstories like we did. he was taught about these people, the idea of them. like how we could be taught in class about people from a long time ago. and i can ensure you that Damian was not taught proper emotional intelligence, nor would he have the best grasp of it himself when he was younger than 9 years old. imagine all of your teachers and also your mother told you about these people and their accomplishments, and then told you that the person all of them look up to is your father. the person that you want nothing more than to know, to see, because the people around you talk about him so highly. someone you haven't gotten to meet yet, because you aren't "worthy." can you imagine being told all your life that you are not worthy to see your father yet? and not knowing if he believes that too?

but one day, you are going to be by his side as his son. i don't want to get too into the culture of the Al Ghul family because i don't actually know that much (i'm sure someone would know more about this, feel free to add on if you want to), but this is important to Damian. it's important to his mom. it's important to his grandfather, the leader of an extensive organization that stretches hundreds of years.

then he gets dropped off in a different country, culture, language, and family and he finds that things are not as he had been told his entire life. his father has many flaws, they do not believe the same importance of a blood tie as his family back home does. they question his entire upbringing to his face many times, they question his mother who he loves deeply. he's nine years old. imagine yourself in that position. you don't know yet what role you're playing in an adult's life, but you want to. desperately. you want to know where you stand. you want a hug. not to mention that Damian actually is a very emotional kid. he was taught to shove that deep, deep down, and not let that out.

too many people write Damian as if he was a "feral" kid which is kind of not something to put on him? i don't like it both because he wasn't feral, he was an asshole. there's a difference. and because it feels like a microaggression?? at times?? because once again... the culture that he is from... is important.

they have been racially profiled for many many years... and yes, everything that you read is political whether you want it to be or not. the act of reading is political. you should definitely be aware of what a writer's goal is when they were giving something to you. you should be reading deeper. again, i'm not from his culture and i can't say if it is an insult/insensitive joke or not, nor am i saying everyone who's made the joke before is a bad person. i have made jokes about Tim being a feral kid before and whatnot. i'm saying that no matter who you are, it is your responsibility to think critically about your media and kindly about other people. it feels uncomfortable to me because i know how wrongly the Al Ghuls (specifically Talia) have been treated by writers in the past. and Damian is an extension of that bias. just look at how many times they try to push Ian Wayne on us. or how they'll pull back on Damian's character development when talking about the Al Ghul family.

this probably isn't my topic to write about, at least not before i learn more about it. but since i get a fair amount of viewership, maybe someone will listen to me that won't listen to someone of color that has already pointed this out many times. with the comics fandom, and Batman fandom specifically sometimes, people don't care to think further about why the characters of color are so often and conveniently left out or forced into an archetype. take that as you will

so! he has spent his entire life believing he had to live up to two great legacies, both of which are VERY different. the intricacies of the Al Ghul family are often boiled down to pure evil by both fanon and canon writers, which dulls Damian's resolve and reasoning for what he had done, or makes it hard to connect to him. he has since learned more about who he wants to be and has come to respect his family in many ways. excuse me if i'm wrong, but i think part of why Damian came so hard for Tim was because Tim had everything Damian wanted. he had a place by Batman's side as both his son and his partner, and was very well respected by Batman and Nightwing both. he's older, more mature, he has stature in both this society Damian now has to fit into and within the family dynamic. considering Damian grew up in an assassin cult that solved threats to their dynamics or positions in power by murder, it wasn't a far leap for a child from that environment to make. he was modelling what he had been taught his entire life.

think about the mistakes that you made as a kid. and i don't mean something silly or funny now, i'm talking something that makes you feel ashamed. embarrassed. hurt. something that perhaps now as an adult, you reflect on as being totally uncool. and i want you to think about if maybe your environment had a role to play in that. maybe you made an insensitive joke that your mom or dad would have found funny, and someone pointed it out and reasonably made you feel like a jerk. shit happens. but you hopefully grew from that.

now imagine that mistake was you hurting someone.

yes, he was annoying. he was bratty, at times. he could be a little calculating shit. he hurt people with both his words and his weapons. Tim obviously had many many many reasons to be upset about his treatment- but I fear that most of his anger ended up directed at the older people in their lives that were supposed to be the ones to do something about it!

and though i hate that Tim went back to being Robin (it feels redundant), i have seen panels that show that the two of them working side by side after Damian and Tim both went through some life and perspective altering events both together and alone, has made Tim see Damian as his little brother, and vice versa. Damian has grown so much and many people just... don't care. no matter their reasoning for hating Damian, it's unfair to not look further than those cutting words written decades ago, or to bring up his mistakes every time you want to be mad at him. and i think it does a disservice to Tim to make him a bleeding heart about this when he has clearly forgiven Damian and cares about him. he rags on Damian like any older brother would, and Damian makes remarks like a younger brother would. personally, i think the two of them are doing pretty good right now

the development of their characters is actually so interesting within the canon aspect, even if they can fumble the ball every now and then. and the mischaracterization takes away the value that their canon relationship has. i personally love reading fics that have Damian and Tim teaming up. in aus where one thing changes and Tim and Damian become brothers later, i think it's actually so silly and fun when Damian respects Tim or thinks he's cool. or even without the au aspect! just like, a fic where the two of them are working together and it's either silly or serious, Damian having a begrudging respect for Tim and Tim being protective over Damian, etc etc, is sooooo much fun

[honnelander]

How did Sanji and reader meet the first time? What did they think of each other at first impression 👀?

hmm interesting question! i feel like it would go a little something like this (in my main "mutual pining" series):

You had originally joined the crew back in the beginning with Luffy, Nami, and Zoro when they were going up against Buggy. Since helping them slice that clown pirate down to size, you were a straw hat.

You never particularly had a dream of your own or knew where you wanted to be, but once you met Luffy and his endless optimism and kindness?? You knew it then: you had found your people.

So when did you meet Sanji? At the same time as everyone else, at the Baratie.

After Nami slipped the host some berry to get your crew a table, you all made your way down to the main dining area. Watching Zoro struggle to slide into the booth because of his swords was practically the funniest thing you've ever seen so you couldn't help the laughter that came out of you and in turn, that made the rest of the straw-hats all join you in poking fun at Zoro and laugh your asses off (much to Zoro's chagrin).

"Fuck you guys," Zoro muttered as he gave each member of the crew their own personal death glare.

When the swordsman locked eyes with you for your own personal Zoro Death Glare, you couldn't help but laugh louder.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, everyone's favorite blonde-haired chef was busy making the infamous bluefin tuna special that led to him getting kicked out to wait tables that particular night.

As Sanji put the final touches on his off-the-menu special, wiped the edges of the plate clean, and confidently strode to the front of the line, all while bantering with Patty, he felt on top of the world.

Until Zeff crapped all over his dish and kicked him off the line.

"Fucking old man," Sanji snarled under his breath as he pushed the kitchen doors to the dining room a little more harsh than necessary.

As he walked into the dining room, slinging his suit blazer over his shoulders, he was fuming...until he heard a loud chorus of laughter come from his right. He looked up in curiosity as he buttoned his blazer in the little alcove next to the kitchen and scanned the dining room. Baratie was a more upscale, fine dining experience (especially for pirates), so for a table of guests to laugh as loud as he was hearing was certainly new to the cook. Whoever they were, they definitely must not be from around here.

His blue eyes immediately went to the table nearest to him, table eight, where he had his eyes set on the pretty blonde woman earlier in the night in hopes that she was the one laughing loudly but, no she wasn't. When he took the plate of pastries and took a few steps into the dining room, he heard the laughter towards his right and immediately looked that way with a cool gaze.

And the sight he was met with nearly took his breath away. At table ten, he saw the most gorgeous woman he'd ever seen: you. There you were, sitting there at the table, laughing your ass off at the green-haired guy next to you, laughing so hard you were hitting the table with your fist, not a care in the world. It looked like everyone else at your table was laughing along with you, all except for mosshead (a stick in the mud, Sanji thought with a scoff).

Only one thought occupied his mind now, not Zeff, not the bluefin special, not being kicked out of the kitchen, just: you. You and your infectious laugh.

Everything after that happened in a blur. The two pirates at table eight both stood up enraged, yelling insults back and forth along with threats to kill each other, ripping Sanji's attention away from you and pissing him off all over again.

Could anything go right today?

Once he kicked those two pirates unconscious, he then smoothed out his suit jacket, let out a small exhale of satisfaction, and picked up the plate of pastries again. As he strode over to your table, he put on his most charming smile and placed the pastry plate right down on your table like nothing had just happened.

And to be fair? Pirates fighting did happen all the time, that was just another typical Tuesday night at the Baratie.

But meeting you? That was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and he'd do anything to hear you laugh and see your gorgeous smile light up that pretty face of yours again.

He stared right at you as he said, "Good evening, and welcome to our shitty little restaurant: the Baratie."

At his tone and choice of words, you couldn't help but look at your extremely attractive waiter in surprise and confusion and let out a surprised laugh. Didn't he work here?

He kept going though but his charming smile only widened at hearing your laugh, his smile reaching his eyes as he said, "My name is Sanji. What can I get for you?"

And in that moment, without the other person's knowledge, you were smitten with each other.

Taglist: @smolracoon25

[starry-bi-sky]

Clone^2 - Separation Strikes

"Why do I have to go?" Damian asks, surly and accent-thick, it sounds more like a demand and a whine at the same time. Sitting on the kitchen table with his arms crossed, in a green t-shirt that Danny bought him at a whim when he was at a thrift shop, and black shorts, he's never looked more like a kid. There's a little backpack leaning against the table leg, Damian begrudgingly picked it out when they went shopping.

His English has grown in leaps and bounds since Danny found him -- er, or more accurately; since Damian was spat out in front of him. -- and very little did they have to use the translator on Danny's phone these days.

Which meant one thing: Damian can start attending school comfortably now. And 'go' was the Amity Smiles Child Care Center. Danny and Jazz went as kids until they were twelve, and Mom and Dad actually managed to convince the center director to let Damian enroll for the summer.

And it was summer; Damian starts today.

"Because," Danny says, trying and failing to hide the smile pulling on his face, his heart warm and soft, and also laughing at Damian's expense; "being cooped up in the house all day isn't good for you, and you're starting school in the Fall. And, in Jazz's words: you need to have interactions with other kids your age for the benefit of your social development. And besides, it's only for the morning."

Damian's nose scrunches up, and his eyes roll so violently that for a moment, Danny thinks about joking that he'll get his eyes stuck like that. He holds his tongue; his little brother already looks like he's five seconds away from committing an act of violence.

"I don't need social interaction." Damian sneers, his cheek in his hand; a neverend pool of pride. "I am--"

"The Blood of the Demon Heir, better than everyone else." Danny cuts off, waving his hand in dismissive circles, his voice mockingly deep. Damian's brown skin darkens in embarrassment, and he scowls at Danny. "I know, bud. But Jazz is right, -- don't tell her I said that, -- you should be around kids your age."

Especially when he starts First Grade in the Fall. Honestly -- Danny was a little nervous to send him to the center. Damian's long since cut the habit of trying to kill or otherwise maim people, his palms ache-burn with gentle reminder, but his tongue was as sharp and as cutting as his sword. He still struggles with trying to quell it when he's upset. Vicious child-weapon that he once was, and will never be again.

Danny knows that it comes from a place of fear and defense, that Damian lashes out because that's what he's been taught. That at the end of the day, he doesn't really mean what he says, and he's learning to express himself better. But the other kids don't know that, and kids can be unforgiving and cruel.

Danny just...

His slow beating heart sighs, melancholy settles behind his lungs.

He doesn't want Damian to be outcasted. He doesn't want him to be alone.

Not like he was.

Damian sneers again, but says nothing, his shoulders crawling up to hide his ears like a turtle receding into his shell. Danny watches him silently, leaning against the kitchen counter with his own arms crossed. The clock hanging on the wall ticks in their ears -- it's almost time to go.

He watches Damian, careful, and so he sees it when his little brother's stone-shell pride and petulance shudders, and cracks. The darkened furrow of Damian's brows weakens, and for a moment, slants back.

Ah, Danny thinks, his own shoulders slumping. Epiphany washes over him, and his sad-heart soothes in warm understanding. So that's what it is.

His head tilts, and his hair spills over his shoulders, messy and fluffy, tickling his neck. Some of his bangs fall into his face. "Hal 'ant easabiatan ya habibi?" He asks, voice low and soft. Just as Damian's English has improved, so has Danny's Arabic. He still stumbles over himself some days, and Damian says his accent is trash, but they can have whole conversations now in Damian's mothertongue.

(Danny was incredibly proud of himself for it.)

Damian's face darkens, his blush spreading across the rest of his face, and he ducks his head down. Grown-out curls, black-brown and springy, falls over his eyes. "La!" He yells, loud and indignant, and not at all convincingly. "La 'asheur bialtawaturi!"

He was nervous. Danny can see it now, in the hunch of his shoulders and the tightness of his face, and faintly, he can feel it too. In the ecto-rich air of the Fentonworks House, it thrums, barely-there, like a hummingbird behind his lungs.

Danny can't stop the little, fond smile that forces itself across his lips and upticks the corner of his mouth. "It's okay to be nervous, little brother." He says, he sounds like Jazz when he says that. He doesn't think she'll mind him borrowing the nickname.

He pushes himself off the counter, and Damian refuses to look at him, hiding behind his hair and in his shoulders. It takes three long strides for him to reach the table, and Danny turns, plants his hands on the ledge, and hoists himself up. Right next to Damian.

Damian leans into him easily when Danny's arm wraps around his shoulders and tucks him close to his heart. He can feel his ear against his ribs. Danny hunches over him, resting his chin on Damian's head. "It's so okay to be nervous, actually. I was nervous, Jazz was nervous." He tells him, scratching the blunt edge of his nails across his scalp. "Everyone gets nervous."

"'Ana last aljumiea." Damian mumbles, as small and feeble as he was the night on the OPS Center balcony, realizing that his mom and the League weren't coming for him. Realizing that he was replaceable.

Danny's half-working heart squeezes; in grief, in rage, and his faucet eyes sting. He breathes in carefully, and presses his nose into Damian's hair in a loving faux-kiss. "You're right, you're not everyone." He says, steady and strong, because if he's not a pillar for his family, who else is he?

He can feel Damian's eyes flick up to him, and Danny smiles into his black-brown curls. Tilts his head to squish his cheek against him instead, hand dropping to thumb below Damian's lashes. "You're Damian Fenton," Because the adoption went through a few weeks ago, and he's still riding that high, "You're my baby brother. O' Artist Extraordinaire, Kickass with a Sword, Vegetarian and Wonderful Co-Ghost Hunter."

Damian tries to stifle a smile, and fails. Score! Triumph gathers in Danny's gut, his smile grows wider. He squeezes Damian tight, and only releases him so he can look him in the eyes. "And if anyone gives you a hard time at school, and I mean anyone--"

Danny has bad memories of the teachers looking the other way when the other kids were bullying him, all because he was a Fenton.

And Danny, bleeding heart, bleeding hands, loves his family more than he will ever love himself, will never let Damian experience the same injustice. Not if he can help it.

His eyes narrow, and the buzzy-film of ectoplasm covers his eyes, making them glow, "--You tell me. And as your awesome great big brother-and-technically-dad-but-only-biologically, I will handle it."

Damian, wonderfully made, full of light, his little brother Damian, giggles weakly at him. A sound that's worth it's weight in gold. The scary eyes dissipate, and Danny matches the sound with a cock-eyed, impish grin, dragging Damian into a soul-crushing, too-tight hug. The kind that only annoying older brothers can give. "Got it?"

That gets a proper, if short, laugh out of Damian. He wriggles in Danny's arms, trying to break free. But Danny does calisthenics, his arms are as big as Damian's head, so it doesn't work. "Understood, now, daeni 'adhhab ya 'akhi!"

Danny laughs, loud and bright, and loosens his hold just a smidge, only so he can adjust his grip and hop off the table with Damian still in arm.

"Never!" He crows, hoisting Damian slightly. One eye flick at the clock, and in one quick move, he secures Damian under one arm like a football, and hooks his foot under the strap of his backpack. Kicking it up, he tosses it into the air and catches it with his free hand, and slings it over his shoulder. "Now, to the car, my boy! Before we're late and Mom and Dad get charged."

Damian groans, childish and dramatic and long, but his face is all squished up with a wide grin and glee. Danny can taste his joy beneath his tongue.

"And, if my little pep talk didn't encourage you," He says, reaching the door to the garage, flipping Damian up onto his hip instead. "If you have a good day today, I'll make you bal mithai when you get back."

Like all kids at the promise of sweets, Damian's eyes widen and glitter. Danny loves seeing Damian be a kid, it's his favorite thing in the world. "I will!"

[pokimoko]

haunting the narrative -> haunted by the narrative -> haunting the narrative -> haunted by

[vaguely-concerned]

the hossberg questline has me shaking solas by the shoulders like a ragdoll like 'for pity's sake the flowers are here the flowers ARE growing again tender shoots are finding their way back into even this dark and broken world if you would just pause for a moment and look and sTOP FUCKING STEPPING ON THEM FOR FIVE FUCKING MINUTES oh my GOD does the phrase 'self-fulfilling prophecy' mean anything to you or did you not have those back in the day. trick question bitch I know and you know you did open your eyes hope is here already hope is here if you could bear to let it in. I'm sorry it's not the saplings you loved once but they deserve the chance to live and try and thrive or fail too'

*merrill voice of keeping it so incredibly real* I think he's broken the thing he wanted to save. (*incredulous fenris noises of you pity him??*) *merrill being so incredibly valid and on point cont.* breaking the thing you love the most is not restricted to semi-gods but it sure means you can do it the worst anyone's ever done it little guy and then keep doing that for thousands of years

all jokes aside I do love this metaphor that winds through the whole game in both imagery and dialogue, right down to rook and their LI being depicted as intertwining flowers in the ending slides