#love ghost aus sm

[princescar]

GHOST MATSUDA

LOVE this idea so much, the universe cursing him with a heart blood stain and forever attached to the love of his afterlife bitch that killed him. The message is straight from @naphthine, plucked from our convo about him lmao

[toucheholland23]

Misuta in velvet, bell bottoms and of course, showing off that chest plating ✨✨✨✨

GITM belongs to @venomous-qwille

[vibinginthebg]

Still some doodles of them :DD

[starry-bi-sky]

wolfpack. aka: if not friend, then why friend-shaped?

"Hey-- uh, Danny?" There's an almost imperceptible tremor in Tucker's voice.

Danny doesn't look up from what he's doing, his pencil scritching across his notebook as he tries to do another quadratic formula question. "Hm."

"What's -- uh -- what's with the dogs?"

He looks up now, and finally sees where Tucker is -- standing in the doorway of his room with an ashy look on his face and a skewed, nervous smile. He's got a white knuckle grip on the doorknob. Sam is wide-eyed behind him, and using him as a partial meat-shield.

Danny looks down to the two giant ghost wolves sprawled next to him lazily. One large green one with his head in Danny's lap, letting him use him as a prop-up for his notebook. Another equally large black one splayed against his hip, sleeping on her side with her head tilted inward to his calf.

Automatically, a grin tilts across Danny's face, and he lifts his notebook up to scratch behind the green one's ears. He opens a lazy eye, one that is bloody red with a ring of yellow around the pupil, before slipping it shut and leaning his head into Danny's touch. "This is Sirius and Procyon," he says, and reaches down to scratch Sirius' belly. "And they're not dogs, they're wolves."

"Great," Tucker says, his voice suddenly much smaller and faint, "Love that distinction."

Sirius makes a great big groan, and Danny's grin widens, his heart swelling with fondness. His hand slips away from her belly, and before he can put his notebook back down, Procyon pushes his head up his lap until his ear is against his stomach, demanding pets now too.

Sam peeks her head up from over Tucker's shoulder, "I think what Tucker's asking here is what are they doing here, Danny."

He shrugs, scratching under Procyon's chin. "They kinda just showed up. I tried sending them back to the Zone, but they keep returning." And they were weirdly intent on just following him around, which is the only reason he gave up on returning them. They weren't causing trouble, and they knew how to hide around the living. Plus, he just loves dogs. "So now I have two wolves living with me."

This, oddly enough, did not do anything to calm Sam and Tucker down. Tucker's mouth purses into a thin line, and he presses the sides of his palms to his lips in prayer. "How have your parents not found out about this?"

Danny wordlessly raises his hand, and his sleeve slides down to reveal a thin chain bracelet hooked around his wrist. He whistles sharply, and both Procyon and Sirius jerk their heads up to look at him, ears pricked up and eyes alert.

Silently, he points to his wrist and rattles it twice, and in unison both wolves stand up and pounce. Instantly, they turn into a respective, opaque black and green mist that swirls around the bracelet and forms into two, flat wolf charms.

Both wolves are posing in the stereotypical wolf howl, with little stars indented on the sides. Procyon's charm has the Canis Minor constellation engraved on it, while Sirius has the Canis Major.

Danny faces Sam and Tucker, and points at his wrist. "Like this."

[tojisun]

sugar, spice, everything on ice (hockey au)

part of the ‘if fwb’ spinoff // simon riley x f!reader

johnny’s been… doubting, you see, about the validity of simon’s dating life.

like, for example, if he really was dating anyone.

simon looks content in a way that he never was before—intense eyes turned down towards his phone, unapproachable aura less angry but more settled, like he’s warding off people not because of his dislike but more so because he’s not available anymore.

not like he ever made himself available before, but it’s fundamentally different this time around; self-imposed walls brought down to make room for unbridled fulfillment.

he looks like he’s won the damn cup.

and that’s what makes johnny twitch—someone out there was just as, if not more, valued as the championship cup to simon, but he’s never introduced anyone to them.

not a picture nor an update nor even a PSA that they need to commission another WAG jacket for his partner because simon is tight-lipped about whoever it was he’s seeing. it’s not like he’s even dancing around the fact, it’s just that whoever it was he’s dating was never free.

not for a game nor a night-out nor a party. in simon’s house.

this level of secrecy was just unheard of. even the other men in the league who have a tight leash on their private lives still have living proof of their partners unlike simon who leaves it at, “she’s busy,” like that covers anything.

which is why johnny would like to go on record and say: he is totally valid for choosing to crash at simon’s place without letting him know.

he remembers getting wasted with the others, then refusing to be driven home, only to take a cab to simon’s place. he must have been coherent enough to remember the code for simon’s house, and was shockingly coordinated enough to even punch it in, but his memories begin to splinter there.

next thing johnny knows, he’s waking up, feeling like he’s been hit by a freight train. his tongue is heavy inside his mouth, the pungent taste of last night’s alcohol rising from the back of his throat like bile. he groans, blinking blurry eyes as he tries to remember where he’s at or what he’s done, only for nausea to wash over him so intensely he flops back down onto the bed—

he pats at the cushioning.

—onto the sofa then.

by the devil, what did he do last night? got him drinking like he’s got a new liver to replace this one he fucked with.

christ. he needs water, or a whole bottle of mouthwash, honestly.

“mactavish?”

johnny jumps, twisting his head to the side at the call of his name. it’s simon, of course it is, but he looks dishevelled, unkempt in a way that looks criminal because—johnny roves his eyes over his friend—who the hell looks that good when they’ve just woken up?

simon looks like he can be the next cover of inside fitness; give tyler fucking seguin a run for his own money.

“wha’,” is all johnny gets to say because he starts sputtering, dizziness hitting him intensely again. he gags, and only has enough mind to cover his mouth with his fist.

“jesus– down the hall. go,” simon barks and johnny warbles his thanks before locking himself in the guest bathroom.

.

johnny comes back out to the smell of freshly brewed coffee and melted butter wafting through. simon did say he had a problem with his kitchen vents which made cooking a problem, but johnny sure isn’t complaining right now. although, he supposes that it is a whole different problem when it’s steak or some ribs that simon’s firing up.

oh well, johnny thinks, scratching his side as he ambles to the island, pointedly quiet because simon might kick him out before breakfast is even done.

simon eyes him with a muted approval and johnny grins because, hey, he just secured free breakfast.

he’s about to break the silence, to apologize once more he guesses, when the sounds of padded feet descending from the stairs leading up to simon’s lavishly decorated—sarcasm intended—second floor pierces through the silence.

johnny’s back straightens, his exhausted mind clicking awake.

he turns to his friend but simon’s already angled towards the kitchen door, facing away from johnny. he looks relaxed, previous half-bareness now covered up with a thin white shirt, and johnny doesn’t know why he missed it but simon looks like a perfect picture of a boyfriend fixing up breakfast post-coitus.

“jesus–” johnny begins to say, the pieces linking because yeah, simon’s never denied that he’s been doing some dating around and it’s just johnny’s drunken whim to assume that the most talented ice hockey player of this decade was lying about his relationship status and—good lord, that’s a fucking person diving in simon’s arms, alright.

johnny watches, with his mouth agape, as simon and the mystery woman talk to each other in hushed whispers, his friend having to bend forward to make up for the height difference.

johnny watches, like the third-wheel he is, as simon laughs, actual quiet chuckles and not that children-crying-in-terror-inducing cackle, before nuzzling his nose over your own, and breathing you in.

johnny watches the quiet kiss, just lips pecking each other, and it’s all so soft and tender and johnny feels really, really bad that he didn’t get to give simon and his girl the privacy you two surely deserve and—

your eyes open, flitting to him because johnny is sure that he’s standing out amidst what must be a normally empty kitchen. he doesn’t even get to count three seconds before you’re screaming, lurching out of simon’s hold and hiding behind his bulk in your terror.

simon, screw him, seems to not have cared that johnny was privy to such an intimate moment and just turns enough to catch your attention again before murmuring reassurances. he says things like, “mactavish? the punk ass who got his hair shaved for the new season only to realize no one’s actually gon’ see it because of the helmet? remember?”

“what,” johnny chokes out, embarrassed that that’s what simon told you about and not, like, his player number or something.

“oh,” you gasp out anyway, clearly having heard of the shaved-sides and using it as a marker for johnny. “oh!”

you dance away from behind simon to make your way to johnny, your previous embarrassment gone from your gait. he’s so sure, though, that he’s seen you from somewhere, but the thought’s dashed out of his mind when you chirp, “you’re my best friend’s favourite player!”

“yeah?” johnny replies, gaining his confidence back.

“yeah! she won’t stop showing me the highlights of your guys’ game against that big german fella an’ his team!”

johnny laughs, his own giddiness ramping up. he remembers that game, alright. he remembers the miracle play during the final period when price was able to score an empty-netter. he remembers how, in his adrenaline-induced ecstasy, johnny turned to the player to his side, konig, and laughed in his face.

johnny made headlines then, and he’s saved every single one. his fiancee even printed a copy of her favourite shot and stuck it in her wallet.

(“for good luck,” she said with a wink, like johnny doesn’t have his prick twitching in her fist.)

“well, y’got anything for me to sign for her?”

“uhh…”

“guess you can use that one group photo our marketing team gave to us,” simon finally pipes up, and johnny turns, surprise lining his face at seeing the rich spread of breakfast.

he didn’t even notice simon setting up the table, too engrossed in the high that came from reliving the memory of laughing at konig’s face which resulted to him being pushed into the glass protector by a protective horangi.

not even that had dampened johnny’s elation then and now.

“oh yeah. thanks!” you say to simon before you run out.

you’re barely out of their eyesights when johnny turns to simon with a grin.

“what.”

“oh, you fucken’ sap!” johnny sings because he’s still too hungover to come up to simon and playfully punch him. “and why were ye hidin’ lassie?”

simon grumbles something as he turns, pretending to busy himself with the now-empty coffee pot.

“wha’s’at?”

“i said,” simon begins, heaving out a sigh. “that we jus’ became official last week.”

“oh, shit,” johnny whispers sagely. he blinks. “so, uh, who’s the one you’ve been callin’ yer girl?”

“oh fuck off johnny,” simon hisses, sputtering, before throwing the tea towel at him.

“what now!?” johnny yelps, ducking away from the soaring towel. “what’d i do now–” he gasps, realization dawning on him. “you didn’t.”

simon looked like he was going to say something but by then you were running back with the photo and a marker pen, telling him your friend’s name—alessandra, “or sandy!”—for johnny to sign.

while johnny’s busy practicing his signature on a scrap of newspaper that simon gave to him, he pretends not to hear the giggly whispers between his friend and his friend’s new but longtime-pining-for girlfriend.

“and me? why aren’t you asking f’r my signature?”

“oh ‘cuz y’r mine.”

johnny dutifully ignores the lips smacking sounds as he finally signs the picture, making sure to add devil horns on simon’s head.

serves him right.

i just. love fluff and hockey au sm ����

[ohno-the-sun]

My propaganda to read Ghost in the Machine by @venomous-qwille

I’m so serious it’s literally so good

[meatonfork]

hoiii, can you do a platonic team 141 x reader where s they’re the youngest/smallest one on the team yet they seem to be able to beat everyone on when sparring and everyone’s like wtf…

omg hello! i’ve never had a request, so this is new hehe

i’m not great at writing! i will try my absolute best to make this good. i struggle with adding personality to my characters without over explaining. so let’s see how this goes!

——————————————————————————

Bloody Hell

pairing: platonic 141 x gn!reader :)

*readers call sign is grim :)

warnings: none!

——————————————————————————

you’ve found that being the smallest and the youngest on the 141 had its cons. but, you’ve also found that it had its pros.

“uncle! i’m tap- i’m tapping! you can STOP-!” soap was writhing and sputtering beneath you.

you and the rest of the team were in the cafeteria, having just eaten lunch, when soap had decided today would be a great day to challenge you in sparring. seeing as none of the guys had seen you in action, they figured this would be easy for him. it was almost comical, seeing their smug smirks and eyes shining in hunger at seeing someone so small to absolutely demolish in combat.

he also wanted to show you, the newbie, your place. your stature was tiny compared to ghost. when stood next to him, you looked like an ant. squash-able and minuscule.

but, you had been chosen for the 141 by laswell herself. who was price to argue? your folder was mostly confidential. there wasn’t much to go on. but one thing price knew for sure was that you’re a force to be reckoned with. just because you were small didn’t mean you weren’t strong, and soap soon found that out.

“i don’t think that’s a good idea, sergeant.” your eyebrow had raised, and your voice was an eery calm. soap almost backed down. almost.

he probably should’ve.

“oh, c’mon. scared i’ll whoop yer ass, grim?” his face donned a cocky smirk, and you couldn’t resist.

poor guy.

with a sigh, you stood from your seat. the guys looked for any sign of hesitation, or nerves from you, but found none.

as the both of you moved to a clearer area, the others followed. gaz was mentally preparing to help you after you got your ass handed to you, and ghost honestly just wanted to see how this played out.

soap quickly got into position, feet spread shoulder length, one slightly in front of the other, and both hands brought up. you stood across from him, and cracked your neck before quickly getting into the same position.

“are you sure you’re ready, soap?” you wanted to make sure this was absolutely something he wanted. there was no going back after, and you wanted him to at least have a little dignity.

he laughed.

he was ready.

price stood to the side, yelling out a go ahead. he, himself, also a little curious to see how this played out.

soap immediately lunged to your right side. sidestepping, you drove an elbow into his back. he lost balance, but quickly regained it and spun towards you. his lip twitched a bit, and his eyes narrowed. maybe this wasn’t going to plan, but he was confident he would win this. he tried to kick your leg out from under you, but he was too cocky and you caught on, jumping up slightly.

soap heavily relied on brute strength, but you were quicker. he threw a punch, only for you to duck and charge at his midsection, throwing him to the mat beneath you.

he thrust his hips up and quickly flipped you, so he was on top and pinning you to the mat.

you smirked, “i’m likin’ the view serg.”

soaps eyes widened, and his grip slightly went slack. not much. but, enough for you to get a hand loose and land a punch to his cheek.

using the momentum of the punch to your advantage, you quickly rolled the opposite direction of him and onto your knees. soap got up quicker than expected, throwing a punch to your side, and next you knew, you were back on the ground. back in the same position you were just in.

a sigh left your lips, but your eyes were glistening in satisfaction seeing a bruise forming on his jaw. a mischievous smile slowly grew on your face. soap’s eyes narrowed once more.

“wha- FUCK” with a swift knee to the groin, soap toppled over. you pounced on top of your sergeant and quickly threw him into a headlock.

“oh fuck!” gaz’s voice rang from somewhere to the side.

soap’s whines and gasps were loud, and the smile only grew on your face. hair falling in your face moving in and out with your heavy breaths.

“uncle! i’m tap- i’m tapping! you can STOP-!” soap was writhing and sputtering beneath you.

you let go of the man below you, and stood. hands on your hips, heavy breath, and a satisfied smile.

johnny lied there a moment, trying to catch is breath. opening his eyes, he sees your hand. you haul him to his feet and pat his back.

“are you okay serg.? didn’t mean to hurt ya too badly.” your voice held amusement, but it was sincere.

“bloody hell, johnny. they got ya good” ghost sauntered over and crossed his arms. you look over to see his eyes scanning you, a flash of approval ran over his eyes. you weren’t quite sure, but you thought you saw a small tug at his mask near his mouth.

sick, he thought you did well.

gaz and price made their way over, small smiles on their faces.

“ah, whatever. lets go again.”

“what? are you sure?”

“yeah, let’s go.”

soap lost every time. he also always had an excuse.

there was something in his eye.

he lost his footing.

he heard a bird overhead and wanted to see it.

you beat him every time, but you also managed to take a few hits yourself.

ghost and gaz continued to stand at the sidelines, but price walked off a bit ago. shaking his head and muttering to himself about ‘soap’s gonna get fucked up’ or something like that.

——————————————————————————

a/n: thank you sm for reading! again, i don’t ever write so i hope this satisfied you! i’m working on getting better at characteristic and really getting the boys’ right. criticism is always loved and wanted <3

[icy-gendango]

OFoolia

Fool Ophelia Homage for venomous-qwille <3333

[invadergrabass]

gals being pals

[north-noire]

You CANNOT tell me that Charlie didn’t name this dish after Michael from what happened in sister location

Sorry that this ask reply took so long to do! OH ABSOLUTELY. She would totally make it a joke recipe for the lols She would feel bad for laughing about it after Michael tells her what happened in the Sister Location bunker afterwards, but Michael doesn't really mind. He actually would probably joke about what he went through down there too, he finds it a better way of coping than fixating too hard on it.

[alecz-obssesionz]

Modern AU - ✨ Parents ✨

Couldn't resist to draw Hollow on that shirt, Grimm's one was only the perfect combo too + they're matching outfits

+BONUS BACKGROUND[TW: FLASHING LIGHTS, GLITTER SPARKLE]

[blood-grove]

(Pup) Kid stuck in tree

dog!ghost + child!reader

662 words

tw; none

summary; humans little blunt claws can get them anywhere (maybe we should buy locks or chop down trees)

God fucking damn it.

What is with his weird human thing and getting into places they shouldn't be.

First off, They fucking somehow ended up in the garage and on top of one of the highest shelves almost all of Nik's things strewn about on the floor all because Price had revoked some of there toys.

Another thing apparently humans even when there as young as Pup are very clever and are quick to find out where they hid the sweets he remember Gaz's tired expression in the early morning as he dragged them back to there room by the scruff Pup later on getting a scolding. And now Ghost felt like he should give up now,

Staring up into the tree that the fucking pup had gotten themselves into, How? He didn't fuckin' know but they were stuck whimpering like a newborn as he sighed trotting over.

"How the hell did you climb this.." Ghost groaned as he looked around the tree looking for some possible way they used there blunt little claws and flat feet to get up there. "I- I don't knoww-" You whined sniffling as you clung onto the thick branch refusing to look down trembling.

Ghost sighed heavily as he got a good look at where they were as he propped himself up on his hind legs front ones supporting himself against the tree taking a moment to consider his options,

He could one go and get anyone fucking else to deal with this,

Two leave them there (Heh),

And three have pity on the idiotic Pup and help them down..somehow.

Two sounds pretty good.

So why was he climbing the tree claws digging into the tough bark using the stronger branches to help his ascend pulling himself onto the branch they had clung too rolling his eyes ever so slightly flinching as they let go of the branch and clung onto me.

"T-Thank you!-"

"Don't thank me we haven't even gotten down.." "Oh"

Yeah to say the least he didn't plan this out well he had no idea how he'd guide them down maybe carry them? No they were almost as heavy as e was the added weight would make any grip he had.

To say the least he was thoroughly embarrassed as Gaz let up the self rising ladder, In other news Soap was also in the tree with them now daft bastard had gotten spooked his excuse for coming up and getting stuck as well (also for adding pressure to the branch Ghost doubt could hold much) was that we looked like two giant cats and not wanting a repeat of what happened back a few months ago he had to check first.

I think I may retire I'm getting to old for this shit Pup was at least more grateful than Soap both of them were basically children.

Thought it was nice to see a little drawing of him with a cape at his door the next morning, He tucked it away in his drawer and he stretched getting on with his 'absurd' early morning routine no one should be awake really other than Price but all he found was Pup in the main room asleep having clearly tried to stay awake long enough to see him if the several drawings on him were a clue.

Picking Pup up was relatively easy trying not to wake them as he carried them by the scruff back to there bed pulling the covers over them and the extra ones too the lack of fur always made them worry about the upcoming winter months they'd been having special clothes made for them of course but that was a surprise.

What also was a surprise was Pups arms wrapping around him gently mumbling about staying, Which he thought about and said no.

Laying down as they lightly hugged him it didn't take much for them to fall asleep entirely.

Maybe he could sleep in for another hour.

[bucketinyourwalls]

Air ghoul Falk ✨️ 🎹 🜁

[scribbyizhere]

Sunspot from GITM(@venomous-qwille )

[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!"

[iantojonesirl]

is it too much to ask for a well written patcap teacher au fic that is written both well and in character because i am struggling so hard