#mallard no first name

[writebackatya]

Both Gandra Dee and Jane strike me as the type of bird if someone like Lena or Gosalyn sassed back or was “disrespectful” to them they wouldn’t be angry in the slightest

They’d be like “Nah. This chick is going places. Keep up the disobedience. Also it’s cool if you swear in front of me, I ain’t a snitch”

[zoologica42]

A bird with a good name is the least grebe. If that grebe grebe'd any less there wouldn't be any grebe there, hence it is the least grebe possible without no grebe.

[a least grebe shown next to mallard duck] image credit: Richard Ditch -> https://richditch.wordpress.com/2013/01/22/maricopa-countys-first-least-grebe/

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

You Painted Me Golden

Dieter Bravo x Female Reader

Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Summary: “So, uh—you can tell me no, but would—do you think I can come see you for Christmas?” Your heart races, you grip the phone tighter while you wait for his answer. Warnings: pov switching, pining, fluff, comfort, smut, masturbation, getting caught masturbating by an ill-timed FaceTime, unprotected p in v sex, oral (f receiving), cream pie, aftercare, marijuana, alcohol, naming the concierge after That Thing You Do! Words: 9,250 (I know, it's a lot.)

A/N: This is a VERY long chapter, but a LOT happens and I love these two so much. Thank you to mine and @devineconjuring's 4,000 messages back and forth about them and all of her brainstorming help, there's a beautiful moment between the two of them that she thought of and I can't thank her enough. Also thank you to @schnarfer and @mothandpidgeon for helping their dear, kinda dumb Mallard with some thoughts and wording (DRUG COPS).

Previous Chapter Golden Girl Masterlist Masterlist

*** He tries to stifle a yawn. Call time isn’t until 9, but you’ve been staying up too late to talk to him the past few nights.

You sigh contentedly, his heart thrums faster as you look up at the stars allowing him to look at your beautiful face a little longer.

“God the stars are bright tonight,” you admire.

He glances up, settling his eyes on a twinkling star, he wonders if it’s the same one you’re seeing. He thinks to himself maybe if he stares hard enough, he’ll see the same exact sky you’re seeing.

“He’d never do this with me…” you sigh. “He found looking at the stars boring.”

His heart drops, Warren’s still poisoning your thoughts.

“How could the sky be boring? These stars are millions of years old… they never truly die… they scatter their elements into space creating new stars, planets and life—" he catches himself. “They never end… they recreate themselves and mold themselves into a new existence.”

You smile, your bright eyes looking at him, making his heart shatter like an exploding star.

“Exactly,” you say softly, a glimmer of hope threads through your voice.

His breath catches in his throat yet again swallowing down the words that need to be said.

“Dee?” you say barely above a whisper.

“Yeah?”

“I miss you.”

The edge of his mouth lifts in a shy smile. “I miss you too…”

His heart swells with an ache he never felt until he met you. He wants to reach through the screen and pull you close, to feel your warmth against him. But instead, he takes a deep breath and whispers, “I should probably get going, I gotta get ready, we’re filming in Bath, and it’s a three hour trip.”

“I’ve always wanted to go there,” you reply. The hint of disappointment in your voice makes his heart sink a little lower.

“Today, I'll mostly be sitting in a tent, waiting for my cue to recite a few lines of dialogue. There won't be much excitement happening, so you're not missing out on anything special. But one day, we’ll go and have fun together, Sweets.”

You smile and let out a small chuckle. “I’d love that.”

“Me too,” he softly says.

“Have a good day Dee.” “Have a good night Sweets.”

—-

You close your laptop and let out a heavy sigh, trying to ignore the empty feeling in your heart. The olive tree, adorned with twinkling lights that you carefully strung when you first moved in, glows and glistens in the cool night breeze. You love your backyard, full of the plants and flowers you nourish with your love and care. Warren used to care about the flowers that would bloom, he used to admire the vases full of them you’d place around your house. But then, he stopped. You thought it was you.

Another lonely night in your empty house after yet another long goodbye said to Dieter.

You pause in the kitchen, fingers tracing the smooth marble of your countertop. You begged Warren to let you have dark green cabinets, and he obliged. That was back when it felt like he wanted to make you happy. You chug the rest of your glass of wine, swallowing the sweet liquid down as you gaze at your damn green cabinets. They once represented compromise and shared dreams with Warren. Now they feel like a relic of something lost.

You remember when you first showed Warren this place, your mind alive with ideas on how to renovate and make the home your own. He was a hesitant at first, but your enthusiasm eventually convinced him. You were so excited as you walked through each room, planning out how you would decorate.

You spent days wearing overalls covered in paint learning how to use power tools and refinish hardwood floors. Warren indulged you at first, helping you choose paint colors and hang shelves, but as the years went by, his interest waned in both you and the house you shared. Just as the ghosts of your past life begin to haunt you, you think of Dieter and the way he’d always show his interest in everything you would do around the house. He would admire the new pieces of art you found or surprise you with a new vase he found while he was filming.

You set your empty wine glass in the sink with a soft clink and wander into the living room with Dieter’s words echoing in your mind.

"They never end... they recreate themselves and mold themselves into a new existence." You wonder if that's what you're doing now - scattering the elements of your old life with Warren to create something new.

A soft ping from your phone breaks the all-too-familiar silence. It’s Dieter.

Still thinking about those stars Sweet dreams

His day is only just beginning as your day is ending. Your mind goes through the familiar math of what time he’ll be able to talk again. 9 PM his time, 1 PM yours—along as filming doesn’t go over. It’s been three months.

Three months of distance and longing, of lawyer meetings and splitting of assets, ninety days of only wanting Dieter back next to you.

Three days after he left for London, Dieter tells you his assistant Court has found the best divorce lawyer, and he’s taking care of the bill.

Two weeks after he left for London, Dieter sends you a care package full of your favorite British snacks and a giant plush corgi that now sleeps next to you. You name it Stew, after Jimmy Stewart.

Three weeks after he left for London, you smoke a joint and watch DRUG COPS, the show that made Dieter a household name. You specifically choose the episode where his character brings home the cute girl from the bar and rails her against the wall. It’s been over a month since the last time you touched yourself and even longer since you had sex with Warren. By the time the episode’s credits roll, right after Dieter’s sex scene, your underwear is soaked with your arousal. The night can’t end like this, you need to see his possessive snarl again, so, you pick up the remote and rewind back to the scene. Your hand moves under your pajama pants and feels the wetness between your legs. Desire pools low in your belly when you touch yourself, watching as Dieter kisses down the woman’s neck, his large hands roaming her body. You imagine it’s you.

A soft moan escapes your lips when you stroke yourself, your fingers gliding easily through your slick. Onscreen, Dieter lifts the woman and presses her against the wall and kisses her, grinding his hips into hers. Years ago, you watched this episode with Warren, a cloud of shame existing over you at how turned on you were while watching your husband’s friend. It was almost as if he could sense it, his eyes occasionally flickering over to you while you pretended to be engrossed in your phone, only daring to look at the screen when Warren’s blue eyes weren’t on you. Now, nobody is watching you, you’re free to do whatever you want now… even if that’s rubbing tight circles around your clit while staring at the screen. Your fingers move faster, pressing down harder, chasing the building feeling in your core as you watch Dieter thrust into the actress on screen, his muscular back flexing with each snap of his hips. You imagine what the weight of his body pressing into you would feel like, the scent of him filling your nostrils as he nuzzles into your neck, the sound of his voice whispering filthy things in your ear with his deep voice.

A familiar pressure you haven’t felt in a long time starts to build low in your abdomen as you throw your head back against the couch cushions, your eyes fluttering closed. You can almost feel Dieter’s fingers stroking you.

“Fuck, Dee,” you whimper, your hips lifting off the couch. You’re home alone, you can scream… so you do. “Fuck! Dee!” you shout as your orgasm builds.

And just as you’re about to cum for him—your phone rings.

Dieter Bravo Facetime Video

Fuck.

You grab the remote, pausing the episode as your hand pulls out of your underwear and pick up the phone. You look—well—you look like you were just a couple strokes away from an orgasm.

You take a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart as you plaster a calm look across your face. With a slightly trembling finger, you accept the FaceTime call. Dieter's handsome face fills the screen, his brow instantly furrowing with concern at his first look.

"Morning Sweets, you alright? You look a little—overwhelmed," he says.

"Y-yeah, I'm fine," you stammer, hoping he can't see the sheen of sweat on your skin or your pupils blown wide with arousal. "Just got done with a workout."

His eyes narrow slightly as he studies your face. "A workout, huh?" There's a hint of teasing in his tone. “At 11 PM?”

You laugh nervously, shifting on the couch. The movement causes your robe to slip open wider, revealing more of your heated skin. Dieter's gaze zeroes in on the exposed flesh.

Something shifts in his expression, his eyes darkening as realization dawns. “So—you workout in your robe?” he asks, his eyebrows rising, his voice is low and rough, sending a fresh wave of desire coursing through you.

“What? No, I—” you start to protest, but the words die in your throat as he leans closer to the camera.

"I think," he says slowly, his voice dropping an octave, "that you were doing a different kind of workout." His eyes bore into yours through the screen, intense and knowing.

You nod, your stare intense.

“Well, uh—with that. I’ll let you go. Call me back when you’re done. I don’t have to leave for set until 9—I’m going to go get my shower and also—work out,” he says with a wink.

A month after he left for London, Dieter has his team deliver four giant skeletons to decorate your yard with after you mentioned you always wanted one but Warren hated them.

On Halloween you hand out candy alone, just like the few years before, but this year the solitude echoes louder each time you close the door.

Six weeks after he left for London, Dieter gulps and gently asks you if you could put a robe on while you’re FaceTiming with him… he’s too distracted by the thin white fabric of your sleep shirt and the glimpses it gives him of the curve of your breasts. You oblige, but fall asleep that night thinking about the way his eyes refused to look away.

On Thanksgiving, you decline invitations from a few of your friends, opting to spend it with your parents up north, where they tiptoe around you and act extra gentle, like the first time you got your heart broken in high school. 

Ten weeks after he left for London, you climb the ladder to your attic, haul out the giant box, and put up your 12’ tall Christmas tree. You set it up and decorate it all by yourself—with a little help from a bottle of wine.

You look at your Christmas tree now, sitting in the corner of your living room, now complete with the pretty ornaments Dieter sent you from your favorite store in London. You can’t imagine spending the holiday with anybody else but him. It’s been three months. You don’t know how much longer you can take it.

You’ve just hung up with him, but now you feel quite brave. Loneliness will sometimes do that to you. So, you pick up your phone and FaceTime Dieter again.

“Hey, long time no talk,” he says with a wink.

“So, uh—you can tell me no, but would—do you think I can come see you for Christmas?”

Your heart races, you grip the phone tighter while you wait for his answer.

His face lights up, a slow grin lifting his lips. “I would never tell you no. In fact, hold on.” He moves through his hotel room, before sitting down at his desk. “Take a look.”

He opens his laptop, and the screen illuminates, displaying a list of flights from Los Angeles to London a week before Christmas.

Tears well in your eyes at the realization that he wants to be with you just as much as you want to be with him.

“I was going to ask you…” he smiles, “I just didn’t know if you would want—”

“I do,” you interrupt your heart fluttering. “I really do.”

“Amazing,” he smiles. “Let’s book it and begin the countdown.”

—-

He won’t be here to welcome you. He knows his schedule is solid, there hasn’t been a day he’s gotten home from set early in years. It kills him, but he knows you understand… you always do.

He orders a giant bouquet of red geraniums and places it on the table in the foyer, it’ll be the first thing you see when you arrive.

He wants everything to be perfect. He can’t bear the thought of you arriving and this hotel suite feeling anything less than a sanctuary for you.

Soon, the two of you will be breathing the same air and close enough to touch. He can hardly believe that you’re traveling almost half way across the globe to stay with him. He fluffs the pillows on the couch, trying to buzz off the nervous energy before his car arrives.

You’re high above the ground right now, flying in first class, something you insisted you didn’t need when he surprised you with the ticket. He would never settle for anything less than the best for you.

He wonders if you’re listening to one of the playlists he made you, if you’re reading a book that makes your nose scrunch up in thought, or if you’re abuzz with nervous energy like he is right now.

He imagines your smile when you first see the geraniums, he can almost hear your laughter ringing across the walls when you see the WELCOME HOME card he’s left propped up against the vase.

He prays he remembers his lines and marks while on set today. The less he screws up, the sooner he’s done with the scenes, and the sooner he’s here, finally back with his golden girl.

—-

You’re seated in the plush backseat of a sleek black car, gliding through the busy streets of London after an eleven hour flight. The city you love passes by in a blur, but you barely notice, your heart is racing as the car gets closer to the hotel. After months of longing and late-night and early morning calls, you’ll finally be with Dieter soon.

As you step out of the car at The Mandarin Hotel in Hyde Park and look up at the tall, brick historic building, the realization hits you that finally, you’re going to walk through the same door as Dieter, and soon, you’ll see his bright eyes in person, no longer miles away on a screen.

You feel like a movie star as the attendants swarm you and grab your bags. Dieter’s concierge, Lamar, greets you with a warm handshake and leads you inside, leading you through the lobby full of gold and jewel tones glimmering in warm chandelier light. You’ve stayed at some beautiful hotels before but this is the most gorgeous place you’ve been.

The elevator ride is quick, and when the doors open, you’re greeted by Dieter’s door.

As you approach the suite, your heart races with excitement. Lamar unlocks the door, stepping aside and gestures for you to enter first.

The first thing that catches your eye is the bouquet of geraniums on the foyer table. You let out a small chuckle at the sight of Dieter’s messy handwriting on the WELCOME HOME card propped up next to the vase. Lamar leads you to the spacious living area full of rich colors and plush furniture. It’ll make the perfect home for the next ten days.

“And where would you like your bags miss?” Lamar asks as you peer out the large french doors that lead to a terrace with a view of Hyde Park.

How do you tell Lamar that you don’t know? That you’re not sure if Dieter wants you with him in his room, or in the guest room?

“Oh, just leave them in the guest room,” you answer, playing it safe. “I’ll take care of them from there. Thank you.”

A bellhop wheels in a golden cart stacked with your bags as Lamar shows you the large kitchen and dining room.

“If you should need any groceries or anything else, please contact the concierge desk, we’re more than happy to help.”

You spot a crystal bowl filled with Kit Kats and can't help but smile as you grab one before leading Lamar out and thanking him and his team for all their help.

As the door clicks shut behind you, the exhaustion from your long flight hits you, along with the excitement of finally seeing Dieter.

You walk over to the table, sticking your nose into the bouquet of flowers and inhaling their sweet scent before picking up Dieter’s card and reading it.

Sweets, "Aren't the geraniums pretty, Professor?" Can’t believe you’re finally here. Make yourself at home and have a cuppa tea. (Look! I’m British!) I’ll be back soon, D

You still have a few hours until you’re expecting Dieter back. The large bathtub in the guest bathroom calls your name.

You slip into the guest bathroom and turn on the faucet, watching the water flow into the deep tub. From your toiletry bag, you grab your favorite bath oil and unscrew the lid, pouring it into the water.

Your clothes drop to the floor, creating a pile on the shiny marble tiles. The warm water instantly soothes your tense muscles as you sink into the tub. Leaning back against the smooth porcelain, you let out a sigh of relaxation and close your eyes.

As your cocooned in the warmth and solitude of your bath, you wonder what Dieter’s doing now. You can only imagine how frustrated he is to not be here with you. You hope it’s not affecting his line reciting.

You wonder what it’ll be like when you see him after three months of daily FaceTime calls, of caring for each other thousands of miles away, of slowly falling even more in love with now your best friend.

You’ve spent every day getting to know each other even more, his big heart and support always filling the gaps of your loneliness. But now, here in London, the distance is nearly gone. Only a couple more hours until you’re reunited.

You finish your bath and wrap yourself in one of the plush robes hanging from a golden hook.

Your bare feet pad against the plush rug as you settle on the large couch in the living room. You’re far too tired to change into anything else. You’ll watch an episode of The Simpsons and then get changed to greet Dieter. You must stay up to combat the damn jet lag.

—-

It feels like his heart is going to burst out of his chest when he unlocks the door and swings it open. He hears the faint sound of the TV in the living room. You’re home.

“Swee—” your name stops in his throat when he gets his first sight of you in person after three long months. He forgets how to breathe when he takes in every detail of your sleeping figure: the way your hair spills across the cushion, the soft rise and fall of your chest, the smooth skin of your chest revealed to him from your robe shifting in your slumber. His mouth waters when he sees the curve of your breast.

He quietly steps closer, watching you, trying to allow the image of you to take place in his memory—the curve of your lips, the way the tv shadows dance across your skin, the soft skin of your exposed thigh. You look so perfect, like you’ve always been here for him.

“Sweets,” he says quietly as he inches closer and kneels, his heart pulling him to you.

You slightly awaken at the sound of his voice, your eyes fluttering open before they widen in disbelief and joy.

“Dieter,” you breathe, your voice hoarse with sleep.

He’s no longer just looking at you through a tiny screen; you’re here, flesh and blood and warmth, right in front of him. His golden girl.

“You’re here,” you say as you sit up and stretch your arms above your head, the plush robe shifting even more.

“I am. And you’re here.”

“I missed you,” you confess.

“I missed you too. C-can I hug you? I need to make sure I’m not imagining you.”

You giggle as you nod. “I’m real Dee.”

He smiles wide as he ambles up the couch and pulls you close to his side, wrapping his arms around you and holding you close. He breathes in your sweet scent of almond and honey. You smell so fucking good and now you’re here with him.

“Well, I was going to take you out for dinner, but then you’d have to change out of that robe,” he smirks.

—-

Dieter sits across from you at the dining room table in his suite, now also clad in a fluffy robe to match you.

Frank Ocean softly croons through the speakers as you take a final bite of your sticky toffee pudding. You feel like you’re in heaven, the past couple of months and the loneliness and heartbreak all seem worth it for this perfect moment.

“Where are your bags?” Dieter asks sparking a joint, obviously too famous and rich for rules posted on the back of the door of his luxury hotel suite.

“They’re in the guest room,” you casually respond as you watch him exhale a cloud of smoke.

“Oh,” he pauses, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “You’re welcome to stay in my room… with me.”

“I didn’t want to overstep,” you reply as you take the joint from his outstretched hand and take a hit. His eyes soften as he watches you and he leans back in his chair.

“Overstep? Sweets, this is your home for the next couple of weeks. It’s not overstepping, it’s where I want you to be… if it’s where you want to be.”

His warmth wraps around you even more than the robe you wear.

“It is,” you softly respond.

“I’ve been counting down the days until I could wake up next to you again,” he confesses, leaning forward with his elbows resting on the table.

“Then I guess we need to move my luggage.”

—-

He gives you the top two drawers of his dresser, he wonders if you noticed that they were already cleaned out for you. He hangs your sweaters up next to his clothes in his closet, he loves how his clothes look next to yours.

Your toothbrush is now next to his, your favorite lotion sits on the nightstand, and your purse sits on the console table next to the door.

For the next ten days he gets to pretend like you live together, here in this fancy London hotel suite. He almost suggests to you going to bed early, only so he can hold you close.

“So,” you say, zipping up your suitcase. “What kind of cartoons does this hotel get?”

He grins. “I’ve become an expert at British cartoon schedules.”

“Great!” you say, pulling down the comforter and climbing into his bed. “Is it okay if we watch them in here?”

Once again, you’ve read his mind. He smiles as he gets in next to you. You take advantage of the bed dipping and scoot next to him, laying your head on his chest.

“Is this okay?” you ask. “I’ve missed this.”

He wonders if you can feel the beat of his heart thrum for you. “It’s more than okay. I’ve missed it too.”

—-

The hum of the shower filters through the hotel room as you lay in bed, thankful that Britain gets episodes of Bob’s Burgers.

You catch glimpses of Dieter’s shadow through the frosted bathroom door as he moves about. It all feels so intimate and yet familiar, like you’ve always belonged right here with him.

Exhaustion weighs down your body as you settle deeper into the luxurious bed. Finally, you’re with Dieter again.

The door creaks open, your heartbeat quickens when he finally steps out, clad in only a pair of low slung pajama pants. His golden skin gleams in the changing shadows being cast from the tv. His hair is slicked back, his handsome face that you’ve missed so much is on full display as he lifts the blanket and slides in beside you.

“Hey,” he says softly, a tired smile stretching across his lips as he leans on one elbow looking down at you with searching eyes.

“Hi,” you whisper. He smells so good and fresh—like eucalyptus and citrus.

“I’m really glad you’re here.”

“I am too.”

His smile fades for a moment, replaced by a look of something deeper, a look that mirrors your own.

You scoot closer, your bodies gently touching beneath the covers. The warmth of him seeps into you, the last remnants of loneliness from back home dissipating as you fall asleep, finally, in his arms.

—-

You softly breathe in your sleep, he can hardly believe you’re finally here. The soft rise and fall of your chest, the way your lashes flutter against your cheeks, the gentle sounds you let out as you slumber. Your lips are parted, the same lips he’s been craving to kiss since he left your home three months ago. The high moonlight shines in from the large windows that lead to the large terrace where he would often sit and miss you. Now, you’re here… finally and it all feels like a dream.

The loneliness was often too much for him, causing him to decline invitations to parties from friends or dinners with co-stars just to spend an hour talking to you.

Everything feels right as you cuddle in closer next to him in your sleep. The ache of longing has now transformed into something softer and warm. He brushes his fingers lightly over your arm, tracing invisible patterns on your skin, careful not to wake you. He loves watching you sleep, you look so peaceful, free from the worry and doubt that your soon-to-be ex-husband has poisoned you with. Just being near you makes him feel complete; he feels like the luckiest man on earth, having his golden girl back in his arms.

He closes his eyes and drifts to sleep, now no longer having to dream of holding you. 

—-

“Sweets.” A whisper of a deep voice against your ear gently rumbles you awake. “I gotta get going.”

Your eyes open to Dieter, a soft smile lifts his face in the early morning light. It’s the most beautiful thing to wake up to.

"Oh,” you yawn. “I’ll walk you out.”

You lift off the covers and take his outstretched hand, his fingers curling around yours as he gently pulls you to your feet.

He holds your hand all the way to the door of the suite, before turning to you, reluctance weighing his features.

“I don’t want to go, you just got here,” he whines.

You chuckle, straightening the collar of his jacket. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

“Promise?”

“I promise,” you assure. “Now go.”

He sighs before leaning in and leaving a kiss against your forehead. He slightly pulls away, his dark brown eyes staring into yours before they flicker down to your lips. You take a breath, inhaling the scent of him.

HIs eyes linger on your lips, his breath warm against your skin. Time slows as he leans in, closing the distance between you. His lips brush yours softly, tentative and questioning. You respond, pressing closer, and suddenly, just like that, after all the years of pent up longing and stolen glances…

His mouth captures yours fully and urgently. The plush lips you’ve imagined kissing again cover yours. His hands you’ve dreamed of feeling on your body come up to cradle your face, his body you’ve craved to feel backs yours against the wall. His tongue seeks entrance to your mouth and you allow it, parting your lips with a soft gasp. He groans, the sound vibrating through your body as you thread your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer.

His lips move against yours, his hands sliding down to your waist, his thick fingers splaying against your back as he pulls you flush against him. A soft moan escapes your lips as his tongue sweeps across yours. His stubble rasps against your skin as he trails kisses along your jaw and down your neck. Your fingers tighten around the waves of his hair as he nips and sucks at your pulse. You tug at his hair, a low groan escapes from his throat as he kisses his way back to your lips.

Every lick of his tongue into your mouth, every shared moan, every touch of his skin against yours, this is what you’ve wanted ever since that first night, ever since the first time his lips met yours in that dim dive bar.

A sharp ring breaks through your kiss. Dieter’s phone rings insistently nearby on the table by the door. His body tenses against yours before pulling back reluctantly.

“I can’t believe this,” he mutters under his breath, glancing at the offending device.

“You should get it,” you suggest softly, your heart sinking.

With a resigned sigh, he releases you and steps towards the table. He swipes to answer, you watch him, marveling at how close he is, how real all of this feels. Finally.

“Yeah, I know, I’ll be down right now,” he says into the phone, grumbling as he hangs up without a salutation.

He turns to you, his eyes rounding in apology. “I’m so sorry Sweets, the car service has been waiting for me.”

“I know. Go. I’ll be here.”

His eyes bat between the door and you, before he sighs, walks over, and grabs your chin leaving a searing kiss against your lips.

“I’ll be back by 7, go down to the spa, spend the day pampering yourself, charge it to the room.”

You smile, leaning in to give him another kiss. “I will. Thank you. Now, go, before they call again.”

“Bye Sweets, have a good day.”

—-

The door clicks behind him as he steps out into the hallway, he can’t hide the huge smile on his face as he makes his way to the elevator. Your lips, goodness, your lips, your sleep rumpled face, your body underneath his shirt, he’s never seen a more beautiful sight in his life.

The elevator door closes as he leans against the polished golden metal, his heart still racing with the remnants of your kiss. He closes his eyes, savoring the taste of you still on his lips.

The elevator descends to the lobby, he feels the distance stretch between you, but it’s different now, this distance is hopeful and wishing, the type of distance that he knows is only temporary.

He wanted to stay and never leave you, but duty calls louder than desire, and he knows this role is huge for him.

The elevator dings softly as it reaches the ground floor and Dieter steps out into the bustling lobby. Lamar greets him with a smile and leads him to the waiting car.

“Is there anything you need today sir?” Lamar asks.

“Just make sure my girl is taken care of,” Dieter catches himself as he calls you his girl. “Everything gets charged to my room.” “Of course Mr. Bravo,” Lamar nods with a knowing smile as he closes the car door.

—-

You do as Dieter tells you. You spend your first day in London treating yourself to a day at the fancy hotel spa. Once you’re relaxed and pampered, you take yourself out for afternoon tea at Rosebery, the bright and airy cafe in the hotel. You’re used to taking yourself out to meals, enjoying the peaceful solitude of your own company and a book, but today feels different. Later Dieter will be back and peaceful solitude will be traded for peaceful companionship.

The whole hotel is gorgeous, you truly feel special here, like a character from one of the classic movies you've watched a million times. You've been whisked away to another country by the handsome, ultra famous movie star who you think you’re falling in love with—and you think he might just feel the same way about you.

—-

His driver drives down the same streets and drops him off at the same entrance after another long day on set, except now it’s different. This fancy hotel has been his home for the past three months. Sure, he has a stocked fridge, a comfortable bed, and his clothes in the closet… but it was still missing you. Now, as the doorman opens his door, he feels like he’s at home, because now, he’s only ten floors away from you.

He practically jogs through the lobby to catch the next elevator.

Eight floors away. Six floors away. Four floors away. One floor away.

Home.

He makes his way across the hall to the door he’s opened every single day he’s been here. The vase of geraniums still sit on the entranceway table overflowing with pretty crimsom blooms. He blinks twice when he sees you awake on the couch, looking at your phone.

He forgers how to breathe when you look up towards him with a smile. The sight of you, after a long day, sends warmth pooling through his whole body… better than any drug or drink he’s ever had. The lamp near you casts your body in a golden hue, he swears you look like a golden goddess.

“Hey you,” you say, a cosy grin spread across your lips. “Welcome back.”

You stand to meet him half way. The space between you quickly disappears as he strides over, enveloping you in a tight embrace. He feels your body melt against him.

"I missed you,” he murmurs into your hair, his voice low.

“I missed you too,” you whisper back.

He takes a step back to admire you, taking in the sight of you—your face fresh and dewy from your spa day. “You look incredible,” he says, a hint of awe in his voice.

You shyly look down. “Thank you.”

He reaches out and gently holds your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. “Beautiful,” he whispers, licking his lips and leaning forward.

He kisses you again. He can’t resist the softness of your lips, the feel of your tongue against his, the little sounds you make… it’s all he’s thought about today. Three times now, he’s kissed you. He feels a sense of possessiveness as you let a small sigh out. He knew it all those years ago, that one he has tasted the sweetness of your lips, no one will ever compare.

His hands travel down to your waist, lightly brushing against the ties of your robe. He wants to pull them apart so badly, but he resists. He pulls back, breathless and slightly dazed. Your head finds its home against his chest. “So, how was your day?” he asks.

“Lovely, wonderful, super relaxing,” you reply, lifting your chin to meet his eyes again. “The spa was amazing and I felt so spoiled. It felt… surreal.”

“Surreal is good,” he replies with a smirk.

“I like surreal,” you respond.

“Oh! Look at my manicure!” you say, stepping back and proudly holding out your hands for his inspection.

He chuckles softly, tracing a finger tip along one of your nails. “They look like the sky.”

“Yep! And the stars glow in the dark,” you respond proudly.

His heart swells at how happy and relaxed you look. There have been far too many days that he would worry about you, hoping you’re happy and smiling, never quite sure of how you’re feeling. But today, as you stand before him, glowing with a wide smile on your face, he knows that you are truly happy in this moment.

“I’m starving. Do you want to just order room service or do you want to go out tonight?”

“If we stay here, I can keep my robe on,” you sheepishly respond.

“Then go ahead and order the food while I’ll go change into mine,” he says with a wink.

He hasn’t felt this happy in so long.

—-

Another delicious meal, another delicious bowl of sticky toffee pudding, another shared joint between the two of you.

“God,” you happily sigh pushing the empty dessert plate away from you. “I could eat that for every single meal.”

He chuckles, his head shaking back and forth, the way he looks at you is foreign, like you truly are the center of his world. A look you haven’t seen in years.

You’re halfway across the world from your comfortable dream home filled with all of your furniture, plush blankets, and treasures—yet right here, across the table from Dieter, feels more like home than your house has in years.

“I’ve been thinking, and tell me no if you don’t want to, but I think we should watch The Philadelphia Story tonight. Just so we can have a happy memory with it. But again you don’t have to do i—”

“That sounds amazing, Dee, I love it,” you say.

You realize you’re madly in love with him as he rises from the table and offers his hand to you with a doting smile.

—-

“No, you're made out of flesh and blood. That's the blank, unholy surprise of it. You're the golden girl, Tracy.” Dieter recites the lines along to the movie, drawing your attention. “Full of life and warmth and delight. What goes on? You've got tears in your eyes.”

He looks over at you and… you do have tears in your eyes.

The look on your face… your wide eyes, wet with tears you have yet to shed, your mouth agape as you blink at him, the small smile that’s beginning to lift your lips.

He wants to tell you everything, he feels like he finally can now after years of staying silent and trying to escape the feelings he holds for you—but first he needs to know one thing.

“Do you still love him?” he asks, shocking himself at his earnest question.

“No,” you shake your head. “I don’t think I’ve loved him for awhile, honestly. Do you still love Anika?”

“No,” he mimics your head shake. “I don’t know if I ever did.”

“Then why did you marry her?”

“Because,” he swallows ready to bare his soul to you. “I couldn’t have you.”

He watches you process his words, your brow furrowing slightly as a wave of understanding washes over you. The truth lingers in the air poignant and thick. He feels his heart constrict at the thought of what could have been—what should have been. The ache he’d always feel when Warren would touch you, kiss you, hold you. He leans closer, compelled by the invisible force that draws him into your orbit.

“You’re my golden girl sweets,” he admits, a tremor in his voice as he reaches for your hand, threading his fingers through yours. “Ever since that night in that dive bar.”

His thumb brushes over your knuckles, as you search his face, a tear falling down your cheek. “For that long?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nods, wiping your tear away with the pad of his thumb. “For that long,” he responds with a shy smile.

He doesn’t even have time to second guess his confession, before you leap on him, straddling his body and pressing your lips against his. He embraces you, reveling in the feeling of your body against his. His body feels aflame, your need for him igniting the long smoldering burn for you within him.

You let out a soft moan as your hands slide under his robe, eagerly exploring his chest. He’s never felt your touch this way, his hips tilt up towards the heat of you still concealed by the fluffy fabric. You meet his hips, grinding down on top of him.

Ever since he first saw you, he’s wondered what this would feel like, what you would sound like, how your body would feel against his. He pulls away slightly, breathless, searching your eyes seeking reassurance after a decade of wanting you. “Are you sure?” he asks, vulnerability etched on his face.

“Dee,” you pant, “I want you.”

“God,” he says, his head tilting back to hit the couch. “That’s all I’ve needed to hear.”

You lean forward against him, leaving kisses along his neck up towards his jawline, your tongue darting out to lick a line across the strong angle of it to his mouth.

Your tongue finds his as you melt against him even more, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, erasing every distance that has ever laid between you. The only thing that lies between him and your naked body is a robe.

He pulls away, sitting up and helping you to stand. He quirks an eyebrow up at you asking for silent permission as he grabs the tie of your robe. You nod with a sweet smile, and as the robe loosens, your skin is slowly revealed to him. His breath leaves his body when you shrug the fabric off, the robe pooling behind you. His golden girl now stands bare before him, only clad in pair of dark blue panties. The glow of the lamp behind you lights your skin. You’re ethereal, like a goddess he’d pray to, backlit by the golden glow. You are his golden girl.

“Fuck…” he murmurs, his robe barely covering his hardness for you as you step towards him. There have been too many dreams to count like this that he’s woken up from, hard and leaking. He pinches his arm.

“Huh?” you ask, a look of shock crossing your face.

“I’m just making sure this is real,” he responds.

You giggle, as you settle yourself back on his lap.

“It’s real,” you whisper against his mouth before leaving a kiss against it and reaching down to untie the ties of his robe. He recognizes the look on your face as he shuffles out of the robe… want, need, lust.

Finally, your lace meets his cotton. It used to be circumstances and empty marriages separating you, now it’s just two pieces of thin fabric.

You press your body against him with desperate force, pushing over the boundary long since established by regret. For once, he feels like he’s not just holding onto the dream of you, but living it—a reality where he can finally hold you near and tell you everything he wants to say.

He wants you, he needs you, he’s thought of this so many times before—but not here on this couch.

“Baby—” he says against your lips, catching your attention. “Bedroom.”

You let out a frustrated groan, your hair tousled and lips swollen. You scoot off him and stand, panting for air with wild eyes. You’re the most gorgeous woman he’s ever seen.

—-

With your fingers intertwined, you lead him into the bedroom. Your heart is racing, you haven’t been with anybody since Warren—and now, here in London, you’re leading Dieter fucking Bravo to the bed. As soon as you both step past the threshold, he turns and presses your overheated skin against the cool wall. His lips meet yours in a desperate kiss, his strong hands gripping your hips and pulling you closer to him.

Every touch lights something within you that you didn’t know existed before. Your head falls back as he trails kisses down your neck, nipping at your skin as he moves lower and lower.

“Dieter,” you moan, your fingers tangling in his hair as he moves lower, his lips trailing down your collarbone towards your chest.

“Baby,” he whispers before forming his mouth over your breast and lightly sucking on your nipple. Not Sweets, not Golden Girl, just baby.

His tongue explores the familiar lines of your body like a map he’s memorized yet never navigated. He moves to the floor, kissing down your stomach, past the thin strap of your underwear to the birthmark on your hip shaped like a comet.

He looks up at you, big brown eyes lit with adorations stare into yours. There’s a look you can name, it’s the look you’ve secretly wanted ever since you met him.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, his voice thick with awe before he kisses against your birthmark and traces the shape of it with his tongue.

His hands slide up your ass to the waistband of your underwear, with one easy movement, he pulls the lace down your legs, leaving you bare for him.

“Goddamn baby,” he whispers, voice full of awe, his hot breath tickling your skin. “Perfect, I knew it.”

You gasp as he pushes you flush against his mouth, his lips finding their way between your thighs, inhaling the scent of you, his eyes fluttering shut as his tongue finally tastes you.

You moan loudly, arching into him. His hands grip your thighs, holding you steady for him. A sound escapes him, a mix between a groan and sigh.

“Fuck baby,” he whispers against you.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, urging him closer and deeper.

“Dee,” you gasp as he kisses and sucks against your clit. He savors you, worships you, as if every dash and flick of his tongue against you imparts the knowledge of how he’s always felt about you.

Your legs begin to tremble, your hands gripping against his hair tighter to help you stay upright. His tongue swirls and teases against you, his fingertips digging into the soft flesh of your thigh. Lately, your fantasies have been filled with thoughts of how his plush lips would feel against you, how his tongue would taste you, and now that you have it, it’s everything you wanted it to be.

You gaze down at him, tension coiling in your belly and goosebumps prickling across your skin. He feels your eyes on him and looks up at you with hungry, desperate eyes, groaning against you. His brows knit together in concentration as he explores every inch of you with his tongue, each stroke feeling like a deep confession against your pussy.

You pull against his hair, catching his attention, his eyes wide and mouth glistening.

“Bed,” you plead.

“Okay baby,” he nods before standing and giving you a kiss that leaves the taste of you on your lips.

He leads you to the bed, his large hand in yours, gently guiding you.

With every step a new memory of him all those years ago flood your mind. He was the charming young actor who used to be your husband's best friend. Yet, there was always a spark between you two that seemed to ignite whenever your eyes met. It's been far too long, and you've endured too much sadness in your loveless marriage. Now, as you lay on the soft sheets of a luxurious hotel bed in London, there is a sense of liberation and anticipation. After months of taking care of yourself and years of longing for Dieter...you lie naked on the bed, ready and eagerly waiting for him to take you.

He reaches over to the bedside table and pulls out a box of condoms.

“Dee?” you ask, as curiosity gets the best of you.

“When’s the last time y-you—”

“Not since before you called me that night,” he reveals, his brown eyes deep as they stare into yours. Your heart races at his confession; all this time you assumed he was still sleeping around, what with him being a famous Hollywood star and all. “I’ve been waiting for you baby.”

“Dee, I have an IUD,” you smile.

“Amazing,” he grins, tossing the box behind him before hopping onto the bed and smothering you with his body.

He leaves a trail of playful, wet kisses across your face, each one eliciting a giddy giggle. You haven’t made this noise or felt this light and carefree in years - and you’re naked in bed with the best man of your wedding. The irony is not lost on you.

He pulls away, the playfulness of the moment quickly replaced by lust when you feel his hardness pressed against you. Only one more layer to go until he’s fully exposed to you.

“Off,” you say, tugging at the cotton of his boxers.

He rises to kneel, his hard cock straining against the fabric.

“Be my guest baby,” he grins, a playful glint in his eyes.

You bite your lip, eyes locked with his as you reach for the waistband of his boxers, slowly tugging them down, revealing his cock.

“Oh my god,” you breathe out, unable to stop yourself from admiring how beautiful his cock his.

He tilts his head down and watches as your hand swipes across the wide tip of him, collecting the bead of precum and smearing it across the head. He’s so thick.

“Fucking hell,” he groans. “I can’t believe this.”

He pinches himself again, earning a giggle from you as you admire his naked body.

Broad everywhere and golden skinned… you can’t believe you ever wanted anybody else.

Dieter’s lips find yours again, kissing you deeply as his hands roam over your body, his fingers trailing down your stomach, achingly close to where you need to feel him the most.

“Dee,” you gasp against his lips, arching into his touch. His fingers swipe against the wetness you’ve been spilling out for him before slipping one inside, eliciting a long, low moan from you.

With each slow stroke, he watches your reaction, a glimmer of fascination illuminating his eyes as you arch your back and gasp.

“God, baby, you’re so wet,” he whispers against your neck, his free hand gently squeezing your breast before teasing your nipple with his thumb and forefinger.

You rock against him, hips meeting his hand, needing more from him.

“Need you Dee,” you whimper, as his thumb swirls against your clit.

“I need you too,” he growls, removing his hand and positioning himself at your entrance.

Your hips arch, inviting him in. You’re gasping for air, years and years of anticipation, of an innocent crush, of wanting somebody you thought you could never have and now, now, he enters you with one swift thrust, filling you completely, stretching you in ways you’d forgotten possible. Finally, you’re connected to him in such an intimate way. He moves slowly at first, gently rocking in and out. Your hands grip onto his broad shoulders, nails digging into his golden skin as his thrusts slowly and achingly hit deeper.

“Fuck,” he pants, his eyes squeezed shut, trying to hold back the barrage of sensations flooding through him. “You’re so tight.”

His steady strokes meeting with your gasps and moans echo across the large hotel room. Your body moves with his, your hands roaming across his chest before wrapping your fingers around his fluffy hair.

“Dee,” you moan, unable to form any other words as every nerve in your body is lit by him.

He leans forward, sealing his mouth over yours, swallowing every sound you moan for him.

“For so long,” he whispers against your lips. “Wanted this for so long.”

The heat between you builds until it’s almost unbearable, you’re getting closer and closer to the edge.

“Cum for me baby,” Dieter strains. “I want to feel you cum for me.”

He thrusts in and out of you slow and steady and with one final thrust, your orgasm blasts through you like an exploding star. You’re a supernova colliding down to earth and shattering into molten golden bits. Your walls clench around Dieter’s cock, as you cry his name over and over.

Your body shudders beneath him, fingernails digging into his back, your legs wrapping tightly around his waist.

He gazes down at you in awe, watching your face contort in ecstasy, feeling your walls flutter and clench around him, drawing him in deeper.

"That's it, baby," he coos. "Cum for me. You're so beautiful."

He kisses you as he edges himself closer, your body feels as if it’s still glowing as he pounds into your pussy.

“Fuck, I knew iiit,” Dieter grits as he follows soon after, his body trembling above you, a cascade of warmth flooding inside as he releases himself with a deep, primal groan.

You’re lost in each other, suspended in this one moment—a universe now made of your shared breaths and gentle kisses.

Dieter’s weight presses gently on you, a pulse of a feeling you haven’t felt in so long beats through your heart.

He kisses your forehead before rolling off of you. You turn on your side to face him, studying his features in the low light. The gentle wave of his hair, the slight curl of his lips as he drifts in and out of bliss. A smile creeps onto your face, a mix of disbelief and joy.

He rises on shaky legs, his dark brown hair tousled, a dopey grin on his face. “Be right back.”

You giggle at the surreality when he moves across the room with his naked body on full display. The muscles of his back flex as he walks, and you take the opportunity to admire the curve of his ass. Damn. He’s perfect.

He disappears into the bathroom and you hear the soft rush of water from the faucet. Damn. He’s thoughtful.

He’s no longer just your friend or the famous movie star. He’s now something so much more to you, especially as he returns, naked and unabashed, moving towards you with such tender purpose.

A warm damp towel rests in his hand as he approaches the bed. The mattress dips slightly under his weight as he sits on the edge of the bed.

“Spread for me baby,” he gently says.

You’re not even shy as his eyes roam your naked body still loose and glowing from your orgasm.

You spread your legs and he gulps. “Amazing,” he says with reverence as his cum drips out of you. He gently cleans you, his brows knit in concentration, his brown eyes focused on the task.

He tosses the rag on top of his boxers before sliding back into bed next to you. His warm body presses against yours as he wraps his strong arms around you, pulling you close.

His earring glistens in the soft light of the bedside lamp. It beckons you, but now, you can finally touch it with zero fear. Your finger traces the golden shape of it, before trailing down to the stubble on his jaw. He turns his head, pressing a soft kiss to your palm.

“Surreal is good,” you echo his words from earlier.

“Mm,” he hums, his big brown eyes looking at you with deep affection. “In fact, I think I love surreal.”

---

A/N: Hi, yes, hello. Things are happening. I'm working on the next chapter right now, and that'll be the festive Christmas/New Years chapter. It'll be post holiday time. Thank you, as always for reading, and (hopefully) loving these two just as much as me.

[tj-dragonblade]

[FIC] Baby Got Back

Fandom: The Sandman Pairing: Dreamling Rated: T Word Count: 3933 Tags: Human AU, gym meet-cute, lust at first sight, call that a meat-cute, supporting appearance by Death, Dream of the Endless is a horny little weasel, Hob puts the 'ass' in 'exercise class', Dream of the Endless (Sturridge Edition) has no cake to serve, embarrassment, exercise, Death is the worst (best) wingman

Notes: This happened bc @dragonnan shared this video in the Mr Sadman server and the scene Would Not Leave my brain. The meat-cute tag is also courtesy of Dragonnan. ❤️ Title is of course borrowed from Sir Mix-a-Lot's song of the same name. I physically could not call this anything else.

Summary: Dream's sister drags him to the gym. Will the instructor and his assets be enough to convince Dream it's worth his time?

On AO3 Dream is pleased to see, as he begrudgingly follows his sister into the exercise class she'd signed them up for, that at least the instructor isn't the bodybuilding jock type that has historically put him off going to the gym entirely. Dream gets only a glance at the back of him as they enter the space, but he is slim and athletically built—neither thick-necked nor thickly-muscled, nor is any part of him built like a tree trunk.

That is a relief.

Dream still does not want to be here.

But he loves his sister, and is ultimately not immune to her dogged persistence.

"Come on, Dream, just one time, please? I'm sure you'll find something you like about it!"

Months, she has been cajoling him; it is his hope that she will drop the subject now that he has finally given in.

"Hello, welcome everyone!" Mr. Not-a-Musclebound-Jock speaks up, drawing attention to start the class. "My name is Robert, but you can call me Hob, and I'll be your instructor for this undertaking! Good to see some of you back, and nice to see all these new faces too! Now, today we're going to start off slow; I'll demonstrate some techniques and we can all try them out one at a time before we really get going, alright?" He claps his hands, rubs them together. "Those of you who've been here before, please feel free to help out the newcomers if they need it. Especially if you brought them." He glances at Dream and Death with a tiny nod, as Death is one of those returning students, and Dream.

Well.

He is hearing the words—"quick stretches", now, and "warmup"—he is paying attention, truly, but he is also.

Staring.

Which is not so terrible; all eight of them in the class are watching the instructor and following along with the warmup, as they should. But Dream does not think his thoughts are in line with anyone else's.

Because the instructor, Hob—he is gorgeous. Arrestingly so. Beautiful in a very ordinary way; average height, the previously noted slim build, brown hair greying slightly at the temples and pulled into a messy bun, dark eyes, strong nose, friendly smile. Nothing individually remarkable, but together? Oh. That smile lances straight through Dream in a way that makes his stomach curl up giddily. Hob is wearing a white t-shirt that is tight and thin enough it can't quite hide what looks to be a lush thicket of chest hair, and the amount of hair on his arms and legs further supports that hypothesis. He's wearing mallard green spandex shorts that show off, well, everything, and it's all very nice.

Perhaps this class will be tolerable, after all.

"Okay, the first thing I want to tackle is a modified squat form," Hob says once they've finished the warmup stretches, and Dream is immediately reassessing his optimism. He hates squats; hates most sorts of physical exercise, to be honest, which is why Death had had to wheedle so hard to get him to join her. But squats, of course, were particularly loathsome. And Hob sounds far too cheerful about them.

"This modification is pretty simple; you'll just need to find a pole, here, and do like this." Hob turns so his back is mostly to the class, grabs an upright bar on the nearest weight machine—Dream has no idea what any of this equipment is properly called—then plants his feet far apart and leans back, bending his knees into a beautifully right-angled squat and Dream?

Dream nearly swallows his tongue.

Hob's green spandex shorts and everything they contain have gone from 'nice' to 'scandalously on display' and Dream is absolutely mesmerized. The way Hob's body drops, the wide stance of his legs, the way his cheeks spread as he sinks low—Dream is having capital-T Thoughts, none of which are in the bible, as Desire is fond of saying. Hob's thighs, while built slim, are well-muscled and incredibly toned and every contour of quads and hamstrings is straining into beautiful prominence beneath those shorts. His arse is likewise presented, every curve and dimple beautifully highlighted by shiny green fabric, and Dream is very sure he can see the imprint of individual hairs beneath the stretched spandex. The material is rendered slightly-sheer by the position and, unmistakably, there is a distinctive 'whale-tail' flaring above Hob's shapely cheeks.

Dream's mouth goes dry. Is he—?

There is a telling lack of lines under the spandex.

He is. Hob is wearing a thong.

Dream is ridiculously grateful for the Extreme Support jock strap he'd put on before coming here; he is having a most unfortunate reaction to every aspect of Hob's demonstration, but his shorts are far more forgiving than Hob's and the underwear beneath them is keeping things decent enough for the public environment.

He hopes.

"See the problem so many people have with squats is the knee strain," Hob is saying, as he straightens up again. He lets go of the pole. "Most of the time when we do squats, we're leaning forward a bit for balance, right?" He bends into position, demonstrating; his arse and thighs are on display again and it is no less arresting than the previous example. "And that's where that knee pressure comes from, trying to keep that balance."

Dream can think of several ways to help Hob keep his balance in such a position, all of which involve their bodies in intimate proximity and none of which would be particularly easy on anyone's knees.

"But like this"—Hob takes hold of the equipment again and leans back, drops slowly into his squat—"it's easy to keep your chest straight, get all that nice core support and this ninety-degree angle here"—his free hand strokes the curve of his own arse from hip to thigh and Dream inhales sharply—"and your anchoring pressure is all in your heels. No knee strain!" He sinks deep, presumably in demonstration and Dream is so full of lewd thoughts he genuinely fears he might burst. He watches the flex of Hob's thighs and arse as the man raises himself and lowers back into another squat; he bites his tongue to still the whimper rising in his throat, watches Hob perform another slow controlled bounce, is painfully aware of all his blood rushing south.

"This keeps all the working power in your glutes, which of course helps you build a nice tight round arse—and that's what we're all here for right?" Hob grins over his shoulder as he sinks down again.

A smattering of laughter answers him, including a chuckle from Death, but Dream cannot stop staring at Hob's arse. Which is indeed. Round. And tight. Chiseled. Contoured into sharp relief beneath the stretch of spandex shorts. And the texture of his body hair on top of all that? The thong? The way his cheeks flex and spread as he sinks low, clench beautifully as he rises up again?

Dream is utterly lost.

His sister bumps him with her shoulder. "Alright there, Dream?"

He makes a tiny, strangled noise that he hopes she will take for assent. He can only imagine what color his face is at the moment.

"You can do this at home, too, by the way, if you happen to have a pole—or a sturdy door jamb to hang onto." Hob demonstrates one more deep squat and straightens up, turning to face the class again. "Alright. Everyone find a support and try it out!"

Dream cannot. He cannot fathom duplicating the exercise with the vision of Hob's arse in his head, performing those same motions—supportive underwear or not, he is going to embarrass himself.

"Here we go!" Death singsongs next to him, indicating the nearest weight machine—which does in fact have two upright supports that will serve their purposes. She steps over and takes hold of one, leans herself back with feet planted wide and performs a squat.

Which does wonders to clear Dream's head; it's not titillating when his sister does it and he finds he can refocus appropriately.

"This feels ridiculous," he mumbles, joining her and reluctantly taking up position. "This looks ridiculous."

"Didn't look ridiculous when Hob did it, right?" Death's tone is entirely nonchalant, not even teasing, but Dream seizes up all the same. He knows she's sharp, that she can't have missed the way he was staring nor what, precisely, he'd been staring at. But her words are entirely innocent. "Just need a bit of practice and you'll make it look that good too, little brother."

He is about to reply as he lowers himself, something scathing and devastatingly witty, surely, but another voice cuts in first.

"Ah, so this is your little brother, DeeDee?"

Hob.

Dream, having just reached the lowest point in his first squat, finds quite abruptly that his body has decided to forget how to move.

His sister is answering. "Hey Hob! Yeah, this is Dream. I finally convinced him to come in with me."

"Wonderful! Always glad to have new friends join the fun!" Hob holds out a hand.

As if Dream is in any position to shake it.

His eyes are nearly level with Hob's chest and it takes every fiber of willpower he possesses to keep them up on Hob's face; in his distraction, he lets go of the pole to shake hands anyway.

Inevitibly, he falls flat on his arse.

"Oh god I'm so sorry!" Hob reaches to help him up, looking alarmed.

His sister is stifling her laughter.

"Thank you," Dream manages, pride bruised, face aflame, but he takes Hob's hand and pulls himself quickly to his feet. He does not dare look around to see who else in the class has borne witness to his bumbling ignominy. Besides which. Hob is no less attractive in close proximity and Dream's brain is replaying all those squats in quick flashes while also gibbering about the chest hair showing through that thin white t-shirt, none of which is at all conducive to keeping his composure. Desperately, he tries to pick up the thread of the conversation. "Yes. I am Dream. DeeDee's brother."

He never calls Death DeeDee. And she had just introduced him, by name, as her brother.

He needs to stop talking before he embarrasses himself any further.

But Hob only grins brightly, shakes his hand firmly. "I'm Hob, Hob Gadling. Teach the class, obviously." He drops Dream's hand, clears his throat. "Didn't mean to interrupt your practice—or drop you on your arse, apologies! Let's try that form again?"

"What? Yes." Dream tears his gaze from Hob's mouth and the dimple in his chin, and then again from Hob's chest, turns to blindly grab at the pole he'd been using. "Like this?" He moves on instinct, dropping into a squat, trying his hardest to remember what Hob had demonstrated without fixating on how his arse looked doing it.

He is not successful.

And he still hates squats.

"That's a good start," Hob says, encouragingly, and Dream is mortified by the way something in him warms to it. "Now let's try straightening up a bit more—may I?"

Dream is nodding assent before he realizes that Hob's hand is hovering over his back, that Hob is asking permission to touch.

He barely stifles the sound in his throat as Hob's fingers skate down his spine, offer firm pressure just below his waist while his other hand guides Dream's shoulders back. "There we go, see? Let the pole hold your balance so you can get this ninety-degree angle, right here"—his hand moves from Dream's back to his hip, a professional touch that nevertheless sends Dream's brain up in smoke—" and takes the strain off your knees. See?"

"Yes," Dream manages, barely aware of what he's agreeing with.

"Now, when you push yourself up, you've got to make sure you're using your legs," Hob cautions, as Dream rises. "Don't pull yourself up using the pole; you want the work happening in your thighs and your glutes." Thankfully (regrettably), his demonstrative touching seems to be done, and Dream does not have to cope with Hob's hands on his arse. He does not know how much more of this he can handle—the proximity, the images still burned in his brain. The touching. That voice.

That smile.

He just needs. One moment. A chance to compose himself, to remember how to behave like a normal human being.

He lowers himself into another squat, muscles already beginning to protest, making sure to keep his form as Hob had instructed.

"Good!" Hob says, sounding genuinely pleased, and Dream's insides turn to goo. "Use those glutes, excellent!"

"Because that's how you build a nice round arse, right?" Death says—how did Dream manage to forget that she is literally standing right beside him through all of this—and Hob chuckles, pats Dream briefly on the shoulder.

"That's right! And it looks like you could definitely use a little help in that area!"

Dream face is aflame. He is aware of the aesthetic deficiencies of his own backside. He does not need them commented upon by a man unfairly blessed in that regard, in front of his sister, particularly not while he is struggling through a horny crisis over this same man. He seizes desperately for the thread of escape glimmering in the comment.

"You dare offer such insult to one who has come to your class for its benefits?" He stands upright as he says it, letting go the stupid pole and drawing haughty arrogance around him like a cloak to hide the tatters of his pride and composure. "How disappointingly unprofessional. Excuse me."

And he flees.

Technically, he strides from the gym area at a reasonable pace. But inside, he is running. He ignores Hob calling after him, ignores the voice in his own head screaming about how rudely he just treated the pretty man with the beautiful arse, ignores the other voice in his head that sounds like his sister scolding him and ducks into the nearest restroom.

He just needs. A moment.

He braces both hands on the sink, grateful there is no one here to see, hangs his head and lets regret wash over him.

He has ruined his chances, he is sure of it. Chances at what, he can't quite say; it's not as though he was planning to proposition Hob nor ask him out. Just. Quietly suffer through classes with his sister and silently ogle Hob for an hour three times a week, perhaps. If he is honest with himself. But Hob is certain not to want him in his class again, nor will his sister likely bring him back after how he has behaved today.

That's one problem solved, he thinks, bitterly.

He should apologize for his rudeness. But he will not interrupt Hob's class to do it. He must wait for Death regardless, and the fact that she has not stormed into the men's room after him means she thinks he needs time to nurse his wounds and pull himself together. So he will do so.

He turns on the tap, splashes water on his face, dries it with the length of paper towel the motion-sensitive dispenser offers him. He stares at himself in the mirror for a moment, his pale face splotchy and gaunt and sour, mouth pulled into an easy frown, and sighs.

No, he had no chances to ruin in the first place.

With a sigh, he turns away and leaves the washroom, retrieves his phone and wallet and Death's as well from their locker, then finds a seat at one of the little round tables in the juice bar area to wait. He checks his watch; the class is scheduled to run for another forty minutes.

It is a long time to sit alone with his thoughts; he opens the sudoku app on his phone, mindlessly working through puzzle after puzzle while he waits.

It has been just under thirty-five minutes when his brooding peace is disturbed.

"Dream, oh good." Incongruously it is Hob's voice, not his sister's. "DeeDee said you'd probably be here. I wanted to apologize."

None of these words are the ones Dream might have expected; he opens his mouth to reply but instead of something normal what comes out is, "But your class is not over?"

Hob blinks, looking as nonplussed as Dream feels. "Er. Not quite, no, but your sister offered to run everyone through cool-down so I could come find you."

"Why?" Why can he not stop his mouth running ahead of his thoughts, that is the true question.

"Like I said. I wanted to apologize." Hob shifts his weight awkwardly, drawing Dream's attention unhelpfully to the way his thin white shirt has gained additional transparency thanks to the half hour spent sweating in front of his class. "My comment was entirely unprofessional, you're right. And I'm sorry."

"It is not untrue." Dream's backside does indeed leave much to be desired in comparison to others. "But. I appreciate the apology." He appreciates the view of Hob's chest as well, but mercifully manages to hold his tongue on that count.

He does not quite manage to keep his eyes from flicking down to Hob's shorts, to the smoothness of the bulge artfully contained by the spandex.

Thong, he remembers, and his mouth again goes a little dry at the thought.

"May I sit?"

"Please." The rote answer is out before Dream can puzzle over why Hob wishes to join him.

Hob pulls out the other chair and drops into it, leans forward just a little. "Really, I'm sorry. I picked up the vibe of your sister's teasing and ran with it but I haven't known you long enough for that to be welcomed or appreciated. I was very much out of line. And I apologize."

"I. Apologize, as well. For speaking so harshly in front of others and making a scene." Dream is trying very hard to ignore the way his insides are wibbling at Hob's words, Hob's voice.

"What? Oh. No, no, it's forgotten, don't worry about it." Hob waves a hand dismissively. "My fault in the first place."

Dream lets the matter lie.

There is a moment of awkward silence.

"So. First time to class, huh?" Hob flashes a bright smile at him, quick and awkward and terribly endearing. "What did you think?"

"It was. Brief," Dream says, before he can think better of it, and Hob laughs.

Dream's stomach swoops helplessly, flutters in consternated delight. Oh. Oh, but he is utterly gone on the sunshine this man exudes.

"Sorry, sorry. Of course. You'd definitely need a full session before you could answer that; stupid question." Hob shakes his head, grin fading, hesitation creeping into his demeanor. "Do you think you'd want to come back again?"

"I am. Undecided," Dream admits, honesty seeing him through as he stumbles over the possibility—does Hob want him to come back? Is Hob hoping to see him again?

Is he willing to suffer a regular gym appointment for the possibility?

"Ah. Well." Hob sounds downright nervous now. "It would probably be…good if you didn't?"

"I beg your pardon?" Dream is so affronted at hearing it stated so plainly he forgets that he has earned the rejection.

Hob startles. "Crap, no, sorry! That didn't come out right." He laughs, a nervous awkward laugh, but his smile is still bright. "Let me try again—sorry. Sorry." He takes a deep breath. "I'd like—I'd like to ask you out. But if you're in a class that I'm teaching then ethically I probably shouldn't do that."

Dream is, metaphorically, knocked in his aesthetically-deficient arse yet again. "You wish to ask me out? On a date?"

"Yeah. Yes." Hob reaches to toy with his earlobe, head tilting into the unconscious motion adorably. "Your sister has told me a lot about you, been talking you up for months and you're very pretty and I would love to get to know you under more comfortable circumstances? If you're interested, of course. No hard feelings if you're not I know we've barely met and I've already put my foot in it many times over but. Could I possibly convince you to let me try again?"

Dream is impressed by the flood of words just tumbling freely forth, and a bit gobsmacked yet unsurprised at 'your sister's talked you up' even as the pieces begin to click into place—but most of all he's delighted that Hob seems interested in him, and charmed by the earnestness with which Hob's asking for a second chance.

As if Dream's little tizzy in the class had been anything more valid than a cover for his own embarrassment. As if Hob has anything to apologize for.

He will have words with his sister later, though.

"My sister. Is setting us up."

"I do believe that was her intention, yes." Hob looks hopeful. "I'm far from opposed, if you're alright with it?"

"Then. All things considered. I will not be returning to your class, Hob." He offers a smile that he hopes is friendly with an undercurrent of coyness, and not off-putting. He glances up from beneath his lashes to catch the way Hob is blinking, his grin broadening in delight.

"Really? Okay! Are you—are you free for dinner tomorrow night?"

"I am. Where would you like to meet?"

"Merv's is a lovely quiet little pub not far from here—do you know it?"

"I do not."

"I'll text you the details then; it's relaxed and low-key but very nice, nothing terribly fancy but amazing food. And they accommodate allergies and dietary restrictions if those're a concern. Can I give you my number?"

"Of course." Dream opens a new contact and presents his phone; Hob types in his info with impressive speed and hands it back.

"Send me a text so I've got yours? My phone's still in the other room."

"Of course," Dream repeats, already composing the message as Hob stands from the small table. This is Dream—I look forward to our date tomorrow. Simple and to the point. Truthful and sincere. Nothing embarrassingly forward like the thoughts running rampant in his head. I want to rub my cheek in your sweaty chest hair like a cat. Or I would like to peel your shorts from your magnificent arse with my teeth. Surely that is too much for a first text preceding a first date. He will refrain.

"I've got another class to teach so I've got to run," Hob is saying as he pushes his chair back in. "But I'm delighted to have met you and I'm glad I won't be seeing you in class again, heh." He winks, an actual genuine wink that charms Dream all over again.

"As am I." He leaves it at that, never mind how badly he wants to say something smoky and lascivious about Hob giving him private instruction in whatever techniques he cares to demonstrate; he thinks that one of them might combust if he could deliver the line correctly, and possibly it would not be him. But he will save it for tomorrow evening, should the date go well. "I will see you tomorrow."

"Looking forward to it." Hob flashes his sunny smile again and turns, striding quickly back to the gym proper.

Dream watches him go, tight round arse and toned hairy thighs on perfect display, and shifts a little in his seat.

He has a feeling the date will go very well indeed.

= Started: 1/10/25 Drafted: 1/15/25 Posted: 1/20/25

It should be noted that I cannot vouch for whether or not the squat modification used herein is legit or safe. The validity of the exercise was obviously not the point of this fic, but, y'know. Just in case.

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: Bowling Pin

Debut: Bowling

Yeah, Bowling! It's the pin, from Bowling! Bowling is a game, so it is fair game for this blog. And the pins are Weird Enemies! The whole point of Bowling is to Defeat as many pins as possible. You are taught to HATE them! It's messed up. I will teach you to love them.

When anthropomorphizing a bowling pin, are you on Team Face On Tip or Team Face On Base? I think both have their merits. Tip is good for if you want to give it a humanoid impression, like it could walk up to you and shake your hand. Hug you. Even... kiss you?! Base, however, is more of a creature, which I imagine waddling around on a bunch of legs or tentacles emerging from the bottom. It would hobble up to you and ask you, "Gleep gwanorb?" Answer carefully, or it might aim its Space Ray Gun at you! In the base design, the tip of the pin could be an antenna, or it could be read as a long-haired creature that tied its hair up in a tall bun!

You know something messed up? There are more types of bowling pins! No one ever told me that! The classic one we all default to is the Ten-pin, but there are two others! We'll get to them. Biologically, a Ten-pin must abide to the specific standards set by the United States Bowling Congress, adopted by World Bowling. They MUST be 15 inches (380 mm) tall, 4.75 inches (121 mm) wide at their widest point, and weigh 3 pounds and 8 ounces (1.6 kg), give or take 2 ounces (.057 kg). Wow! These would be some unrealistic standards to live up to, if these were not chunks of carved and coated wood produced specifically to match up to these measurements.

The reason the different pins are pictured with different balls is that they are used in different variations of the game! Candlepin is pretty self-explanatory. It's shaped like a candle. But Duckpin? That looks like a smaller, cuter, more marketable Ten-pin. What's its deal?

My first thought was, it's called a Duckpin because it looks like a duck! It has the one red line like the ring around a male mallard's neck, and it is rather shaped like a duck as seen from the front, overall! How cute! In reality, they are called Duckpins because the way they scatter when hit reminded a duck hunter of a scattering duck flock. Always comes back to violence with poor little Bowling Pin. They have it so rough! They could really use a friend, who's always there to pick them up when they're down.

Name: Pinsetter

Debut: Bowling

Pinsetter is just the sort of friend a Bowling Pin needs! No matter how many times Pin is knocked down, Pinsetter will be there to pick it up and put it back in its deserving spot. If any mean ol' stray Bowling Balls try to land a cheap hit, Pinsetter's sweep bar will block them. Play fair, you bully ball! Pinsetter's job used to be done by human Pin Boys, but there can still be a human in the mix, making sure the machine is clean, and unjamming it if need be. I can only assume this beautiful relationship between human and machine is just like that of horse and rider.

The more I think about it, though, is Pinsetter really helping? It's just putting the pins back in harm's way every single time, facilitating their unending torment. It blocks incoming balls, but only briefly, allowing them to crash through the pins as soon as they're all reset. Why does it do this? Who does it work for? Who is sending all these balls?!

...It's Pinsetter.

Pinsetter does not only set the pins. It detects the score, encouraging players to hit as many pins as possible. It returns the balls, giving them the weapons to do so. Humans think they're playing a game, but Pinsetter is playing them all! It controls the whole operation, driven by nothing but pin bloodlust! Maybe Bowling Ball has been misunderstood, another tortured soul, an unwilling pawn in Pinsetter's twisted game!

Bowling Pins are beautiful creatures. They belong in the wild, or with trustworthy, knowledgeable caretakers. To bowlers, they are an Enemy. To me, they are a Friend.

[poorlywrittenbutentertaining]

Hit it off

Gibbs x fem!OC

Warnings: canon typical violence, light swearing, bomb, concussion

How Elaine and Gibbs met

Elaine smiled at the delivery man as he dropped off the package. She signed for the box before the delivery man nodded at her and walked away.

“I need to move this to the cooler,” She said. The nurse next to her nodded and Elaine grabbed the box. It felt strangely heavy for a shipment of vaccines. She pulled open the cooler room and stepped in. She heard a click from the box and froze as the door to the cooler shut behind her. Slowly she transferred the box to one arm and pulled the tape of the top. She opened the flaps and gasped. Inside was an amalgamations of wires, and a brick of explosive material. Elaine looked at the blinking light and swallowed thickly. A nurse opened the cooler behind her.

“Dr. wright?” The nurse asked. Elaine straightened.

“Ynez, I need you to call the authorities,” Elaine spoke evenly.

“Why?” Ynez stepped into the room.

“STOP!” Elaine barked. She heard Ynez’s footsteps cease. Elaine took another deep breath and watched the air puff in front of her, “Ynez I am currently holding a bomb, call the police.”

~~|

It was a matter of minutes before NCIS was on the scene. Elaine heard the cooler door ease open.

“Dr. Wright?” A male voice called from behind her.

“That’s me,” Elaine said. She heard careful footsteps enter the cooler. Out of her peripheral she saw a man step around her, “close the door,” She said, “these medications need to stay cold.”

The door clicked shut or clicked shut. She turned her eyes towards the man. He was tall with silver hair and some of the bluest eyes Elaine had ever seen. She gave him a slightly nervous smile as he stepped around him.

“Special Agent Gibbs, NCIS,” The man showed her his badge and is card.

“Gibbs,” Elaine smiled slightly and laughed, “I know that name.”

“Yeah? How?” Gibbs asked.

“My godfather works with you,” Elaine said, “Donald Mallard.”

“Ducky,” Gibbs said back. Elaine nodded.

“He would not be all too pleased to know I’m currently holding a bomb,” Elaine said.

“You’re calm for the circumstances,” Gibbs said.

“Not my first rodeo, agent Gibbs,” Elaine said.

“Military?” Gibbs asked. Elaine nodded.

“Marines,” Elaine said, “fought with the boys out front for two tours, got a back injury, and then returned to do medical. Back in the tents they called me Ms. Mend,” she looked Gibbs up and down, “you a military man?”

“Marines,” Gibbs said, “Gunnery Sergeant.”

Elaine smiled, “Staff Sergeant.”

Gibbs cracked a small smile, “bomb squad should be here soon.”

Gibbs sat and talked with her, feeling the chill from the cooler slowly slip past his clothes and into his skin. When the bomb squad arrived Elaine’s lips had begun to turn blue but she stayed still, suppressing the shivers threatening to course through her. The squad pushed in and took Gibbs spot as they began setting up barriers and getting to work. Her muscles strained to keep the bomb up in her arms. There was a silent tension as the men around her worked. Gibbs returned eventually and placed a coat around her shoulders gently. Elaine could only manage a chattered, “thanks.”

It was 45 minutes before the bomb squad cut the final wire and carefully took the explosive from Elaine’s hands. A crushing relief washed over her as she dropped her arms and allowed the shivers to run through her. When she stepped out of the hospital Ducky stood there with a hot coffee and blanket. Elaine rushed to him and allowed the doctor to gather her in his arms. Her whole body shivered from the aching cold her body had been exposed to for so long.

“Jethro called me and I got here as fast as I could, my dear,” Ducky said, “are you alright?” His voice was soft as he pulled away and held her shoulders. He unfolded the blanket and threw it around her shoulders, pulling it snug against her. Elaine nodded

“M-my patients?” She asked, taking the coffee and holding it in her hands, reveling in the warmth that seeped through the cup.

“All safe and accounted for,” Ducky said, “now, Jethro wants me to take you back to the Navy Yard. He has a few questions.”

Elaine nodded and followed him to his car.

~~~~

The conference room was quiet as Elaine sat. She studied the map hung on the wall opposite of her. When the door opened and closed she stood and turned.

“Doin’ alright Sarge?” Gibbs asked as he walked in, holding yet another warm drink for her. Tea this time.

“Just call me Elaine,” She said, “I’m doing alright, a little cold but nothing too bad.” Gibbs nods and takes the end seat next to Elaine. He gives her a moment to sip her tea. He observes her quietly.

“Who gave you the bomb?” Gibbs asked.

“Delivery guy,” Elaine answered, “it was supposed to be a shipment of insulin, and it wasn’t the normal guy who delivers.”

“What did he look like?” Gibbs continued to interview her, taking notes on what she said and descriptions she gave, “can you think of anyone who would want to hurt you?”

Elaine huffed a laugh, “yeah, a few.” She sighed and placed her tea down, “marines, mostly, ones I had to take off the battlefield for medical purposes. Amputees, transplants, those kind. They get mad about their injuries, and then get madder when I have to fix them.”

Gibbs nodded and jotted down a few notes, “we’ll keep you in the loop.”

“Thanks, gunny,” Elaine stood and shook Gibbs’ hand once more, “if you have any more questions-“ she took out a small pad of paper from her pocket and a pen. She jotted down her number and folded the piece up, handing it over to Gibbs, “just gimme a call.”

~~~

Elaine’s house was quiet as she flicked the lights on. She placed her purse down on the entrance table and kicked her shoes off in front of the rack. She sighed and rolled her shoulders before working out her braid. It had been a week since the hospital incident. Gibbs had called her a few times to ask a few more questions but other than that it was practically radio silence.

She padded into the kitchen and grabbed some leftover Chinese from the fridge and popped it into the microwave. As she leaned against the counter she looked down at her phone. As though on command it began to ring. The caller is reading ‘Gunny Sergeant Gibbs”. She flipped her phone open and answered the call.

“Awfully late for a work call, agent Gibbs,” She said as she pulled the Chinese from the microwave.

“Just had a few questions,” Gibbs answered. Elaine hummed and went to sit down.

“What’s up?”

“Do you know a Petty Officer Garrett Blanche?” Gibbs asked.

“Yeah, came in three months ago. He had practically shattered his leg. I placed 4 rods and 12 screws to get that thing back together,” Elaine took a bite, “he should be doing PT now, no way they’ll let him stay active though. Didn’t seem the type to blow me up though.”

“They never do,” Gibbs said. Elaine laughed lightly at that. She stood up, and then black.

~~~

When she woke again she was on her kitchen floor, the Chinese noodles spread by her hand, “Elaine?” There was a hand on her back as a blurry face came into view, “you alright?” She squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again as a ringing began in the back of her head and a thump began pounding in her skull. The face blurred and crossed. She blinked a few more times and it came into view.

“Agent Gibbs?” She croaked, “what happened?”

“Took a metal bat to the head,” Gibbs said. She moved to sit up and her head swam, nausea roiling in her stomach. She swayed and Gibbs caught her, “careful, paramedics are still on their way.”

“Damn,” Elaine put her hand against the back of her head and came back with blood.

Elaine’s eyes blurred again and she leaned heavily on Gibbs, “whoa, you staying with me Doc?”

“How did you know I got hit? Are you stalking me?” Elaine asked.

“We were on the phone, remember?” Gibbs scooted her to the counter cupboards and leaned her against it as he stood and grabbed a cloth. He soaked it in tepid water and pressed it against her head, “I was asking you questions about Petty Officer Blanche.”

Elaine’s eyes squinted, “no… I don’t remember. I remember coming home… and then… and then…”

“Don’t worry too much, we got the guy, that’s what matters,” Gibbs squatted in front of her. Her focused eyes relaxed before zeroing in on Gibbs.

“You know-“ Elaine reached up and grabbed his hoodie string, “you’re really handsome.”

“You’re delirious, Elaine,” Gibbs said.

“Yeah probably,” Elaine closed her eyes, “but I’m not kidding… you’re one of the most handsome men I’ve met. Ever. You could never have been my Gunny or I would have been distracted. And in your civvies? Like damn. You look good in a suit, Agent Gibbs, but red is your color.”

Gibbs laughed lightly as the paramedics knocked. They entered the house and began inspecting Elaine while Gibbs described what happened.

“She’s a little delirious but that should clear, she shouldn’t be alone though,” The paramedic said to Gibbs. He nodded, “anywhere she can stay?”

Gibbs looked at the clock. It was 3:00 AM at this point, “she can stay with me.”

A/N: leave of comment on what you want to see next!

[ducktoonsfanart]

Superhero and Heroic Comfort Character Squad - My Version - Men and Boys from Cartoons, Comics, Anime and Video Games - Duck Avenger (Paperinik), Duck Dodgers, Darkwing Duck and T-Squad (Quack Pack) crossover - Duckverse and crossover - My Style

Sorry for my break, due to some inconveniences I took a week off, now I've done new drawings, which I wanted to do last year, but due to some circumstances I didn't get around to it, but now I have. For those unfamiliar, I did my own redraw of a meme drawing like the "draw your comfort characters like this" challenges and took this drawing as inspiration: https://www.deviantart.com/outcastcomix/art/The-Comfort-Character-Squad-1012002807

Otherwise, it's a redraw from a WB Kids promo featuring Yakko Warner from Animaniacs, Bruce Wayne as Batman and as Batman Beyond, Clark Kent as Superman, and Ash Ketchum from Pokemon. Source:https://x.com/PreStalnic/status/1747360462088610150

That trend was popular last year and I'm sorry I didn't do it then, but that certainly doesn't mean I haven't given up on it and I've done two drawings featuring my favorite characters from various franchises and together they make up the Superheroes Squad team.

The first drawing I drew features Donald Duck as Duck Avenger (Paperinik-Pk), Daffy Duck as Duck Dodgers from the 24th century, Drake Mallard as Darkwing Duck, Howard the Duck from Marvel Comics, Rayman from the Rayman game (Ubisoft), Woody Woodpecker as the Masked Woodpecker, Detective Droopy the Dog, Super Mario and Luigi from the popular Nintendo game, Bruce Wayne as Batman, Popeye the Sailor, Squidward Tentacles from SpongeBob SquarePants as Sour Note (as his superhero alter ego from the movie SpongeBob: Out of the Water), Asterix and Obelix from the popular Franco-Belgian comic of the same name, and Dr. David Livesey from the Soviet version of Treasure Island.

The second drawing I drew features T-Squad (Quack Pack-my version) featuring Louie Duck as Green Avenger (based on Duck Avenger), Dewey Duck as Blue Cyclops (based on Gizmoduck) and Huey Duck as Red Shadow (based on Darkwing Duck and Shadow). In addition to them, there are also Plucky Duck as Green Dodgers (based on Duck Dodgers), Buster Bunny as Superbun (based on Superman and Super Rabbit) from Tiny Toons Adventures, Yakko and Wakko Warner as Power Rangers (Warner Rangers) from the original Animaniacs, Chip and Dale Chipmunk from Chip n Dale Rescue Rangers, SpongeBob SquarePants as Invincibubble (as his superhero alter ego from the movie SpongeBob: Out of the Water), Peter Parker as Spiderman from Marvel Comics, Sonic the Hedgehog from the popular franchise of the same name from Sega, as from the Sonic films, Michelangelo the turtle from Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Goku from Dragon Ball Z and Link the elf from the Nintendo video game The Legend of the Zelda.

I wanted to add more, but I wouldn't care for everything, so I apologize for that. I hope you like these characters and these drawings.

Feel free to like and reblog if you like this, but please do not copy these same ideas and versions of these characters without my permission and without mentioning me, thank you! Of course, with the New Year, let's start something new, and that's with crossovers. SUPERHEROES ASSAMBLE! UNITE!

[joezworld]

Christmas Story

The letters continued... 

Threats were issued:

“He’s dead if I ever see him.”

“-and if he ever shows his face around my shed, he’s a dead engine.”

“HIS COMPONENT PARTS WILL REGRET BEING ATTACHED TO HIM.”

“I’ll show him exactly what kind of a terror us diesels can be.”

“Personally, I’d have introduced his teeth to his superheater…”

-

And welcomes were given.

“I suppose this makes you one of ours now.”

“It’s nice to increase the ranks for once.”

“Can we keep you and trade Mallard to the Western?”

“I, for one, welcome you with smooth rails and green signals.”

“-and don’t worry! You’ll fit in just fine!”

-

Forgiveness was given, despite not being asked for. 

“We have heard about your recent change in “livery” and we understand.”

“Considering what’s happened I don’t blame you for tossing us into the bin.”

“-I’ve heard talk that some engines are quite taken with what you’ve done. Might be a trend!”

“Usually, old allegiances die hard. In your case, I’m surprised it lasted as long as it did.”

“Perhaps some day we can dispense with the old rivalries altogether…”

“YOU DESERVE BETTER THAN US.”

-

And declarations were made.

“ - you will always be one of us, and we love you.”

“I can’t wait to see you at the next gala!”

“YOU’LL LOOK GOOD IN BLUE, I GUARANTEE IT.”

“Keep us in your memories, but go wherever your heart takes you.”

“Don’t let engines like him keep you in a bad place, okay?”

-

Then there were the signatures. 

Your Brother

Your Sister

Your Friend

Your Compatriot

YOUR FELLOW WESTERNER

Your Eastern Acquaintance,

Caerphilly Castle

Evening Star

Deltic

Flying Scotsman

King George V

PENDENNIS CASTLE

№1306 Mayflower

D7017

D7018

D7026

D7076

Western Prince

Black Prince (92203)

Mallard [Who is writing this under duress]

Aerolite

26000 (Tommy)

№ 1420

D9500 & D9531

Lode Star

Green Arrow

№ 4498 Sir Nigel Gresley

The Engines of the Vale of Rheidol Railway

D821, D818, and D832

Blue Peter

55 022 (Royal Scots Grey)

Tuylar

Dominion of Canada

Dwight D. Eisenhower

Bittern

92212

Western Ranger

55 016

№4588

Alycidon (D9009)

№ 65462

Western Champion

Bradley Manor

7819 Hinton Manor

D9002

Royal Highland Fusilier (D9019)

№ 6412

Clun Castle

6990 Witherslack Hall

Sir Hadyn and Edward Thomas

№ 18000 (Kerosene Castle)

4488 (Union of South Africa)

Morayshire

Olton Hall

Hagley Hall

55 021

King Edward I

King Edward II

Western Courier

Western Lady

D9534

№ 7293

Western Campaigner

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

Then they opened the boxes. 

The small ones were addressed to Duck and Oliver. The first few were opened up, revealing, “Name plates? Why name plates?” 

“Well, hang on a minute, these don’t look like any name plates I’ve seen before.” 

“Ah, wait, that’s it. They’re usually curved, to go over the splashers.”

“And they’re not red.”

“Well, they are if… ooooh.”

“What?”

“They’re Eastern. With the red backing. These’re LNER plates.”

Oliver stared at Duck, ignoring how the men were opening up a separate box with a similar return address.

“It’s a builder’s plate?!”

“It’s an LNER builder’s plate, see the shape?”

“Forget the shape, it says London and North Eastern on it.”

“Oh gosh, this is serious, innit?”

“That’s borderline sacreligious is what it is. Lookit that! It says Swindon on it!”

“Gordon is going to be insufferable about this, I just don’t know how.”

-

There was an identical plate for Duck, and… glory be, it really was an LNER-styled builder’s plate, made out with his information. They even found out his original works number.

He breathed in deeply. In through the nose, out through the mouth. He mattered to them, in a way that felt just as, if not more personal than the pile of letters on the floor. Maybe it was the shock, the lingering feelings from hearing Truro’s unhinged rant in the cold December air. 

“I think,” he looked between the plate, and Oliver. “That we’re at a moment in our lives that we can’t go back from.”

-----------

The boxes addressed to Bear were much larger, and were in greater quantities. 

“Oh look, this one’s a headboard!” exclaimed his driver. 

Bear’s eyes nearly popped out of their sockets when he saw that it said THE FLYING SCOTSMAN on it. 

The note attached was short, but sweet. “‘Tis nice to have another Eastern Diesel. Mayhaps someday this shall be used again in anger.” It was signed “Royal Scots Grey”. 

-

The next one had the GWR crest burned into the surface of the crate. Opening it revealed a rather lengthy nameplate wrapped in cloth. A note was tied around it. 

“Dearest Bear,” it read. “He’s done, even if he doesn’t know it yet. This raises an issue - we do need a “City” in our ranks. We think you can take up that role.”

The wrapping was undone, and Bear could feel a shocked tear build up in his eye. 

The words CITY OF TIDMOUTH glinted in the lights of the shed, the letters done in shining brass, just like the steam engines of old. 

-

Another package, this one from an address that he vaguely remembered as being an old Eastern Region TMD, contained a host of plates both large and small. The largest of them was a bright red rectangle, with silver letters that read BEAR. After looking it over, his crew deemed it to be a dead ringer for the name boards on Eastern Region diesels. 

“Which means…” said his driver, rifling through the smaller plates, each the size of a medallion. “That these must be from all the different Depots. Yeah, yeah, look. This one’s Stratford, and here’s York. Blimey, I didn’t know that anyone had a Colchester one.”

This went on for several minutes, as plates from seemingly every Eastern Region TMD were removed from the box. Bear’s eyebrows rose until they could go no higher. 

-

The next morning, his crew busied themselves with attaching several of the plates to his sides. There was some argument as to where they should be placed, and how to avoid making Bear look like “he was covered in fridge magnets.” 

Said argument was still ongoing as Gordon rolled by. His suddenly-wide eyes went from the Eastern Region name plate to THE FLYING SCOTSMAN headboard in shock. 

Bear ignored his crew, who were intently measuring the “CITY OF TIDMOUTH” nameplate like it may suddenly change size, and fixed Gordon with an intent look. “This is unequivocally your fault,” he said, keeping his tone serious even as he started to smile. “Thank you.” 

----------

A few days later, as the mail started to peter off, a deeply overstuffed document mailer ended up at the shed in Arlesburgh, addressed to Oliver and Duck collectively. 

It was a long and dry letter, filled with passages about duty and honor, dictated by King George V, the “self-proclaimed pro tempore leader of our kind, now that Truro is out.” 

Naturally, Duck found it fascinating, while Oliver would rather gnaw off his own buffers. It grew so dull that eventually the stationmaster got bored of reading Duck’s copy of the pair of identical letters aloud, and fetched a sheet music stand from the station, placing the type-written pages across it for the two engines to read at their own pace before leaving for the station. 

Oliver’s pace was “no, thank you, but I’d really rather skip to the end,” but Duck was insistent on reading the entire letter aloud. 

“-I humbly ask you as a fellow Westerner, free of all but our Swindon metal, do you have any interest…” Duck abruptly trailed off. 

“Hm?” Oliver said, blinking himself to attention. “Interest in what? Don’t tell me you’ve gotten bored now?”

Duck ignored him. “They can’t really-”

“Really what? Out with it!”

“Look!” Duck yelped. “It’s right there, on the fifth page, towards the bottom.”

Oliver rolled his eyes, but eventually found the sentence. “-any interest in becoming the new figurehead of the Great Western? What?” He squeaked in surprise, eyes skimming the preceding paragraphs to see what in the world they were on about.

“-perhaps the most unfortunate part of Truro’s fall from grace is that he is - or perhaps was - the most recognizable member of our lineage by a wide margin. While it remains true that the enthusiast may recognize myself or Caerphilly, the general public likely knows Truro for the same reason that they know Flying Scotsman. The name Great Western, and what it stands for, is vestigial at best. 

That being said, a new opportunity has presented itself. As I am sure you are aware, the books by the Reverend Awdry featuring you and Oliver have spawned a television show, which has in turn re-ignited popularity in the books. Already I have had to field queries about your Island from children clutching copies of “Duck and the Diesel Engine.” Many who have no other knowledge of our ways have nonetheless made the connection that we Westerners all know each other, and have asked me about you and Oliver. Strangely, none have asked about Truro; in fact, one child, who I have been assured does not yet know how to read, mistook me for Truro, and asked me what visiting Sodor was like. (I did not dissuade him of this view. I hope that I was correct in my assumption that Sodor is very pleasant in the summer.)

I’m sure that you can see the common thread here. You and Oliver will have an uncommon familiarity with the next generation, and possibly many more beyond. While I, Caerphilly, and the rest sit quietly behind ropes, you will continue as a working engine, adding to our common lore, and preaching our gospel. You are the highest ranking Paddie Shunter to survive the purges of Modernization, and you know more of Our Ways than even I do. 

With this in mind - and please do not take this as an obligation, a chore, a weight against your buffers - I humbly ask you as a fellow Westerner, free of all but our Swindon metal, do you have any interest in becoming the new figurehead of the Great Western Railway?”

--

Neither engine got any sleep that night, and it was a very bleary Duck that took the first train into Tidmouth the next day. 

“You look terrible,” Gordon sniffed unthinkingly. “Do you not sleep at night? Too much rearranging of your goods yard, perhaps?”

“Gordon, please-”

On the road opposite Duck, Bear raised an eyebrow. “It’s too early in the morning for either of you to start.”

“Oh fine,” Gordon huffed as the last of the passengers flooded into the express. “But it’s rather undignified for an Easterner to be so disheveled. Just look at us for an example, Duck!” 

Point made, he set off with a whoosh of steam, and within a minute the train’s rear lamp was fading into the distance. 

Bear didn’t say anything for a long while. Duck wondered if the diesel wasn’t saying anything because Gordon was right - compared to Bear’s mirror-shine paint and Gordon’s polished brass, he looked awful.

Or, the vicious little voice in the back of his mind piped up. He still doesn’t want to talk to you. Considering how you sided with Truro over-

“So, I got a letter yesterday.” Bear said, apropos of nothing. “From King George V herself.”

“Oh?” Duck seized the chance to get out of his own mind. “What about?”

“Seems like the Great Western needs a new figurehead, considering that somebody has lost all his prestige.”

“O-oh…” Duck warbled. “You got that too?”

“Mmhmm.” Bear wasn’t looking at anything in particular. “Apparently the television show is driving people to the books; people seem to like conflict in their children’s books. Something about being able to show right from wrong.” 

“Do they now?” Oh, if only the rails could swallow him whole at this moment. 

“Oh yes.” Bear looked contemplative. “It also helps that nobody really likes diesels. Smelly, underhanded things. It’s quite nice to be able to have one cause trouble and then get sent away for doing that in one single book.”

“Yes, I-I’m quite aware of what happened…” Maybe his boiler could explode. That might fix things. 

“And everybody loves a runaway train.” 

“Well, I -uh, I wouldn’t- um…” 

Bear smirked. “Obviously I don’t include you in that.” 

“W-w-well of course, I-”

Bear didn’t say anything for a second, and Duck continued to trip over his own tongue, until: 

“She’s right, you know.”

“Wh-what?” 

“King George. She’s right about you. Every child in the country is going to know your name someday, especially if they put you on the telly. And there’s not another engine alive who knows all of the history that you do.”

“Bear,” Duck finally managed to find his voice. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Why not?” Duck was floored. “Bear, you were there! I just followed along behind him, doing whatever he said to-”

“Duck,” Bear cut him off and looked him straight in the eyes. “He was City of Truro. Who would have expected that out of any engine, let alone one of his stature?” 

“But - but - but I-” 

“Acted childish, perhaps,” Bear continued, gently. “But he revealed himself to you at the same time he did everyone. Even I didn’t think he’d hurt me on purpose!”  

“But I should have noticed!” Duck cried. “And I didn’t! What sort of leader would I be?”

Bear was unmoved. “It’s true that you didn’t notice then, but look at what you’re doing right now.” 

“What?” 

Bear smiled gently, his new nameplates gleaming in the station lights. “You’re giving yourself the third degree over this. It’s been six months, Duck! Even I’ve moved on from that, or I would, if you’d let me. Truro’s got his just desserts, I’ve found that more engines care about me than I previously thought possible, and Oliver… is Oliver-ing along like nothing ever happened. It’s just you who hasn’t moved on from this yet, and that is the true mark of a leader.”

“No, Bear,” Duck started to stammer. “But-I can’t. Surely-”

“The only sure thing is that you’d do a good job.” Bear said as the last of his passengers boarded. “Besides, if you do badly enough…” The guard blew the whistle, and waved the green flag. “You’ll look really good in garter blue!” 

And then he was off, engine roaring. The train sparkled against the early summer sun as it left, and Duck was suddenly alone at the platform. 

“He does make a good point,” Well, he was almost alone. He was still coupled to Alice and Mirabel. “What do you want to do?”

Duck didn’t say anything for a long while. 

He had a lot to think about.

[anniesilverl2]

CHARACTER STUDY: Megavolt, Representation of insanity or of a person with a disability issues?”

INTRODUCTION

Good morning, good afternoon, good night and dawn, when you know you should be sleeping, but you're on the internet to read creative and extremely specific texts from fans — ANYWAY, welcome everyone! My name is Lauanny, you can call me Annie, today I wanted to try to present an idea that It had in partnership with my dear friend (Beatriz, applause, please). This means that it will have to restrain myself a lot so as not to give away some spoilers, but someday it will do that when everything is ready.

It would like to initially warn you that this is a blog about character studies while also considering factors in a more serious tone of the character's actions, with that, there will be mention of attempted murder. Night terrors and psychological and health problems. The reflection here is about some ideas that may be more closely linked to future representations of the character. If you disagree or want to add, feel free to do so, I'm not the type who will be upset to hear your point. Just politeness and respect between the comments, that's enough to deal with the mistakes It may make. Please let me know if there are any grammar or information errors in the translation. With that, HERE WE GO!

IMPORTANT WARNINGS ABOUT SENSITIVE CONTENT: POSSIBLY MENTIONING VIOLENCE AND PSYCHOLOGICAL/PHYSICAL ISSUES.

DARKWING DUCK SERIES - Taking everything the show SAYS for itself

“Darkwing Duck” is a television series produced between 1991–1992 by Disney's main channel, being a spin-off of its classic show, “Ducktales: the adventure hunters” telling what we already know from the show's trajectory. Simple in its genre, but interesting information to the most attentive eyes can easily question how much the script was treated as just a comedy, superhero, and adventure animation.

It is a fact that proves this point by treating the past of the character, Megavolt / Elmo Sputterspark, with more serious eyes. In the show, his true character is introduced in Crash Reunion, episode 10, third season. In this episode, Elmo Sputterspark is presented as a typical intelligent student with a promising future, however. It turns out that, among so many days of bullying, a few weeks before the prom, the young rodent is trapped in his science project by his recurring bullies, Hamilton Spring and his girlfriend Preena Lott. Remembering that the project consisted of using the electric current from the treadmill to light a light bulb, the character spent indefinite hours running until he freed himself by burning the motor. When he touches a doorknob, he awakens his electrical powers and slowly begins to thirst for revenge. He follows those responsible for this event at the prom, fortunately stopped by a younger Darkwing Duck (who very ironically was Drake Mallard, a classmate of his from some year in the 70s). In the present of the episode Megavolt, the current Elmo Sputterspark, after surrendering to crime. Has a memory trigger and decides to have revenge for his first plan, and along the way discovers the identity of his enemy and even gains an advantage. However, he is defeated by being stuck with oil (I hope so) and when he tries to threaten the hero duck, he has a complete crisis of forgetfulness, and his router's battery runs out.

DARKWING DUCK FANDOM - Building everything that was formed for the fans together with the most indirect interpretations perceived in my participation when writing or drawing with lore

Megavolt, as you would imagine, is one of the super villains in the main cast. The affection for the character is so great that there are from the creator himself to the smallest fans attracted by his charismatic and considerably eccentric personality. There is an extreme variety in what fans are used to doing, fanart, fanfiction, blogs, memes, stickers, interactions with their own characters (family relationships, friendships, dating). And it is an important point to add because the character has passed through countless hands and will continue to do so. From my knowledge many agree that the character is a rodent, intimate interactions with the Fearsome Four (I know that some are romantic as it could be just Platonic). It does not write five because his interaction with Negaduck is turbulent like 99% of the characters in the show. Some observations are the indirect references to the character that range from his name to references that relate to his memory problems. And, what if I told you now that this is much deeper than you think at first glance? Okay, follow me below, and you will hear everything, well, almost everything because there is a story to write about AU.

IN DARKWING DUCK appearing in the episodes:

“Duck Blind” (Season 1, Episode 8)  

“Comic Book Capers” (Season 1, Episode 9)  

“A Revolution in Home Appliances” (Season 1, Episode 13)  

“Just Us Justice Ducks, Part 1 and 2” (Season 1, Episodes 20–21)    

“Ghoul of My Dreams” (Season 1, Episode 30)  

"Up, Up and Awry" (Season 1, Episode 34)

“Life, the Negaverse and Everything” (Season 1, Episode 35)  

“Planet of the Capes” (Season 1, Episode 36)  

“Darkwing Doubloon” (Season 1, Episode 40)

"Twitching Channels” (Season 1, Episode 42)

“Dead Duck” (Season 1, Episode 47)  

“Time and Punishment” (Season 1, Episode 52)

"Stressed to Kill (Season 1, Episode 53)

“Inside Binkie's Brain” (Season 1 Episode 55)  

“Whirled History” (Season 1, Episode 58)  

“Jail Bird” (Season 1, Episode 62)  

“Negaduck” (Season 2, Episode 3)

“Inherit the Wimp” (Season 3, Episode 2)  

“The Frequency Fiends” (Season 3, Episode 6)  

“Clash Reunion” (Season 3, Episode 10)  

IN DUCKTALES 2017 appear in the episodes:

"Beware the B.U.D.D.Y. System!"  (Season 1* Episode 11)  

"The Duck Knight Returns" (Season 2, Episode 16)  

"Let's Get Dangerous!" (Season 3, Episode 12)  

IN COMICS (Boom! Studios and Joe Books):

"The Duck Knight Returns, Part 1" 

"The Duck Knight Returns, Part 2" 

"The Duck Knight Returns, Part 3" 

“The Duck Knight Returns, Part 4" 

"Crisis on Infinite Darkwings, Part 4" 

"Dangerous Currency, Part 1" 

"Dangerous Currency, Part 2" 

"Dangerous Currency, Part 3" 

"Orange Is the New Purple, Part 1"

"Orange Is the New Purple, Part 2”

"Orange Is the New Purple, Part 3”

MEGAVOLT/ELMO SPUTTERSPARK - Story adapted without extreme spoilers, just adding the changes, ideas on his biological identity and influence:

Elmo Sputterspark/Megavolt has always been of special interest to me. I won't lie that eccentric characters don't immediately steal my attention. The adaptation I used had no references at all. In the version, I tried to create an interpretation that was a little more appropriate to more serious series and work only a few references within the Fandom's ideas. Despite everything, It still consider each part that is presented throughout his appearances (and when I say each, It MEAN EVERY DETAIL). Crash Reunion has a more serious and considerably possible approach in my notebook in the course of the characters' development. Especially when the fact that brought the plot of the episode is exactly the mistakes that Drake Mallard makes influencing his heroic persona. Some events that It warn you still maintain are the concept; the differences would be in the time given for the accident to affect the character (much more time than you can imagine than Elmo spent running in the flashback). Another important change is that Darkwing Duck failed, unlike the first heroic action he defeated the villain, this would not have happened because it extends the timeline between the 1990 and 2017 versions. The truth is that the first time he had to seriously face Megavolt in a risky situation, he ENDED UP LOSING and this had consequences for the others as well. This time, Megavolt was responsible for the death of a considerable group of some former students of the old St Canard and Hamilton and Preena are among the main targets (for now it is directly stated that it was MEGAVOLT who committed the crime).

Another thing It consider is to reformulate exactly the information about the two visits to the electric chair, he would only have gone ONCE. However, It does not disregard the second time in the sense that he still wants to use it to work on what happened in his mind after the second OVERLOAD. Exactly, a visit to the electric chair and an overload in this version. An interesting and somewhat silly fact is that I considered that the character would be a mix between animals, half dog and half rat. It seems silly at first, but considering how much some mutations (whether genetically, individually good or bad, disability, how can I explain it) influenced the mutation of his superpowers. In some drafts, despite some ideas of family origin, the final result is that the character is a mere American, with influences in his more distant relatives from indigenous to European. I would bet on a member of the Iroquois people as much as a Russian immigrant (or some nationality from Eastern/Eastern Europe). In truth, I haven't fully defined it yet, so it serves as a suggestion for you in your own notes.

MEGAVOLT/ELMO SPUTTERSPARK - Character Design

Concept art Vs Final Design

Canon Redesign  

DEVELOPMENT: 

There are three topics that I can mention that I will be working on throughout my writing in LYG (and also my participation with PU, Beatriz's AU). The first is to work on social change from the 1945s. Elmo Sputterspark, as confirmed, was a typical genius student, fond of exact sciences, good grades, curious and politely cute, but vulnerable to bad people. One fact that I consider is to work on the difference between American and Brazilian bullying. Many say that it refers to a type like this or type like that, however. It considers it to take exactly the social classifications and behaviour according to some readings that It has already done through blogs and Reddit (if you delve deeper, you will see that it is no small thing even today). An example that I think of in some concepts is when the character had suffered from hair loss, which came mainly from the trauma of when in childhood Hamilton cut his hair until his ears were visible. It's a cruel example, but this type of situation would continue over the years, until at some point it resulted in the actions at the reunion of the old students of the main academy of Saint Canard. However, it's not just pain that would come to the character. Have small blocks to add, someone to help him during the most difficult days of summer, especially to give a flying kick to specific bullies that fans are interested in. One fact that was pointed out that could be seen as differences is in the way that the writers can bring back the villain's superpowers. It varies a lot according to the way they want to fit it into the story and the interpretation of the AUs together. Beatriz and I put forward to consider the impacts of the accident to the rodent, which, regardless of whether it was, perhaps a project that gradually became overloaded. An abnormality, special equipment or reference to other characters, the issue that brought the powers that we know, is exactly THE OVERLOAD carried out during the event. When Elmo wakes up from it, regardless of the form, it is exactly the aftermath of the artificial electricity acting on the tiny portion of the brain's electricity. Gradually becoming so much that it would hinder the bearer's ability to remove it from his limbs (yes, this small logic is broad for anything that wants to add or rewrite its origin, and, unintentionally, there was a clue as to how it happened in the main story).

CONSTRUCTION OF ELECTROMAGNETIC AND ELECTRICAL POWERS

Talking comes, talking goes, won't beat around the bush, just adding to the organization. The main fact is exactly to remember in the post that, considering that in the main version (used in Purple Union and Little Yellow Girl AU) the electricity that came into contact with Elmo during the accident is both organic and artificial. Over the time he was in contact with the charge it gradually came into contact with his energy waves until at a certain point the process and storage of neurons was completely broken (if you want to research in depth, you will understand that this is exactly what I say next). When Elmo's brain came in, in short, the artificial electricity kind of altered the waves of his neurons, which gradually. In addition to giving him incredible electrical powers, it would also gradually eat away at the few functional cells in his brain and influence his thirst for revenge. > 

CONSEQUENCES

Among all the factors that I have heard or read according to fans or based on research abroad, there are four factors that I think can be used to address the difficulties and changes in Megavolt/Elmo's life. Remember that this is data that I found on websites and official documents by health professionals, even so I am not a professional. I am presenting references for something small that can be added and provide recognition of these conditions and if familiar, seek out a health professional nearby.They are popularly known as:

Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder — PTSD

Alzheimer's

Dementia

Epilepsy

> POST-TRAUMATIC STRESS DISORDER — PTSD 

Known as "Post-traumatic Stress Disorder" here as PTSD, the disorder is recognized as the difficulty after a high-stress event. It can last for months or years, and many people with this disorder may try to avoid returning to the event as much as possible, whether due to memories, triggers, or having spent time with the person or place. Many things can result in PTSD, and one of the main ones that raised the point for the character to carry this condition would be his exaggerated reactions when the subject is about some event from the past. Depending on what it is, it can even bring positivity, however, for those who have the condition, any trigger that has brought pain into their life tends to have strong consequences for their safety. 

In a certain rewrite, the thought of remembering school days would not simply have only the good times. Megavolt is essentially forgetful and with the temperament of a threatened bull. In consideration of this, he may initially not present fear until slowly the memories try to remember what brought him there. From social isolation after the abrupt end of their plans to the future, from the repetition of what would be expected to never be seen again, the consequences of years of bullying, verbal, social, and physical. One thing to consider is that some symptoms vary, but they present the same traits, and for a moment of transition of their enthusiasm. It could easily be exchanged for a panic attack mixed with thirst for repressed fury for so many years. Aggressiveness and emotional indifference are some visible signs, and can be broad or on a smaller scale, varying according to the symptoms in the sufferer. The possible additional symptoms include: Physical reactions such as stress or fatigue:

Hypervigilance:

Panic attack:

Anxiety attack:

Nervousness:

Distrust:

Hopelessness:

Indifference / Emotional Detachment:

Headache:

Agitation:

Hostility:

Aggressiveness:

Irritability:

Hallucination:

Insomnia:

Sleep Deprivation:

Unwanted Thoughts:

> ALZHEIMER'S DEMENTIA

Alzheimer's disease is recognized as a progressive disease responsible for the degradation of brain cells and is caused by genetic factors, such as an abnormal gene in the predominant trait of ancestors. It is commonly believed that the disease consumes the brain's strength until the individual is completely unable to perform their activities due to damage to the area of the body known as the hippocampus and the cerebral cortex (and there are other similar diseases, such as neurodegenerative diseases: Alzheimer's, Dementia, Korsakoff Syndrome, Huntington's, stroke, Head injury or tumour, chronic traumatic encephalopathy, Creutzfeldt-Jakob, multiple sclerosis, normal pressure hydrocephalus, hypothyroidism, high blood pressure, depression, and ADHD…). One factor responsible for the genetic abnormality of Alzheimer's is some lipoproteins in the cholesterol in the bloodstream. There are three types of lipoproteins:

Epsilon-4: (Leads to earlier development of Alzheimer's)

Epsilon-2: (Leads to a decrease and some safety in Alzheimer's)

Epsilon-3: (Leads to neutrality between developing or not). An important part that I will highlight from the sources (everything will be at the end of the post) is that it is not in any way a routinely recommended test. As any disease in the field of cells and brain can lead to having it, it is commonly done in middle-aged individuals.

In some rewrites, Alzheimer's is one of the most popularly known diseases and is often reviewed in some indirect way among characters who have had their past taken away. Whether by force or by chance, the main consideration is demarcating that Elmo will not have it completely. However, he would gradually go through some signs as he would lose connection with his reality. A significant fact to mention is that Alzheimer's disease is commonly targeted at middle-aged people, and a fact that could point to the approximation is exactly the character who originally is in his 30s to 40s (I read the Reboot notes). Even though, it is not completely impossible for the disease to be present in younger people. However, in a headline a century ago from “the Journal for Alzheimer's Disease”. Reported in Beijing, China, a case of gradual memory loss lasting two years in a 19-year-old from Beijing, China, was diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease. Becoming the youngest patient to have the condition in the world and being treated by finding beta-amyloid in his brain in the hippocampus. I could mention the age that the character would have during the course of the story, however, for now I will say that he was born (in this interpretation) on 09/16/1964. The main fact is that he would present considerably signs of a little of each of the conditions mentioned. However, one fact is not directly linked to another so easily, each reference influences in some way to itself and the additional possible symptoms are from:

People may experience:

Disorientation (partially):

Forgetfulness:

Difficulty concentrating:

Difficulties and Loss of recent memory (there is an additional point that your implicit or declarative memory has recovery points at an average level):

Agitation/Restlessness:

“Personality” changes:

Difficulty performing functions:

Lack of or wandering aimlessly:

Apathy (significant on average):

Mood swings, anger or loneliness:

Hallucination:

Paranoia:

Rhythmic muscle contractions:

Disorientation:

Slurred speech (rare signal):

Limited social skills:

> DEMENTIA IN GENERAL 

Dementia is recognized as not being a disease, but rather as a group of cognitive and social symptoms that interfere with the individual's daily activities. Characterized by dysfunction of at least two functions, such as memory and discernment, in the brain. This suggests that Alzheimer's is a type of dementia and a term used to describe poor function in the area of the cerebral cortex. With treatments that help deal with the progression of cells, there are medications to treat the symptoms brought on by the passing of the years, perhaps not preventing them completely, but helping to improve the health of the body.

In this part of the post, in the rewrite, I confirm with a green flag that the problem in question that I would mark as total would be dementia. As it would be the field that would most encompass a behavioural analysis of the character's day-to-day difficulties. It would also represent some possible consequences for the aftermath of the genetic mutation in the character. At this point, I mention an important fact that developed over the years. Megavolt's thinking contains, to a certain extent, temperament issues. Considering that certain occasions of indifference and raising of the voice with triggers are not necessarily wilful, but are partly caused by a short temper, poor communication and low tolerance in moments of mild to serious stress. This consensus caught me when I was remembering Quackerjack's mentions with the nickname “Sparky” and that somehow it seemed very much like he repressed as much as possible the impulses of verbal threats to violence. Which, contrary to what normally happens in crises/anger attacks, tends to lead to impulsive choices at the time and then accommodated by a dose of guilt and shame (something that I will try to present directly in the future via text, stay tuned).

> EPILEPSY  

Epilepsy is recognized as a disease in which there is a disturbance in the activity of nerve cells, gradually causing temporary convulsions, which can present as a crisis or epileptic fits. It can occur both generically and due to injuries, lesions, trauma, or substance abuse that affect the cerebral vascular system. An epileptic fit occurs with the contraction of muscles, or rather, as a switch from voluntary to involuntary contractions or muscle paralysis. Among the signs throughout the body, there may be loss of control of movements, incomprehensible speech, tremors, chewing on the tongue (or even rolling it up), intense salivation, panting, and this will result in what the individual's gaze does. Often, because it can occur for a short period of time, it is often not noticed by family members, caregivers, or even teachers. At the end of the recurrence, the person does not remember what happened during or before the involuntary seizure, called a partial seizure (consciousness is not influenced) and a complex seizure (consciousness is impacted). Generalized seizures define those that affect the person in a generalized manner, as the name suggests. There are some types of generalized seizures:

Absence seizure: characterized by the behaviour of staring into space, spaced out, and may make subtle movements, such as blinking.

Myoclonic seizures: characterized by sudden movements, such as sudden jerks or spasms in the arms and legs;

Atonic seizures: characterized by loss of muscle control, which can lead to sudden falls or uncertain movements.

Atonic seizures: This type of seizure causes loss of muscle control, which can lead to sudden falls.

Tonic seizures: characterized by muscle rigidity, generally affecting the muscles of the arms, legs, and back. They can also cause falls;

Clonic seizures: characterized by causing rhythmic and repetitive movements. Tonic-clonic seizures. In this type, there is loss of consciousness, rigidity, and tremors throughout the body, and in some cases, loss of control of the bladder and tongue. This is the most well-known type of seizure, when the patient struggles.The symptoms in addition to your profile:

Fainting/Fatigue:

Tingling:

Visual or sensory symptoms:

Amnesia:

Mental confusion:

Seizures:

Headache:

Temporary paralysis:

If we are now referring to the representation of Megavolt/Elmo, he takes on a considerable role in the situations in which he lives together and, many times. It is the result of a physical overload of electricity running through his veins. Furthermore, in reference to one of the actions that occurs when he pushes his body's energy limits, and one of the reasons for merging with his crisis episodes. And one of the factors that led to this connection came from the character's defeats, in which Darkwing Duck or company used water, or an overload of their powers to defeat him. With the change in tone, it is possible to direct that this was one of the reasons for considering the influence of the development of these symptoms on the character. Another fact that is considerably open to work on his psychology within his arcs until his last appearance in the AUs. It will still be studied a little more to improve the writing of the subject, even though it already contains its own notes on PTSD. It is essential to make progress to improve and find a way to show the individuality in the rat

An important fact to mention is that, despite the differences, the relationship between the Fearsome Five has undergone some considerable changes. However, the essence between the four members carries a considerable essence, even with the relationship problems and threats caused by Negaduck. An essential piece of information to be said is that as Megavolt's experience progresses, health issues begin to appear that influence a considerable dependence to treat some negligence, difficulty remembering and performing simple activities. More information and it's a bucket of unintentional gossip.

CREATIVE WRITING: What ideas can be worked and how can each one fit in? 

Relationships with the Fearsome Four:

A great approach for the group of villains is to explore how interactions work, their development. Mainly, to address how they can help their little friend with his difficulties in everyday life and how sometimes he can have both good and bad days in relation to trying to be his emotional support. Negaduck is also a good placement, he could work on how both good and bad relationships can affect his personality. If it is thanks to this or that he can give in to crises or because he is someone trying to deal with everything alone for fear of being dependent. However, who can gradually show again that support in some way is essential to give him independence of his identity.

Relationships with family members:

Every character in Darkwing Duck, unlike the protagonist who has a daughter and frequently interacts with the audience, there are few characters who have any affinity with their family members, even with some small mentions. For example: Liquidator has already mentioned his cousin, Morgana has a large family, Drake has his ancestors and his adopted daughter, but what about other characters like Megavolt? Well, I say that here, it would give writers and artists total freedom to play with the concepts. They could give the same country, brothers, uncles, cousins, grandparents, even adoptive purposes that were built from friendship and relationships of consideration for a negligent environment, in the same way as giving a romantic partner. However, the point I'm getting at for now is about the certain almost coming of working a possible son into the character. Of course, the artists could even swap it for a daughter and even the fans themselves with OCs, the point is that this fact would give an influential sequence to the character. A child in their care could have countless origins, the focus on their presence would be the changes it would give to the character's personality. Would this kid be a joy for him? Just a bait? An emotional support over time, together? A line between sanity and domestic life? Or how could little Isha (Arcane) end her days to give the total loss of hope? Well, I don't tremble at all with the hands of a person committed to a message. 

Non-intimate relationships and relationships with strangers:

Now let's get to the comment that would cause the most confusion among the common citizens of the city and the lawyers of the lunatic gentleman. Would there be a way to work on this without disregarding his crimes and the terror he caused to ordinary people? Would this influence his emotional indifference if it came back to haunt him? It could open up many ideas, perhaps the rodent's going to a reformatory, a psychiatric clinic or even moments of his monitoring sessions with a psychologist or therapist. Maybe there would be someone who could be a helping hand to show him other sides. Would giving him a future if he is at the end of his line of conscience or lack of security for others open up space to debate Megavolt's redemption? Well, the numerous answers are all valid, and it would be interesting to hear from each one what would be in their argument. This also applies to the relationships of enemies like Megavolt with Darkwing Duck and how much this influences his development. Whether there is variation, resentment, or that it brings some small sense of morality regarding his opinion to the hero's companions. It would be possible to play with the other topics in the smallest interactions. Such as a possible neutrality that would lead to leaving LP, Honker and Gosalyn alone or even that there would be no sense that would prevent him from hurting the hero emotionally.

INTERESTING REFERENCES FOR YOU TO PICK UP FOR THE CHARACTER 

Pearl of Steven Universe;

Fiddleford Hadron / Old Man McGucket of Gravity Falls;

Doctor Two-Brains of Word Girl;

Ice King / Simon Petrikov of Adventure Time;

Junk rat of Overwatch 2

Powder / Jinx of Arcane: League of Legends;

Damian Wayne (Batman #655) and Dick Grayson (Detective Comics #38) of DC Comics

CLOSING

I thank everyone who had the patience to listen to some ideas of my anxious personality, I continue trying to have something that can be recognized and that can interact with the other people present. And probably some, coming from Instagram, must have thought of the original characters that Beatriz and I made, and that includes Isabella and little Vanna. Recently, I will try to help in the return of her main universe if I don't go back to writing the fifth chapter of LYG's story for 12/26. However, well, if you want to participate in throne-year anniversary of progress by sending questions, I would love to draw them while I'm helping in the Purple Union AU. So, if you want to help us with support or questions, we will try to answer them without spoiling the fun. I hope you enjoyed it, see you soon!

BIBLIOGRAPHIC REFERENCES:

Darkwing Duck - Fandom Wiki. Epilepsia: Conheça os diferentes tipos de crise - por Maiara Ribeiro, DRAUZIO 06/05/2020.

MANUAL MSD, Versão para Profissionais de Saúde - PorBola Adamolekun, MD, University of Tennessee Health Science Center.

Manual MSD, Versão Saúde para a Família - Doença de Alzheimer, Por Juebin Huang, MD, PhD, Department of Neurology, University of Mississippi Medical Center.

Healthdirect Australian health advice you can count on - Memory disorders

Epilysis Foundation - What is Epilysis?

Alzheimer's Association  - What Is Dementia?

Psychiatrist.com - A 19-Year-Old Is Youngest Ever to Be Diagnosed with Alzheimer's

Mayo Clinic - Post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD)

[unnervinglyferal]

Like the same wrong bird or is she throwing a different bird at the wall each time to see what sticks?

A collection of different ones.

My first name is a fairly commonly known Hebrew name, but people here are only familiar with the Finnish butchering of the biblical butchering of it. I've been going by the same nickname since I was five, and I'm glad I have because boy I'd hate having beef with everyone trying to call me something that is not my fucking name, and arguing with them about pronouncing it wrong.

What I didn't know when I was five was that my nickname is also the Finnish word for a specific bird - not one that anyone would name at the top of their head when asked to think of a random waterfowl, but commonly known enough to make people go "what, like the bird?" when they hear what I'm called.

That is also what my girlfriend's great-grandmother did when I was first introduced to her, and every time she was trying to remember my name, she guessed the wrong duck, mallard or pintail every time, until it became obvious that she's doing that on purpose. I took it to mean that she didn't like me, because obviously she wouldn't be happy that her best great-granddaughter got knocked up by some street boy whose name is a duck.

Once we first left her house, I told my girlfriend about how I really wasn't surprised by that, and she corrected me about it: Great-grandma does that kind of shit to people to show that she likes them, she's impeccably polite to people she doesn't plan to keep. She has kept it up, too, and has occasionally named more and more obscure birds that I've never even heard of.

And one time I saw her casually browsing an illustrated book of different bird species, on an earmarked page on waterfowl. She was actively fucking looking up new, progressively more obscure mallards to call me.

[randy-inks]

Back from the dead to give you superhero au

Here’s the rant just for you

First off this is a combination of Superman and Batman cuz I watch their new tv shows

That being said;

Lucifer born to the richest family in Aplomb city. Lucifer is the youngest in said family and has two older brothers. One of them being mayor Michael, and Azrael whose whereabouts remains unknown.

Lucifer is born with theses powers, that being:

* flying through the use of his wings

* Pyrokinesis

* super strength

* heals faster than humans do

Lucifer has no idea where he came from or why he has these powers.

His father won’t tell him and honestly he doesn’t care. For years Lucifer has keep his powers a secret enough so that he was able to get with Lilith and have a daughter name Charlie.

Now him and Lilith are divorced and Lilith has taken Charlie with her. And Lucifer doesn’t blame her for it but he’s still sad about it.

Now with not much of a purpose in life Lucifer decides to use his powers again and try to help the city of Aplomb as it’s filled with crime.

Alastor is kinda the Louis Lane of the au ngl

Alastor grew up in the poorer side of Aplomb and with a rough family life. He’s only comfort apart from his mom was the old timely radio.

And that cause him to dream about being a radio show host, problem with that

Radio is slowly dying, being replaced by Tv.

So Alastor gets a job at the daily news, one of the last new stations to still have a radio station, and yet they won’t hire him on the radio show staff as much as he tries.

So the next course of action is to go big or go home. He plans to do that by getting an exclusive interview with the new superhero in town Mallard. Who is known for not taking interviews.

Alastor is determined to the point of putting himself in danger of himself. Like oh I don’t know having the mafia shoot at you. Hey luckily Mallard saved him. There are times when Alastor is able to save himself and even save Mallard from time to time.

One of his biggest pain in the asses is Lucifer Morningstar, the now divorced millionaire that he has to follow for the new papers. Alastor thinks Lucifer is the dumbest, air headed, slow, childish, arrogant, kinda pretty, and clumsy person he has ever met. And constantly getting on his nerves as he tries to find out what’s going on in this crime filled city as he slowly fills in the detective role and calls out on the corruption of this city.

And way too many villains keep kidnapping him!

The Shadow,

That’s the best way to describe this creature……. This thing It’s a shadow with a mind of its own? A stone cold killer, it wants blood and it needs more and more and more. And the thing is about it…… Lucifer can’t even touch it, it’s a shadow. How are you supposed to touch a shadow? How are you supposed to beat a shadow? What do you do if it merges with your own shadow, and you become its puppet? How do you know it’s gone? How do you know your daughter is safe? is she safe?

In the superhero au Charlie gets to spend time with her father after some plot stuff happens

On a superhero mission Lucifer gets gravely injured and can’t escape until he is saved by Charlie in a Halloween costume with her fire abilities.

Lucifer reminds Charlie that she is too young and shouldn’t be here and her mother will yell at him, Charlie reminds him she saved his ass even though she barely uses her abilities.

Lucifer sighs and agrees to train her more before she’s aloud to be a hero.

He’s going to need the help as the government is no longer dealing with Mallard’s ass and Micheal can only hold them off for long.

Micheal and Lucifer were close when they were younger, the two were best friends but as they grew up the gap in their relationship grew too. Soon they barely talked to each. When Lucifer didn’t show support for his mayoral campaign that was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Michael cut out Lucifer from his life.

Micheal thought that would be the end of their relationship but when Micheal heard about a winged man with fire powers, he immediately knew it was Lucifer. It’s not rocket science.

Years ago, he and Lucifer agreed to their father that the will keep their powers a secret, it seems Micheal needs to remain his brother of that.

Wow that is a long read-

[cwilburmpregabortion]

I would be an excellent prime defenders character because i would bully Mallard Conway soooo easily. First of all i would tell him that his fit makes him look like some sort of evil Yo Gabba Gabba character or maybe the carpeting of a motel. then I'd tell him how he has a dork fucking name then say how it does it feel to be named after a type of duck, you british dork? i bet your parents sent you to boarding school as a kid because they didn't want you around. bitch.

[spunsugarmusings]

Laura Bow In: The Dagger of Amon-Ra Sentence Starter Pack

Quotes taken from the game Laura Bow In: The Dagger of Amon-Ra, the wildly tonally different sequel to The Colonel's Bequest. TW for murder, death, infidelity and such. Change pronouns and tenses as needed, some entries have been edited for clarity, and please enjoy!

"There is still time to correct this most grievous misunderstanding."

"Don't let him shake you. He's tough on the outside, but inside, he's got a heart of stone."

"Don't touch it! You don't know where it's been!"

"That's what you think, you mallard rest buffoon!"

"It is a unicorn, left over from a King's Quest game."

"You're in a heck of a pickle now!"

"Death is a natural part of life, so when your time comes, it's best to accept it and go out gracefully."

"Your perky demeanor and thorough technique are making you a First Class Detective."

"Death from traumatic lead poisoning claims many lives every year."

"Stay out of my way, or I'll thrash you within an inch of your life!"

"We usually just hire men for this job. It's rough out there, and you're kind of…small."

"You mean there's ANOTHER [NAME]? No two sets of parents could be THAT cruel."

"He's got a chip on his shoulder the size of the Brooklyn Bridge. He'll try to cut you down. Just shake it off; that's what I had to do."

"Look, that was long ago and far away, okay? The room was dark and I was NOT married at the time."

"I don't know how you know about that, but I don't want to hear another word about it."

"Oh, lovely place if you like rats, thieves, and roughnecks."

"Don't bother Doctor Jazz while he's performing."

"Ya look so cute in that outfit, it makes me want to scream!"

"I find it distasteful to celebrate thievery in the name of science!"

"Amon-Ra will have his revenge!"

"Excuse me, SIR, but I see a turkey leg on the buffet table that requires my attention."

"I just happened to be standing here."

"I don't think my wife would ever have done it in a mummy case."

"Oh, I'm sure his body is crawling with maggots by now."

"If his spirit IS with you, let me know because I'd love to see it!"

"Very kind of you to say that, but there are many who misinterpret my actions."

"A delightful girl. I keep asking her if she'd like to be my second wife."

"It never hurts to have highly-placed friends on the police force, no?"

"He doesn't care a fig for what's right and what's wrong! His evil deeds will catch up to him though, just wait and see!"

"Our civilization has evolved over thousands of years, so our methods are quite well thought out and practical."

"I almost didn't recognize you with your clothes on."

"Even empty water glasses have their uses."

"Oh, wunderbar! Now we've got the AMATEURS involved."

"The food is free of bugs, if that's what you were worried about."

"That translates out to: "My Fish Dances in the Parking Lot"?!"

"The tablet says: "She who reads this cursed tablet is doomed to be eaten by a thousand voracious scarabs"."

"You might cut yourself, or you could put an eye out, or any number of other things could happen that your mother warned you about when you were little and everything in your life was dangerous."

"Your face has certainly changed to an attractive pale color, my dear."

"Remember our deal."

"You'll have to show me how sorry you are. Kiss me."

"Honestly, you men can be such crybabies."

"Because of you, a murderer is running around loose in this city, free to kill again!"

"I've got more tricks than you have braincells!"

"Nobody just happens to HIDE behind a museum tapestry!"

"The nerve, going around accusing people of stealing paintings!"

"Just be keeping in mind that I'd have to kill you if I ever found out you were sleeping with someone else."

"It's been a long time since I've been able to trust anyone as much as I trust you."

"We've got a perfectly good art burglary scheme going!"

"That's not blood, you got me all excited..."

"That man'd lie to his own MOTHER if someone paid him for it!"

"I lost a load of Egyptian cobras down there a few weeks ago, and I occasionally come across one of the little darlings."

"I need more proof before I subject him to the full force of my wrath."

"Why are you tied up on my desk?"

"If you see him, will you tell him [NAME] is dying on the desk in my office?"

"Ah, excuse me, I was looking for the women's lounge?"

"There is too much at stake here, too many important people are involved!"

"We can either test you or sacrifice you, it's your choice!"

"It's all that damned lousy reporter's fault!"

[esperfruit]

Final batch of Thomas and Friends refs for now

Frankie Clarke

Age: 33

Height: 174 cm

James "Hurricane" Stratford

Age: 30

Height: 189 cm

Subordinates of D10 who run a base of operation on the Mainland covered as the local steelworks. The couple is loyal to D10 to no end but they are often seen complaining about their amount of work, how understaffed they are and wish to have some days-off from time to time.

They try to lure innocent people in to get some free labor with Frankie's way with words and Hurricane's muscle. They often do their victims a favour to make them indepted to them. Frankie as the steelworks manager, treats the workers they forced in very poorly as they have to work for hours on end and are trapped at the base and never left out. The workers get severly punished when they displease the duo, earning the two the names "Frankie the Slavedriver" and "Hurricane the Brute". Their misdeeds were put to an end when they decided to bring in a young boy in blue...

Ashima Desai

Age: 16

Height: 164 cm

A young girl that arrived on Sodor from India to go to the Mainland for a big event, her parents were invited to. She ran into Thomas by accident and they did not get along well at the start despite Ashima's attempts to be nice. However, they managed to open up to each other over time, especially gaining his interest because she heard about a legend about a ghostly woman with a golden aura, suspecting it might be about Lady.

Ashima is polite, modest, generous and very confident in herself as she can sense when someone is being rude to her and knows how to handle a situation like this like with her first encounters with Thomas. She has the firm believe that nobody has to chance who they are at the core and that fully embracing who you are will bring you true happiness. After the event and she and Thomas and his friends got into all sorts of incidents, Ashima headed back to India but she and Thomas promised to stay in contact regardless.

Mallard Gresley

Age: 49

Height: 200 cm

The oldest son of the Gresley branch family closest to the main family and Spencer's older brother. Mallard is prideful, arrogant and pompous like most Gresleys but he's more secluded than others and only cares about his own business, seeing no need to participate in their family drama as a very successful position was already guaranteed to him from birth. Because of that, he holds no jealousy against the main family with how content he is with what he has, despite the knowledge that he would inherit everything from the main family in the case it would disappear.

Mallard is so introverted and distant that he can mostly only be seen on big events and nowhere else. He and Scott decided to be on good terms for the sake of avoiding trouble neither of them wants. Despite being siblings, Mallard wants nothing to do with his brothers and sisters aside from business, especially with Spencer, who he views as nothing but a nuiscance with his pettiness and reckless behaviour.

Ace Canley

Age: 18

Height: 182 cm

A newbie ralley car racer from Australia, who goes around the world for events. Ace is carefree, impulsive, stubborn and tents to never consider the feelings of others, dragging others into his reckless actions against their will. Oblivious to it, he is also very manipulative and convinces people with pressure. He can also be lazy like when he made Thomas, the younger and smaller one, push his car up a hill when they got stuck in Africa.

His parents were archeologists, who worked with the Billington's and disappeared alongside them. When he learnt about Thomas 10 years later, he used his world tour as an opportunity to get to meet him and bond over their shared fates. He wanted to convince Thomas to accompany him on his tour mostly for fun and Thomas disagreed at first as this was a bit too much to ask for and he did not like Ace at all, even Lady told him to stay away from him. But when Ace brought up they could find clues about their parents' disappearance, Thomas reluctently agreed. Unlike with Percy, Rosie, Philip and Ashima, Thomas never warmed up to Ace and the feeling that he is a bad to have around never left him for a good reason.

[andromedasummer]

ik I'll just google them but WHITE KIWI EXISTS?? there is a white version of that funny birb???

theyre not a SPECIES per say. so, there are five whole officially recognised kind of kiwi!!!

North Island Brown Kiwi:

Tokoeka (Southern Brown Kiwi)

Rowi (Ōkarito Brown Kiwi, the rarest!)

Little Spotted Kiwi

And the Great Spotted Kiwi (Roroa!)

(info on them here)

and then, there's Manukura

First of three white kiwi born in the same wildlife park. She's a North Island Brown Kiwi and her parents both had recessive albinism genes. The conservation and breeding staff had no indication that anything with their genes was different and fully expected a typical north brown kiwi from her egg until she hatched in 2011 and gave everyone a MASSIVE shock. They ended up having two more white kiwi after her (including Mapuna, her little brother!)

"Manukura was born in the Pukaha / Mount Bruce National Wildlife Centre. The bird was born in May 2011 with a rare genetic condition that made it all white, instead of brown

She was named by Rangitāne leader, Mike Kawana; her name is the Māori word for 'chiefly status'." (Wikipedia)

People thought she was a boy at first! Then when she was 1 they realized their mistake. She was beating up male kiwi.

Manakura died in 2020 after having surgery. she stopped eating for a month because she was unable to pass an unfertilized egg and they tried to remove it and then had to remove parts of her ovaries. She's very sorely missed, there were storybooks about her. I believe the other white kiwi live on, which is wonderful.

There are some white Kiwi in the wild! But most Kiwi that dont live in protected parks (where they're bred to increase population) are killed by stoats or rats. It's like a solid 90% of them that pass unfortunately. It's part of the reason Predator Free 2050 is in motion (removal of all introduced vermin harming our native birds and trees. This includes possums, ferrets, stoats and rats which are responsible for 25% of extinct flora and fauna species here in NZ since arriving on boats when colonization began)

Here is another white kiwi dancing in front of one of the many predator monitoring cameras within the sanctuary it lives in.

And if you're asking "Wow, Liv, you know a lot about native birds in NZ" the answer to why that is, is my dad worked for DOC until my mid twenties and as a small autistic child it made conservation efforts the center of my world. So naturally that meant details about Kiwi, Kakapo, Kaka, Huia, Moa etc were locked away in the "INCREDIBLY IMPORTANT PRIMARY INFORMATION" part of my brain along with how to tell a male and female mallard apart, what to do in an earthquake and how to notice and prevent hypothermia and survive until finding help in deep bushland

[nightingale2004]

The Marauders next gen: Wolfstar version (Sirius x Remus)

Artemis Hope Lupin

Faceclaim: Diana Silver

Artemis is the firstborn daughter of Remus Lupin and Sirius Black

Her middle name was the name Remus's late mother

Looks a bit like both her dads but takes after more of Sirius's looks and personality

She is fiercely protective of her family

Attends Hogwarts

Gryffindor through and through

Raging bisexual

Quidditch player (beater and chaser)

Inherited Sirius's love for pranks and loves brainstorming with the weasley twins

After Sirius got locked up to Azkaban, Artemis felt like she had to take care of everything, and everyone in her family and be the adult but still a great big sister

Loves going to music record stores and just loves music in general (more specifically, Rock n roll 🤟)

Her patronus is a husky dog

Her favorite subjects are flying, charms, DADA, care for magical creatures, muggle studies, and transfiguration

Doesn't know a lot about Sirius's side of the family other than what she was told and what she has found out about them (she is very nosy and has dug around for information about them)

Has an interest in auto mechanics and engineering

She wears Sirius's old leather jacket

Likes chocolate but prefers sour candy

She is also an animagus, and her form is a husky dog, similar to her patronus

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Caelum Alphard Lupin

Faceclaim: Felix Mallard

The second child and the first son of Remus Lupin and Sirius Black

His middle name came from Sirius's late uncle, Alphard Black

Sirius and Remus got married a year after they graduated from Hogwarts and had their children shortly after

Caelum is more like Remus but takes after Sirius in looks

Caelum is considered quiet, distant, and intelligent. He also considers himself an artistic soul

If you were to ask Caelum, he'd say Artemis was the Sun, and he was the moon

When Sirius was sent to Azkaban, Caelum was only 1 year old, while Artemis was 4.

He vaguely remembered the Potters, but what he did remember was that both his dads loved them and that they would take Caelum and his sister over to the Potters all the time

He is sorted into Slytherin when the hat senses his determination, ambition, and cleverness. He was almost put into Gryffindor, but the hat changed its mind

He is on the quidditch team as a seeker but is not as passionate about it as his older sister

When he was sorted into Slytherin, his sister was worried for him along with their father, but Remus still loved his son but at the same time was afraid of what he would turn into in Slytherin

He is a major choco-holic (prefers dark chocolate)

His patronus is a raven

He also has an animagus form, which is a cat

He once snuck out to Grimmauld place out of curiosity of Sirius's side of the family. And he found out a LOT of information about the Blacks and his late Uncle Regulus and how similar he was to his uncle Regulus in some ways

☆○☆○☆○☆○☆○☆○☆○☆○☆○☆○☆○☆○☆○☆○☆

Cerys Nova Lupin

Faceclaim: Bailey Bass

Cerys is the adopted daughter of Remus Lupin and Sirius Black

They both adopted her a year before Sirius went to Azkaban, so Nova doesn't remember much of her other dad

Before she was adopted, she was born to a werewolf couple who were formerly a part of Fenrir Greyback's pack who gave her up for her safety

After Sirius went to Azkaban, Remus wasn't present as much, and Artemis took charge at a young age. Taking care of her younger siblings and her own father

She is literally the sweetest person you'll ever meet. A literal cinnamon roll that needs to be protected, but she can she won't hesitate to fight you if you speak badly about her family

Loyal to a fault

Loves gardening and sweets

Loves milk and white chocolate

Sorted into Hufflepuff

She is the second werewolf in her family, while her older siblings are full wizards.

She loves it when her siblings turn into their animagus form during full moons. It makes her feel less lonely

Sees Harry like an older brother.

Severus has a soft spot for this young wolf (how can you not?)

Her patronus is a wolf