#i tried writing this a bit differently

[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. 

[futuristichedge]

More Scarab art! Some art of him at different stages in his life, testing out expressions, and doodles. Scarab may be made by G.U.N. but that doesn't mean a its a fan... being there cost it an arm and almost a leg.

[tethrras]

show me where my armor ends, show me where my skin begins

vittoria de riva x lucanis dellamorte. smut/porn with plot. click here to read on ao3.

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Vittoria de Riva is going to die tomorrow.

She is tired of deluding herself. Tired of pretending that she’s going to survive this. She will tell the others that this is not the end, of course, insist that there is still so much more left in the fight, but Harding and Neve are dead, their allies are tired, and Vittoria herself feels like a dead woman walking. She’s going to die tomorrow. One moment - a lapse in focus, a mistimed assault - is all it will take. 

But for now, all she needs to think about - all she deserves to think about - is Lucanis.

Spite’s wings come to settle on either side of them. Lucanis kisses her. Like all his other skills, his kissing is well-honed and precise, and for a moment, she’s left struggling to find an even footing. She hasn’t done this in a long time, after all, doesn’t know where to put her hands or how to move her legs, but in a few seconds, and after enough distraction, all those unwelcome thoughts and worries leave her head. In their place is a list of sensations: the scrape of his beard on her chin, the gentle intrusion of his tongue in her mouth, the feather-light sensation of his hair falling against her cheek. One of his hands comes to rest at the base of her neck, the other fisting the fabric at the curve of her waist, and Vittoria arches her back on an instinct she didn’t know she had. She feels sensitive, vulnerable, like a burn with no scab.

“Lucanis.” 

“Vittoria.” Even the sound of her own name makes her shiver when it comes from him, and she’s so distracted that she almost doesn’t notice him pulling the tie from her hair and letting it fall across the cushions. “What do you wish of me?” he asks, running a hand through the tangles above her head. “Tell me and I will do it.”

What does she wish of him? She wishes he could bundle her up in his arms and take her far from here. She wishes he could go back in time and take notice of her sooner - train with her, stroll the canals with her, invite her to coffee at Cafe Pietra in the evenings and watch the sunset over Treviso for another decade. She wishes that he would take off his pants and fuck her. “Everything,” she answers instead.

He chuckles and presses a kiss to the skin beside her mouth. “You’ll have to be more specific than that.” 

“Fuck me,” she says, then nips at the lush curve of his bottom lip. “Fuck me however you want. Make me forget.” Make me forget I’m going to die tomorrow. Make me forget that you might die first.

He takes a sharp inhale. She knows him well enough to know that he’s thinking about the next steps before he’s even started. “I can do that.”

Of course he can. He can do anything. It’s why she loves him. “Then show me.”

Lucanis sits back in her lap and reaches for the buttons of his shirt. Vittoria sits up, at first to watch and then to help, pressing kisses to each sliver of bare skin as it’s revealed, reveling in each of the sounds that he makes - the helpless sighs and strangled groans and breathless invocations of her name. She didn’t know he would be so sensitive - he, with all his confidence and experience - and like all good assassins, she takes note of it for later as he shrugs the shirt off and tosses it into an unseen corner of the room. “Your turn,” he tells her, reaching for the buttons of her shirt the same as he had with his own. But she swats his hands to the side instead.

“Let me look first.” 

Scars cover his torso, some sharp and white, others dark and deep. In another world, at another time, she would ask him where each of the scars came from and listen to the stories that lie beneath them, but she makes peace now with the knowledge that it doesn’t matter where the scars came from - all that matters is that none of the blades responsible for the scars struck true. 

Aside from the scars, decades of fighting has sculpted him into a marvel of muscle and flesh. While she can’t see his back from here, she runs her hands over the muscles there at the same time she trails kisses down the front of his chest, over those scars. How long she spent wanting this, she thinks, how long she spent watching him train, watching him walk the halls of the Diamond or the streets of Treviso, wishing that he would look at her the way he’s looking at her now; how long she spent wanting him, then wanting him to want her in return, and all it took was the elven gods returning to Thedas to get his attention. If Vittoria could find a way to tell her younger self that, she wouldn’t have believed it - which is good, because if she had, then she wouldn’t have trained as hard as she did to get where she is right now, and instead died a meaningless death all those lonely years ago.

“That’s enough touching.” He pulls at her collar, the roughest he’s ever been with her, at the same time he pushes his lips onto hers. The following command is muffled between kisses as he fists at the fabric of her shirt: “This. Off. Now.”

She pulls her hands from him and fumbles with her own buttons while Lucanis watches. His face is dark and shadowed, and she knows without question that he holds all the cards now. She can feel it - feel Spite stirring under the surface, feel that Dellamorte stubbornness rearing its handsome head. When she finishes with the last button of her shirt, he tears it from her torso and throws it onto the other side of the room. He uses that same hand to grip her shoulder and shove her down onto the cushions, not giving her a moment to catch her breath before reaching for the laces of her pants.

“It’s been… a while.” Vittoria watches as he works the piece of clothing off. She’s not sure which of them is breathing harder. “Since I did this.”

“Vittoria.” He shakes his head and, despite his fervor, a small smile appears on his lips. “Do you honestly think that matters to me?” He moves off her lap for a moment so he can pull her pants down over the swell of her muscular thighs and then stops, looking up at her from underneath his eyelashes. “Does it matter to you?”

“No.”

“Good.” He finishes with his task and then crawls on top of her to kiss her hard and flatten her underneath him. “All that matters to me is that you’re here, that you’re alive, and that I get to do this.” 

She hears the words before she feels his fingers, first one and then another, brushing through the hair between her legs, his hand moving to cover the surface of her cunt. It feels indecent to have him touch her there, to watch his brow furrow with focus, not for a kill but for delving deep inside of her, deeper than she’s ever gone herself. She’s so wet that she can hear it, and she’d be humiliated by the sound if it weren’t for how much she loves him. She loves him, she loves him, she loves him. Her hips cant upwards into the cradle of his hand, chasing the pressure, the pleasure, the relief that his fingers offer her, and when she reaches for his face, he turns his head to take her thumb into his mouth. 

To have him taking her in so many ways at once…

“Lucanis.” She has said his name so many times but knows she’s never said it like this, like she’s trying to suck the marrow from each letter. “Please, I -”

Her thumb falls from his lips and she winds her arm around his shoulders to hold him as close as possible. “I am fucking you with my fingers, Vittoria,” he states with a raised eyebrow, somehow managing to sound unimpressed even with his pupils blown black the way they are. “Is that not enough?”

“No. It’s not.”

“You want my cock, then, hmm?”

He moves his fingers fast inside of her, pulling farther out and diving further in each time, and her face flushes with a heat she's never felt before. This is the most vulnerable she’s ever been with another person, after all. As a Crow, you learn to never let your guard down - anyone can betray you, any location can leave you exposed. And right now, all of her weakest points have been exposed to him. Any assassin worth his salt could kill her in an instant without even pulling his fingers out from inside of her. But Lucanis does not want to hurt her. He crooks his fingers inside of her like he wants to anchor himself to her forever. She did not know it was possible for a man to feel that way about her, let alone this man.

“Lucanis...”

“I’ll give it to you, Vittoria, I promise.” He nuzzles his nose against her cheek. “On one condition.”

“Anything.”

His fingers slow to a crawl. She doesn’t know if it’s better or worse, but her thighs tense regardless. “Tell me that you won’t leave me again,” he says, “now or ever.”

She’s glad he didn’t ask for a promise, because she can’t give him a promise. “I won’t leave you,” she tells him anyway. It’s not a promise of her survival, but a vow that she will do whatever she can to achieve it. Because she will. Even if she has to go to the end of the world and kill a god to prove it. “I won’t leave you again. Now or ever.”

“And tell me that… that...” His mouth opens and then closes and then opens again, uncertainty creasing his features. “Tell me that I’m yours.”

“You’re mine.”

“And tell me that you’re mine.”

“I’m - I’m -” She wants to tell him what he asked of her, wants to reassure him of her feelings, but his fingers shift inside of her, and even that small movement renders her speechless. 

By now, her fingernails are cutting crescents into the meat of his neck, but if he feels the pain, he doesn’t let on. His fingers start to move again, faster and deeper and harder than before, and he clenches his jaw in concentration. “Come for me, Vittoria,” he says through gritted teeth.

The pleasure splits her open at the seams and seems to fill her with the same blinding light of a falling star. She can’t remember the last time she came like this. Perhaps she never has. Perhaps she was waiting her entire life for Lucanis, for his touch to bring this ecstasy out of her. When the wave finishes washing over her, she tries and fails to catch her breath, and when her vision clears, she notices that he’s doing nothing but watching her come back to herself with a gentle tilt of his head. She meets his gaze and gives him her best attempt at a reassuring look. He gives her a look of his own and then raises his fingers out from between her legs, lathing his tongue along them and licking them clean.

The silence hangs between them for a moment, dense as a fog. And then, as slowly as she can manage in her near-delirium, she draws his hand towards her mouth and repeats what he had done moments ago, licking the last remnants of herself from his skin. A flash of violet light flickers through his fluttering lashes, and, sensing his impatience, she pushes her hips towards him. 

“Now,” she demands, and though the word is muddied around the width of his fingers, she doesn’t want him to take himself out of her mouth. She won’t do it, either. She wants him everywhere inside of her all at once, and even when she has him, that might not be hard enough, fast enough, deep enough. Nothing with him could ever be enough. But she’s tired of waiting, and she can tell that Spite is, too. “Please, Lucanis, please.”

“Whatever you want.” He pushes his pants down his thighs with his free hand and kisses the part of her mouth where his fingers aren’t. “Anything you want.”

Lucanis makes quick work of the rest of his clothes and shifts on top of her to line himself up with her entrance. Vittoria would watch if she could look anywhere other than his face. How is she so lucky? Yes, the world is ending, and yes, she might die tomorrow, and yes, there are people out there with the power to move the moon over Thedas, but she gets to be here, with him, gets to count the moles on his forehead, gets to press her hand into the small of his back, gets to feel the burn as he stretches her out around his cock. She wouldn’t change a thing. Glory, godhood, all the gold in the world - she wouldn’t take any of it if it meant losing this, and none of it matters if she loses it tomorrow.

There’s pressure that she’s not used to as he pushes inside her, and fresh tears cling to her lashes. He kisses her closed eyelids, and then, in one quick move, sheathes himself to the hilt.

“Mierda.” She almost doesn’t hear the word over the sound of her own moaning. He tucks his face into her neck. “You feel so good ,” he whispers, starting to move with slow, exploratory pumps of his hips. “So tight. Mmm… So wet.”

She answers with a whimper, wishing she could take his fingers further down her throat.

“You are so beautiful, Vittoria. Have I told you that before? How beautiful you are? It's too much, sometimes, to look at you.”

Another whimper. Her face must be as red as the blood in her veins, but her embarrassment means nothing if the sounds bring him pleasure.

“You have saved my life more times than I can count.” The confessions sound strained in his effort not to come before she comes a second time. “You have not only saved my life, but you have… made my life.”

It’s impossible to lie still with the onslaught of feelings and she throws her head back, breathing hard. He takes it as an invitation to sink his teeth into her neck, and when she clenches around him, the answering bite is strong enough to draw blood. But she doesn’t care. How many scars does she have on her body from people who mean nothing to her? She would take a scar from the man that she loves. She’d take a hundred.

Instead of continuing to bite her, he sucks a bruise into the skin of her neck. She clenches around him again. The even pace of his hips stutters. She’s not going to last much longer, and she doesn’t think that he’s going to, either.

“I am not losing you.” He hits a place inside of her that feels different than the others and her hips jerk into him of their own accord. It punches a moan out of him, which prompts a similar one from her. She loves the sounds he makes. She loves the feeling of him inside of her, and clenches around him again in the hopes that it will keep him there. “There it is. Ohh. Oh, there you are, mi vida. Stay with me forever, Vittoria, just like this.”

“I will.” A tear falls down Vittoria’s forehead. Lucanis keeps fucking her into the cushions. “I’m yours, Lucanis. I’ve always been yours.”

After they finish, after they return to themselves, he draws his fingers out from between her lips, brushes the hair from her face, and laughs. She laughs, too. Whatever happened in the previous months, whatever happens tomorrow, she forgets it all for one long, shining moment, and for that moment, it’s just the two of them held tight in each other’s embrace. She and the man she loves. But did she tell him that? In her mania? She can’t remember. Unwilling to waste the moment but unable to form words, she kisses his forehead, across his temple, down to the hollow of his cheek, hoping each brush of her lips serves as a confession. He chuckles as she continues to make her way from one side of his head to another. After her eyes have been opened long enough to focus, she can see that he’s blushing.

And then his lips meet hers again, the resulting kiss intense enough to make her toes curl. He licks into her mouth like he thinks he can find salvation inside of it, inside of her, and... maybe he can. Maybe he already did. She knows that she found the same in him. Because no matter what happens, no matter how hard it gets, she does not want to die tomorrow, and, if nothing else, loving him has taught her that the things you want the most have a way of coming true, even when it seems impossible.

[mohntilyet]

let me be clear i like veilguard but it does suck that no one disapproves anymore outside of like. three choices. i want to be fighting for my life earning approval back again someone has GOT to hate my ass. i should be careful about party composition and companion reactions again. i miss tactically taking fenris out of the party before i'm nice to merrill like those were the days

[mionkings]

Vlad did not expect this shit at all what the fuck???

You know those twin/sibling aus with Danny and Damian? That but in Vlad's POV

CMON I feel like it's underutilized, given how Vlad has an obsession with wanting Danny to be his son when he ISNT greedy for power and control.

Like Vlad Masters takes pride in thinking that he knows everything about Danny like the creepy bastard he is.

So imagine when shit hits the fan as always with these AUs; Vlad expects Danny to come crawling to him or at least last a few days until he gives up and finally goes to Vlad for help.

But then Danny disappears, and Vlad doesn't know where the brat is. Time passes by, and no matter what, Daniel hasn't come out of whatever hidey hole he is. That is until PLOT HAPPENS AGAIN- Vlad gets a hint that Daniel is in GOTHAM of all places- so he goes!

And most of the time when Vlad finally shows up in these aus, it's of course at the Gotham Gala–time to start shit up!

There he finds Daniel with Bruce Wayne of all people, hanging out with that Wayne's youngest child. Where Vlad sees the eerie similarities with Daniel and the Wayne Boy, minus the eyes and what-not. He sees Daniel staying close to Brucie and his son, that will not do.

This would give Vlad the opportunity to finally mold the brat into his perfect son, and even get Maddie in the process!

But of course, with these aus, Vlad doesn't get Daniel, so Vlad is pissed because how dare the brat choose Wayne over Vlad Masters???

Why would the boy choose Brucie Wayne over coming with Vlad?! Over coming home?! Over his parents?! Vlad would understand, even be elated since usually in these types of aus, Danny has a falling out with the Fentons or it just isn't safe at home anymore.

But after all, this is Vlad's POV: he'd be pissed and confused on WHY Daniel would dare choose Wayne over him, he could support Daniel just fine, he knows what the boy needs.

But the way that angry brat glared murderously at Vlad; and Daniel doesn't do anything to get the Wayne boy to stop, in fact he seems concerned for the other boy who's glare would kill. Bruce Wayne even seemed smart enough to get Daniel and his son away with a smile, and Daniel is letting them.

These people shouldn't be this protective of the boy, given that somehow Daniel ended up in their care. But the way, Danny Fenton seems to trust them enough to know that he could travel with them willingly...

But WHY would he???

[cheekinpermission]

Erin's Birthday Interview

Interviewer (I): Happy birthday, Erin! How are you this evening? Erin (E): I’m good, thanks. Are you here to interview me? I: That’s correct. I’ll start with the basics. How is your birthday going so far? E: Pretty well, actually. I didn’t expect this big of a turn out. I: That’s good to hear! Have you received any gifts? E: I have! Ace and Deuce worked together with Trey to bake me a peach cobbler. Kalim gave me a necklace and Vil got me a bunch of fancy soaps and skincare products. Riddle said I could spend an hour with the hedgehogs in Heartslabyul… under his supervision, of course. Ortho made me a music playlist and Grim gave me a can of tuna.  I: A can of tuna? E: Yeah, he gives everyone a can of tuna as a gift. I think he just gives people things he likes. I: I see. So, Erin, you don’t have any magic. E: Nope. I: You’re also from another world. What was it like for you when you first got here?  E: The first thing I saw when I woke up was a cat looking monster trying to take my clothes. Then, a masked man showed up to bring me into a room full of guys wearing black eyeliner and matching robes. I thought I was about to be sacrificed to a cult. I: A cult? You thought our orientation was part of a cult? E: It was the only thing that made sense at the time! I: Right… so, what is the world you’re like from? E: Next question. I: I- excuse me? E: Next question. I: Oh, alright. What is your family like? E: Pass.  I: Do you not want to talk about your home? E: Nope. There’s no point, is there?  I: I won’t pressure you. Let’s just get to some of the other questions, then. If you could pick any student to be your sibling, who would you choose?  E: I certainly don’t need any more siblings, but… I’ll go with Deuce.  I: Deuce, huh?  E: Yeah. Besides from the fact he’s someone I already consider a friend, I think he’d make a good brother. He treats his mother well, so I imagine he’d treat a sister the same way. Did you know he sends his mother flowers at least once a month? It’s adorable.  I: I’m sure Deuce will be pleased with your answer. Ace? Not as much. E: Sorry, Ace. You played yourself.

I: If you were to join any other dorm other than Ramshackle, which dorm would you choose?  E: Probably Pomefiore. I: Why Pomefiore?  E: I like the uniforms the best. Purple suits me well. I: Is that your only reason? E: Not at all. Epel is cool, and I get along well with Rook and Vil. I don’t really mind Vil’s high beauty standards because I have high standards, too. I want to look good AND feel good. 

I: Aren’t your closest friends in Heartslabyul? E: Heartslabyul would be my second choice, but the aesthetic is a bit much for me. Riddle is fine, but I wouldn’t want to live under him. I: Why not? E: Why not? I can name 810 reasons why not. Vil’s skincare regime or whatever is one thing, but Heartslabyul’s rules are a whole other beast. Do you have any idea how weird it is to walk into a room of dozens of dudes singing because a hedgehog sneezed?  I: It’s not for everyone, I suppose. Is there a dorm you wouldn’t want to join? E: Octavinelle. I would rather sit at the bottom of the fish tank than deal with Azul.  I: Care to elaborate? E: And ruin such a nice birthday celebration? No thanks!  I: Alright, then. I’ll leave you to your celebrations. Thank you for your time, Erin.  E: No problem. Good luck with your article.

[prince-liest]

I'm another of the doesn't read abo fic crowd. To the point where I usually filter it out of my AO3 searches so I don't even have to see it. That being said, I read your abo fic just now because I like literally all of your other stuff so I figured why not? And I was pleasantly surprised to find that I actually enjoyed it. You always characterize them both so well and the entire thing was so soft. Very well done.

I'm always a little torn about how to respond to comments like this, because on the one hand, I totally get the feeling of, like, "Wow, I don't usually enjoy this thing, but I like how this author did it, and that feels really special and exceptional to me, so I want to express that!"...but on the other hand it kinda sucks to receive a large number of comments that amount to, "Hey, so that subject that you enjoy enough to write? I think it sucks so much that I don't even want to lay eyes on it. But you're special and managed to do it well, which surprised me! Good job!"

I knew I was going to get a lot of these after posting that fic because A/B/O is a polarizing subject that is popular to be loud about disliking. I also get them not-infrequently about 666 and my smut in general, from people going, more or less, "I don't usually read porn BUT your porn is emotionally deep, and therefore superior."

And at the end of the day, all I can say is: I very much appreciate that you have enjoyed my writing enough to take a chance on something that isn't usually your thing, and I additionally appreciate that I wrote it in such a way that you then enjoyed that thing! But I also encourage people to consider that I as the author (not to mention many, many of my readers) am reading and writing these things because I like them. Even when I'm not the one writing them.

[dgcakes]

Series: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Pairing(s): Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra

Rating: G

Chapter: 1/1

Important Tags: Hanahaki Disease, Non-Traditional form of Hanahaki Disease, PoV Switching

Ferdibert Week 2024 - Day 4 - Hanahaki

Summary:

Ferdinand has a chronic condition he has been keeping to himself for some time, but after he begins studying certain topics at the academy, it begins to worsen. Hubert accidentally discovers a certain noble's secret flower problem as it increases in severity. Against the backdrop of the brewing and building war, there is only so much either can do about it.

[moralcandy]

first chip jrwi drawing‼️

[bkgrl]

Ok, I know it's totally random but I'm at a store right now trying different kinds of accessories and whenever I try to put a choker on I get this weird suffocating feeling like someone or something is wrapping their hands, something, around my neck and slowly pressing on my neck. ( it's a weird thing that I've had for a long time, even turtlenecks are a drag for me but not as bad as those kinds of necklaces )

And I just thought, what if Katsuki had the same feeling but with ties and that is why he doesn't wear them anymore/often ?

( if I remember correctly even his costume for the i-island arc didn't have one? )

[averlym]

"one day, i cut him an apple. when he saw it, he laughed" (click for better resolution!) ,,, tag from @elliotly

[friendlyneighbourhoodelf]

(reposting this bc i changed the title and it’s annoying me)

anyways, tragic codywan !!! (im very excited about this <3)

summary -

When he’d mentioned his observation to Obi-Wan, the Jedi had flushed, his eyes darting away from Cody’s. Eventually, with composure that Cody knew was desperately maintained, he’d said, “How could I not stare, my dear? You’re so incredibly beautiful.”

He’d struggled for words for some time after, wanting desperately to repay the compliment, to give shape to his own adoration. In the end, he’d only managed to smile, to press Obi-Wan’s fingers against his lips in a gentle kiss.

Obi-Wan had smiled though, a wonderful thing that warmed Cody’s very heart as he gazed upon it. He’d known, in that moment, that he was understood.

They had remained there for some time, caught in the lull of peace and soft emotion. It did not last, of course. The war continued.

Cody and Obi-Wan fall in love during the war. They hope for a time afterwards that they can truly explore their feelings, yet this time never arrives. They're in love, it's not enough to save them.

[harrietwritesstuff]

Angstober 2024 - Day 13: Shaking

The hard, sharp tide of anger rushes through him, obliterating everything else.

The anger he has to swallow down and not let it choke him, because they say he’s belligerent anyway, they say he’s angry and aggressive, that he isn’t polite enough, that he doesn’t say thank you enough, that he’s not grateful for what they give - he looks at them, in their suits and ties, dithering over invisible red lines, over escalation, over closing the skies and it feels as though he’s going mad.

Don’t they see what’s happening?

My people are dying.

He wants to scream.

His hands shake as he grips the lectern.

[somegrumpynerd]

Synonyms my best friend synonyms

[nerosdayinanime]

"Im worried what people would think of you then, that you're just a personal whore or something- i don't want to ruin your reputation.."

"Are you kidding? 'My dick was so good i got promoted-' Thats the biggest flex i can think of!"

"Well, you're certaintly enthusiastic about this."

[avirael]

FFxivWrite 2024

Day 27 - Memory

Today they would finally meet the dragon Hraesvelgr. Finally they would see if this long journey had been worth anything. The day where the future of this war, the future of Ishgard and the dragons alike could be decided.

Nonetheless Estinien hadn’t spared A’viloh his daily dragoon training session after their breakfast. The later had been less meagre than before since the moogles had provided them with some food. The sooner was slowly improving too due to Estiniens patient explanations.

Slowly A’viloh began to feel like the Elezen was not just holding back half of his skills and power against him but like they were almost equal opponents instead. A’viloh had certainly not thought this possible after their first training fight, which had been horribly embarrassing for him.

Now, as they lowered their training spears, and caught their breath for a moment, Estinien reached out to him and patted him on the back, with almost the hint of a smile on his face.

“You’re getting really good at this! I am impressed how fast you learned!”

A’viloh was not good at accepting praise like that but it nonetheless made him feel incredibly proud. “Thank you… But that’s only because you are such a good teacher. My old teachers would certainly have disagreed with your opinion…”

“Don’t think I was born the fighter I am today. When I first trained with Alberic, not matter how motivated I was, I was a complete amateur too. I barely could tell the front and back end of a spear apart. Getting good takes time and training. And sometimes a proper motivation…”, Estinien said thoughtfully and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

Suddenly A’viloh remembered something the Elezen has said the day before. Estinien most of the time was a quite distant and harsh man. His only motivation some days seemed to be protecting his home and the wrath he felt for the great wyrm Nidhogg. But slowly A’viloh thought he started to understand him.

“Last evening, by the campfire…”, the Miqo’te started hesitantly, uncertainly if it was too intrusive to ask such a question. “…you said Nidhogg killed your family?”

The Elezen turned his face towards A’viloh and for a second he said nothing. Then he slowly nodded. “He did. And I will never forgive him, for as long the memory of this day still haunts me in my sleep… Like I said, I was not always a fighter… When my hometown was burned to ash by Nidhoggs flames I was the only one who survived, because that day I tended our sheep outside of the village. I saw the giant black monstrosity swoop down on my village and I could do nothing to stop it. When I arrived everything was too late already. My home, my parents, my little brother… all gone…”

“I’m sorry to hear this…”, A’viloh said and guiltily looked to the ground for having brought this topic up again.

“Don’t be.”, Estinien disagreed. “It made me who I am today, a fighter, Azure Dragon of Ishgard. What is the life I would have had in Ferndale against that?”

He said this with a firm tone but something in his voice gave A’viloh the impression that the Elezen did not quite believe his own words.

“You know…”, the Miqo’te offered weakly. “My family was murdered too. Not by dragon, but monsters nonetheless. They still scare me to this day but at least for the Amalj’aa I can say, that not all of them are bad…”

Estinien shook his head. “I am not claiming that all dragons are bad - by Halone! I can’t believe I just said that! - But Nidhogg. Nidhogg and his brood are! Everything he has done cannot be forgiven and I will not rest until I have my revenge for what he did…”

“I see…”, A’viloh nodded. “But let me tell you one thing… I took revenge on my families murderers. Twice even. I will not tell you now that this was a mistake I regret or that it will not make you feel better… But I can guarantee you that it will not heal your pain.”

Silently Estinien nodded and turned to return to the others. Then he paused.

“Maybe it will not heal my pain…”, he said. “But at least it will spare many more people the same fate.”