#no jazz btw lol
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
youtube
#no jazz btw lol#very white list but online charts tend to be that way#rym wrong about everything usually#but they were right on a few of these#good morning captain and bloodhail b2b is cool even if those are too low#alright also too low like how is that below minecraft song#i want wind to blow b2b wouldnt it be nice is makin me cry#id also be mad at beatles in top 5 if they werent strawberry fields or day in the life#sure enough
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
DPxDC Omegaverse Request
Request for: @purplereaderfans
————
Robin looked at Batman with pleading eyes and a wide smile.
"... Robin. Who are they?" His voice was deadpan.
Robin beamed. "My new siblings! Pleaseeeeeeee??"
"Robin!" Batman scolded, though in a light tone to not scare Robin's new wards. "You can't just pick up pups off the street!"
Robin lifted the one in his arms to show Batman. "But he’s in heat! He needed my help!”
The pup did smell sugary sweet and looked dazed, lying in Robin’s arms securely like a kitten. Batman saw his dark hair and bright blue eyes and immediately felt an odd sense of parental affection for him.
Still, he could not just allow Robin to take to kids off the streets and adopt them!
A shy voice called out, "It's okay, Robin is a hero."
Robin preened.
Batman looked down at the young omega in heat, who was trying in vain to bury underneath Robin's skin. Then he looked at the alpha that was sticking close to Robin for comfort, who was looking at him with shy gazes through long red hair.
"And who is this?" He asked slowly, sounding far less angry. The young girl looked soft and sweet, and his heart melted further.
The young alpha peeked out again and said, "Hello, Mister. M'name's Jazz and this is Danny. Robin is saving us from our parents."
"Yep! So we can keep them, right, B?"
Batman closed his eyes and looked up to the sky for divine intervention.
The alpha, Jazz, spoke up again, lifting big turquoise eyes to Batman's face, "I'm sorry, sir. Danny is in heat, and mom and dad aren't going to come home yet for another two weeks. If... if it's okay, can we just stay with Robin for a few days before we go back?"
As if on cue, the omega in heat whined and then looked up at Batman with big, watery eyes. He smelled like rain and mud and gardenias, and he looked so small and so scared, and Batman melted.
“Fine,” he said with a sigh. “Just get in the car.”
Danny gave a small whimper of relief, and he relaxed, burying his head back into Robin’s shoulder. Jazz beamed and crooned, “Thank you!”
Robin grinned. “You won’t regret it, B!”
Robin pulled the two into the Batmobile and then immediately began looting the trunk, pulling out snacks and blankets. Jazz curled around her brother while he sniffled and writhed in silent agony.
Batman sighed, climbing into the drivers seat and handing him a water bottle. “Are you sure that you want to stay with us?” He asked again.
Jazz smiled tiredly as she rubbed her cheek over Danny’s sweaty hair. She nodded and bundled up her brother in the blankets that Robin passed over.
This time, it was Danny who answered in a scratchy, exhausted tone, “Yeah. Thank you, Mr. Wayne.”
Batman nodded and turned back to the front.
Then he whirled around, eyes wide.
“WHAT DID YOU JUST CALL ME?!”
#dc x dp#dp x dc#danny phantom x dc#dp x dc crossover#jazz fenton#dpxdc#dcxdp#danny fenton#dick grayson#dp x omegaverse#btw anyone else who sends me a prompt through my dms will be given a link to my ko-fi account lol (/srs)#danny is a little shit
754 notes
·
View notes
Text
"Daddy! Mommy's is having Ellie!"
Everyone in the Batfam knows Jason keeps secrets.
Secrets he'd take to his grave a second time if he had to.
But to think one of those secrets would be about the fact he had a secret family.
And the only reason the Batfam found out was because apparently their secret (grand)daughter/sister-in-law Jazz/Jasmine was in labor and their (great)grandson/nephews Danny (Daniel) and Dan (Dante) called him while on a Red Hood job with the rest of the Batfam to panicky tell him their baby sister Ellie was on the way early.
Red Hood books it away from the fam to his bike while asking to put Kori or Roy on the phone.
Oh boy.
#danny phantom#danny fenton#crossover#dp x dc#blue rambles#danny phantom dc#writing ideas#random idea#dpxdc#anger management#jazz x jason#been a while since I wrote out an anger management prompt lol#deaged or reborn in DcVerse Danny and Dan?#reborn Ellie though#she destabilized to much and need to be actually born#Jasmine fled her home universe after some bad stuff happened while she was in college#Her parents. Good Fentons btw. Had to save Danny. Dan. and Ellie from the GIW#but they got hurt really bad#to the point they were all in their cores#they had to send Jazz away on the Spector Speeder into the portal with the cores she they could grow in ectoplasm and heal#or until she could get them to Frostbite#Jack and Maddie made sure to blow up the lab after they sent the kids into though.#the GIW was on their tail and the Fentons made sure to destroy everything about their portal work and most of the GIW#Jazz was heading to Frostbite but got knocked off course and landed in a natural portal that spat her out in Red Hoods territory#Because Jazz is liminal she can store her sibs cores inside her and does so. she eventually meets Red Hood/Jason#and can tell hes died/liminal like her#either just by being near him or actually getting together she gets 'pregnant' with twins Danny and Dan#or they just form as babies either one works#but Ellie did have to be 'made' though by then Jazz and Jason were already together
450 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Foster Mother
Now on ao3 and VHS release
There was, supposedly, someone waiting for him in the green sitting room.
“…Why?” Tim asked. Most of the usual suspects had already come by to give their “condolences”—former Drakes Industries investors, curious about the newly orphaned heir; fellow socialites, once again flocking in to give and receive sympathies for their “close friends, the Drakes”; gawkers come to see what they could scavenge off of a dead family’s home, never mind that their child was alive.
“She claims to know you, Master Tim,” Alfred offered, kettle in his hand. He spent a moment deciding between different two canisters of tea; a sign of possibly difficult future conversation. “Her interest in your father's estate seemed quite…minimal.”
…Alright.
Tim was still in his formalwear. Dissolving Drake Industries would take at least another year, and plenty of future hours cementing the future home of certain resources in their dissolution, but the outfit probably was more appropriate for whatever oncoming conversation that was about to ensue than his planned change into Dick’s old hoodie and board shorts.
Okay. Tim steeled himself. The self-determination…mostly worked. Whatever. He trudged up into the green sitting room from the kitchen with his usual introduction ready on his tongue.
And then Tim walked into the room.
And then Jazzy was there.
*
Tim had been three, and Miss Jasmine had been his had been his third nanny. He’d outgrown the wetnurse early on, and his second nanny had been dismissed, so although Miss Jasmine was the third nanny, she was first nanny Tim could consciously remember.
She’d had red hair. She’d been very gentle with him.
She got him up in the morning and put him to bed at night; for the first time, there had been someone who sat with him until he was asleep, reading all sorts of books his parents had left to engage him with as an early genius. Then, when those were over and done as promised to his parents, they got unauthorized books from the library: silly books with made-up words, dinosaur books, books about teddy bears and adventures around the world.
Tim hadn’t been allowed to travel the world. Tim hadn’t been allowed a teddy bear. His parents had thought it would encourage undue attachment.
(It had been the same reason he’d never been given a pacifier.)
Miss Jazz had given him a knitted bunny. She’d said her dad had made it especially for him.
The toy’s name was Bunny and Tim remembered him being very soft.
She didn’t smile all the time, but smiles were rewards that were easy to earn. He finished his meal and she smiled. He finished an educational puzzle and she smiled. He was quiet all through her phone call and she smiled, and answered all his questions once she was done.
Jazzy had been the first person in his life who was there all the time. She’d kissed his forehead after the bath and kissed his scraped knees; she’d carried him in his arms when he was tired and sometimes even when he wasn’t. His parents had wanted him to be independent, proactive, and not clingy, but Jazzy had been someone who he could run to from his bed when he’d had nightmares and someone he could cuddle on her lap with when he’d cried.
She was gone when he was seven. He didn’t remember why. His parents had probably never told him, but still; he'd assumed he'd have found out why eventually.
Jazzy looked the same right now as she looked in Tim’s memories, although she was likely no longer a college student at a nannying gig. Her red hair was pulled into a high bun, her dress modest and conservative from her neck to her ankles. There was a backpack beside her foot. She was sitting, one leg crossed over the other, on the high-backed loveseat in the green sitting room.
She looked up when he came in.
Tim. Stopped in his tracks.
It didn’t matter. Jazzy—Miss Jasmine stood up as soon as she saw him, eyes alight with worry. Foggy memories were swimming to the forefront of Tim’s brain. He couldn’t move.
“Tim?” Ja—Miss Jasmine asked, teal eyes raking over his frame. Tim froze where he was. He didn’t move, wide-eyed and terrified for no reason at all when Miss Jasmine got closer to him, at a distance that was more appropriate for a conversation.
She stood there. Watching him. It felt like his mother had just come home from her trips with Dad, and a ghost of old terror wafted through him as he waited for her to decide he’d done something wrong. Her voice got softer. Her eyes got softer. Why was Tim feeling so wrong-footed?? It was only a former staff person!
“Tim?” her voice was so gentle. “I don’t know if you remember me. I’m—“
“M’s Jazz,” Tim croaked. Which. Wasn’t the level of formality he’d been going for, but better than Jazzy. He wasn’t a toddler anymore.
Miss Jasmine was so tall—honestly, was she taller than Bruce? She’d seemed insurmountable as a child; he hadn’t expected her height to truly be so statuesque as an adult.
(Or. Well. Almost an adult.)
She didn’t quite kneel down, but she did stoop lower, as if Tim was small and he needed to be on equal footing in order to have a serious conversation.
He could see all her freckles. Tim swallowed. It was too familiar. Everything about her was too familiar.
“You’re so big now,” Jazzy whispered, looking at his hair, his suit, his polished shoes. He didn’t feel it. “Oh, you’ve grown up so well.”
Thanks, Tim almost said. Something stopped him—something thick in his throat, to impassable to break through.
“I—“ he tried. He coughed. “Why…you… You’re here?”
Jazzy threw him an incredulous look, and then an incredibly wry one. “Well,” she drawled a little too primly, in the way that Alfred occasionally made obvious statements, “I’d think it obvious that when one’s parents have passed away, that those who care about you might come to check and see if you’re alright.”
Which. That didn’t make sense. Jazzy hadn’t come back for any other reason; she hadn’t come back for his mother’s funeral, nor when his father was injured publicly by a villain. Why start now?
“And,” Jazz added, seeing his visual confusion and distrust, “Your parents can’t exactly threaten me with a kidnapping charge for visiting you when they’re dead.” Pause. “Which I am sorry about. My condolences.”
Which. Whiplash. What a statement.
“Uh,” said Tim, who was rapidly losing control over the situation.
Jazzy stood again, and went back to her seat; she didn’t set herself down, though, as she only stooped to grab her backpack. “I am sorry for being unable to visit, although I really wanted to; you were at a very vulnerable age and had already moved into a class a year above you, and your parents should have been less hasty about replacing your main caretaker. The assassination attempts were unwarranted, but they did drive the point home that attempting contact was perhaps discouraged.”
“What,” said Tim. “Assassin what.”
“They were ninjas,” Jazzy offered, as if that was an answer. “Except the last one, which was a former marine. The point is that I do care about you, and wanted to ask if you had any idea where you’re going now that your parents are no longer…available guardians.”
Tim’s mouth opened. It closed.
Jazzy waited patiently.
“…How have you been?” Tim tried, resorting to a part of the script they hadn’t gone through yet.
Jazzy’s laugh was tired, but no less real. It was nothing like listening to his parents titter politely; he didn’t think Jazzy would even know how to fake a laugh. “Well, my brother told me that my former bosses had died, which was somewhat stressful. Otherwise, I’m pretty happy: I live with my brother and worked with him for the last few years. I was going to pursue medicine, but…well. The assassination attempts made it hard to interview for scholarships. I suppose that I could return to that now,” Jazzy mused, attention now elsewhere. She pulled the backpack off the floor and up into her grip. She opened it, and flipped through its contents. “How are you doing? I know that Wayne Manor fosters, but your parents were always rather…hands off. I thought the difference in levels of attention might be overwhelming.”
It was. Tim should be surprised how clearly she sees through him—
—But Jazzy used to watch him stim for almost a full hour after school, twisting Bunny’s arms back and forth until he could calm down. Seeing other people all day had been too much for him. Coming home from his parents’ parties had been similarly stressful.
She’d never been mad at him for it. She held him while he talked and stimmed and talked and talked and talked, and brushed his hair sometimes, or if it was very late and he was very young, helped him brush his teeth through all the medieval execution facts he could name.
“It is a lot to get used to,” Tim agreed quietly. He didn’t want to be ungrateful. He didn’t want to let on anyone about his plan to leave.
He had an out. The papers had already been filed; there was an actor waiting to play his uncle for a custody battle, ready for the fight.
Tim was ready to up and go. It was no hardship to leave all the good things here; anything beat making Bruce stick his fingers into Tim any deeper than they already were, compromising the dynamic they’d already established.
It was for the best.
“I can imagine,” Jazzy sympathized easily. “And I wanted to offer—well. I know there’s probably a lot of choices available to you, but my brother and I recently moved back to Gotham proper for the time being. He’s teaching astronomy courses at the university and I’m filing paperwork for Arkham patients. It’s not so privileged a home, but it’s quieter, and more central in town.”
…Tim’s heart skipped.
He. He couldn’t stop staring. Jazzy stared back at him, quiet and sure. Sure of what, Tim had no idea, but…
Why? Why would she want Tim? There was no way she would be able to get to his trust fund without his help, and he for sure knew better than to enable her ability to leech from him. The last time she’d known him, Tim had been a snot-nosed kid who cried all the time and couldn’t be normal for twenty consecutive minutes. His parents couldn’t even stand to be on the same hemisphere as him as a child. What appeal did this have for her?? What could having a teenager with severe baggage living in her house do for her?
And it’s not like there was any chance she knew he was Robin!
“Oh,” Jazzy suddenly interrupted. “I brought these for you, by the way. Your parents had tossed them out at various points; I’ve washed them since, of course.”
She handed him the backpack by the handle.
…Tim peeked inside.
On top was Bunny, still a washed-out faded sort of pink. He looked as fresh as he had the day when Tim’s parents had ”cleaned out” Tim’s nursery—in other words, a faded, a little gray, and slightly discolored from an old spaghetti stain. His button eyes were big and blue.
And beneath him were books that hadn’t passed his father’s muster as appropriately masculine reading material: The Velveteen Rabbit, with the cover a little scarred from a fierce attack of wet wipes. There’s A Monster at the End of This Book, with a goofy-looking Muppet on the cover, gold spine beat up beyond belief. Art Tim’s teacher at the time must have laminated and sent home; Tim’s dorky, crayon cat proved he would never make it as an artist, but attached to it was a photograph of a grinning boy with a bowl cut and a missing tooth.
Tim stared. There’d been purple marker on his hands and face. His grin looked…really bad, actually, like as if he was baring his teeth because he didn’t know how to smile. There was no formal grace there. Nothing to show the neighbors, nothing worth framing to put into the line of sight of the investors in the office.
Jazzy had kept it and brought it home with her. Jazzy had fished it out of the trash, and brought it with her to give back to him in Gotham.
It was crinkled like it’d been folded, over and over again. Further down in the bag was a crumpled certificate dedicated to “Timmy Drake, for: knowing a lot about octopi”, and a baby blanket Tim didn’t even remember. It had rocket ships on it. It looked as if someone had cut into it with scissors, although it had been obviously and brightly mended with red embroidery floss later on.
Jazzy had only been his nanny until Tim was seven. She had simply been gone one night, and Mom and Dad had been home for ten nights after without help before giving in and hiring Mrs. McIlvane and Mrs. Edith. Ms. Edith had never been so…permissive…with Tim as Jazzy had been.
Tim swallowed. He carefully put everything back into the backpack, unsure if he even wanted to keep it or not. It wasn’t like he could leave it here; he’d be gone, ideally, before the week was out. There was no point in taking it with him if he only planned to live with a stranger until he was eighteen.
“J…” Tim tried. He cut himself off before he could get too informal without prompting. “Miss Jasmine—“
“Just Jazz,” Jazzy corrected politely.
“—Why are you here?” Tim asked, ignoring how she’d technically already answered. He didn’t believe her. “What made my parents fire you?”
Jazzy’s expression turned…soft. Tim couldn’t look at her. Something horrible was welling with it, and he didn’t know how to cope.
“I’m here because I care about you,” Jazz repeated, and knelt beside him. She looked up into his face, and took his hand. Tim didn’t know why. He was practically an adult—he didn’t need this!
“And I was fired because your Mother overheard you calling me ‘Mommy’ on accident when you were tired. I suppose she was insulted, although I’d never know why; it’s not like she was ever home to bond with you in the first place.”
Tim’s throat closed. He missed his mom. He missed waiting up for his parents’ flight home, seeing their headlights outside the window, and knowing they’d bring home gifts from overseas. He missed using Mom’s perfume, and knowing he’d used more of the bottle sitting on her dressed than she ever had, but that it still smelled like her. He missed hearing his Dad telling all sorts of adventure stories and promises through the phone to be home for the holidays, even if Tim knew there was every chance he’d find some other way to spend the time back in Gotham.
And there was some small child in him who missed Jazzy, who hugged him and walked him to the library and made him soup from a can instead of fancy dinners and, who’d never needed to be waited for in the first place.
Tim looked at Jazzy’s round, freckled face.
He swallowed.
Tim moved out before the end of the week, as expected.
#dp x dc#Jazz fenton#tim drake#that one time Tim specifically hired a fake uncle so that Bruce couldn't adopt him#free to a good home#Jack Fenton knits btw#I'm not going to continue this but i thought it was a cool premise and needed its time. Have fun with it if you want to!#this is dedicated to all the fulltime nannies at the library who are fully just college girls raising babies#dpxdc#dcxdp#Jazz said is anyone going to raise this baby and was targeted by ninjas for it#I don't have any future plans BUT there is a moment where Dick tries to sneak into her apt to 'check it out' and she fully Gets Him with a#TBI and a Fenton CreepStickTM#also. parents who try to shape their kids by denying them every form of human comfort and access to their interests. You're dead to me#also also also I'm still a Tim Drake Autistic truther#not NOT inspired by the Say Uncle by Megarakles. This one's for you fellow fans#also. if he goes with her. He gets parented for the first time ever and it Sucks Ass lol.#faer fic
1K notes
·
View notes
Note
do you get hit on?
WHO would hit on me. the drive thru ppl?? do you really think i go out often my name is literally housecow
“damn girl you order so much food every time you’re here, that’s hot”
#i’m a homebody and it shows#y’all gotta remember i live in a small town#there’s not much opportunity to see people#also idk if i’m anywhere it’s like. the grocery store#and i’m desperately trying to get in and out unnoticed by people i knew in high school#btw though lmfao one of them hit me up on instagram and i gagged#and if i’m in the city i don’t rlly go places you’d hit on someone#people initiate conversations with me and open doors and smile at me tho so that counts for something right LOL#i went to that bar last weekend but the average age was double mine and everyone was there w their partner haha !!!#it was a jazz bar so that’s to be expected#talk#ask
252 notes
·
View notes
Text
Clone^2 - Separation Strikes
"Why do I have to go?" Damian asks, surly and accent-thick, it sounds more like a demand and a whine at the same time. Sitting on the kitchen table with his arms crossed, in a green t-shirt that Danny bought him at a whim when he was at a thrift shop, and black shorts, he's never looked more like a kid. There's a little backpack leaning against the table leg, Damian begrudgingly picked it out when they went shopping.
His English has grown in leaps and bounds since Danny found him -- er, or more accurately; since Damian was spat out in front of him. -- and very little did they have to use the translator on Danny's phone these days.
Which meant one thing: Damian can start attending school comfortably now. And 'go' was the Amity Smiles Child Care Center. Danny and Jazz went as kids until they were twelve, and Mom and Dad actually managed to convince the center director to let Damian enroll for the summer.
And it was summer; Damian starts today.
"Because," Danny says, trying and failing to hide the smile pulling on his face, his heart warm and soft, and also laughing at Damian's expense; "being cooped up in the house all day isn't good for you, and you're starting school in the Fall. And, in Jazz's words: you need to have interactions with other kids your age for the benefit of your social development. And besides, it's only for the morning."
Damian's nose scrunches up, and his eyes roll so violently that for a moment, Danny thinks about joking that he'll get his eyes stuck like that. He holds his tongue; his little brother already looks like he's five seconds away from committing an act of violence.
"I don't need social interaction." Damian sneers, his cheek in his hand; a neverend pool of pride. "I am--"
"The Blood of the Demon Heir, better than everyone else." Danny cuts off, waving his hand in dismissive circles, his voice mockingly deep. Damian's brown skin darkens in embarrassment, and he scowls at Danny. "I know, bud. But Jazz is right, -- don't tell her I said that, -- you should be around kids your age."
Especially when he starts First Grade in the Fall. Honestly -- Danny was a little nervous to send him to the center. Damian's long since cut the habit of trying to kill or otherwise maim people, his palms ache-burn with gentle reminder, but his tongue was as sharp and as cutting as his sword. He still struggles with trying to quell it when he's upset. Vicious child-weapon that he once was, and will never be again.
Danny knows that it comes from a place of fear and defense, that Damian lashes out because that's what he's been taught. That at the end of the day, he doesn't really mean what he says, and he's learning to express himself better. But the other kids don't know that, and kids can be unforgiving and cruel.
Danny just...
His slow beating heart sighs, melancholy settles behind his lungs.
He doesn't want Damian to be outcasted. He doesn't want him to be alone.
Not like he was.
Damian sneers again, but says nothing, his shoulders crawling up to hide his ears like a turtle receding into his shell. Danny watches him silently, leaning against the kitchen counter with his own arms crossed. The clock hanging on the wall ticks in their ears -- it's almost time to go.
He watches Damian, careful, and so he sees it when his little brother's stone-shell pride and petulance shudders, and cracks. The darkened furrow of Damian's brows weakens, and for a moment, slants back.
Ah, Danny thinks, his own shoulders slumping. Epiphany washes over him, and his sad-heart soothes in warm understanding. So that's what it is.
His head tilts, and his hair spills over his shoulders, messy and fluffy, tickling his neck. Some of his bangs fall into his face. "Hal 'ant easabiatan ya habibi?" He asks, voice low and soft. Just as Damian's English has improved, so has Danny's Arabic. He still stumbles over himself some days, and Damian says his accent is trash, but they can have whole conversations now in Damian's mothertongue.
(Danny was incredibly proud of himself for it.)
Damian's face darkens, his blush spreading across the rest of his face, and he ducks his head down. Grown-out curls, black-brown and springy, falls over his eyes. "La!" He yells, loud and indignant, and not at all convincingly. "La 'asheur bialtawaturi!"
He was nervous. Danny can see it now, in the hunch of his shoulders and the tightness of his face, and faintly, he can feel it too. In the ecto-rich air of the Fentonworks House, it thrums, barely-there, like a hummingbird behind his lungs.
Danny can't stop the little, fond smile that forces itself across his lips and upticks the corner of his mouth. "It's okay to be nervous, little brother." He says, he sounds like Jazz when he says that. He doesn't think she'll mind him borrowing the nickname.
He pushes himself off the counter, and Damian refuses to look at him, hiding behind his hair and in his shoulders. It takes three long strides for him to reach the table, and Danny turns, plants his hands on the ledge, and hoists himself up. Right next to Damian.
Damian leans into him easily when Danny's arm wraps around his shoulders and tucks him close to his heart. He can feel his ear against his ribs. Danny hunches over him, resting his chin on Damian's head. "It's so okay to be nervous, actually. I was nervous, Jazz was nervous." He tells him, scratching the blunt edge of his nails across his scalp. "Everyone gets nervous."
"'Ana last aljumiea." Damian mumbles, as small and feeble as he was the night on the OPS Center balcony, realizing that his mom and the League weren't coming for him. Realizing that he was replaceable.
Danny's half-working heart squeezes; in grief, in rage, and his faucet eyes sting. He breathes in carefully, and presses his nose into Damian's hair in a loving faux-kiss. "You're right, you're not everyone." He says, steady and strong, because if he's not a pillar for his family, who else is he?
He can feel Damian's eyes flick up to him, and Danny smiles into his black-brown curls. Tilts his head to squish his cheek against him instead, hand dropping to thumb below Damian's lashes. "You're Damian Fenton," Because the adoption went through a few weeks ago, and he's still riding that high, "You're my baby brother. O' Artist Extraordinaire, Kickass with a Sword, Vegetarian and Wonderful Co-Ghost Hunter."
Damian tries to stifle a smile, and fails. Score! Triumph gathers in Danny's gut, his smile grows wider. He squeezes Damian tight, and only releases him so he can look him in the eyes. "And if anyone gives you a hard time at school, and I mean anyone--"
Danny has bad memories of the teachers looking the other way when the other kids were bullying him, all because he was a Fenton.
And Danny, bleeding heart, bleeding hands, loves his family more than he will ever love himself, will never let Damian experience the same injustice. Not if he can help it.
His eyes narrow, and the buzzy-film of ectoplasm covers his eyes, making them glow, "--You tell me. And as your awesome great big brother-and-technically-dad-but-only-biologically, I will handle it."
Damian, wonderfully made, full of light, his little brother Damian, giggles weakly at him. A sound that's worth it's weight in gold. The scary eyes dissipate, and Danny matches the sound with a cock-eyed, impish grin, dragging Damian into a soul-crushing, too-tight hug. The kind that only annoying older brothers can give. "Got it?"
That gets a proper, if short, laugh out of Damian. He wriggles in Danny's arms, trying to break free. But Danny does calisthenics, his arms are as big as Damian's head, so it doesn't work. "Understood, now, daeni 'adhhab ya 'akhi!"
Danny laughs, loud and bright, and loosens his hold just a smidge, only so he can adjust his grip and hop off the table with Damian still in arm.
"Never!" He crows, hoisting Damian slightly. One eye flick at the clock, and in one quick move, he secures Damian under one arm like a football, and hooks his foot under the strap of his backpack. Kicking it up, he tosses it into the air and catches it with his free hand, and slings it over his shoulder. "Now, to the car, my boy! Before we're late and Mom and Dad get charged."
Damian groans, childish and dramatic and long, but his face is all squished up with a wide grin and glee. Danny can taste his joy beneath his tongue.
"And, if my little pep talk didn't encourage you," He says, reaching the door to the garage, flipping Damian up onto his hip instead. "If you have a good day today, I'll make you bal mithai when you get back."
Like all kids at the promise of sweets, Damian's eyes widen and glitter. Danny loves seeing Damian be a kid, it's his favorite thing in the world. "I will!"
#danny fenton is not the ghost king#dpxdc#dp x dc#dpxdc crossover#dp x dc crossover#dpxdc au#dpxdc fic#dpxdc ficlet#clone^2#clone danny fenton#MAN I LOVE THIS AU SM#clone danny#danny fenton is a clone#i lomv. them :((( SO MUCH. I'VE MISSED WRITING THEM. i had this idea since talking to purple-goo-writes abt clone danny last week#they mean everything to me. they are the brothers ever. so family coded. don't ask me about the timeline here it doesnt exist#its post-danny's hands getting permanently fucked up and thats it lol.#parent danny is great but 'big brother danny' is SO fucking fun to write. he's silly and goofy and annoying in the way only siblings are#smth about writing danny being so full of love and kindness and protective compassion. bleeding heart that he is. its like doing cocaine#chaotic danny is SO fun and silly but kIND danny is. holy shit its better than getting high. altho ive never been high so i can only guess#there's just smth addictive in writing him being affectionate and loving and caring. he's heartful and heart full.#he's sweet - not like sugar - but like caramel. fulfilling and chewy. a kindness that gets stuck in your teeth and melts on your tongue#he's such an annoying older brother. i love him#bal mithai is a type of pakistani dessert btw. since Nanda Parbat is based off the mountain nanga parbat which is in pakistan. i figured#that the food damian had in the league might've been pakistani-based. or at least heavily pakistani in orign. maybe. i just didn't wanna#look up 'arabic desserts' and pick the first one off the list. felt inauthentic that way alsdh#translations since you wont get it through google translate:#1. 'are you nervous beloved?' 2. 'no! I am not nervous!' 3. 'I'm not everyone' 4. 'let me go brother!'#while i dont usually use 'little brother' or 'brother' as terms of endearments between siblings. Jazz canonically calls Danny that and#i figured if i worded it in a way that sounded natural. it would sound less soul-crushingly cringy. look as someone wit THREE siblings.#i know exactly how siblings interact with one another. but this felt like a special exception. they don't say it often
254 notes
·
View notes
Text
Decepticon High Command!
i'll be selling this on my SubscribeStar if anyone's interested in it :3
#transformers#traditional media#Megatron#starscream#Soundwave#shockwave#painting#lol remember this? its been like a whole month ....#i was looking for my blue on black jazz painting but i couldnt find it. so i finished this instead#i'm really so sad about how bad the hot pink fluorescent ink looks on camera btw#its so much richer than this
88 notes
·
View notes
Text
issue 10 soundwave
JUST LET HIM FIX HIS CAT!!!!!!!!!!!!!! PLEASE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
#transformers energon universe#energon universe#energon universe spoilers#transformers skybound#transformers eu and the no good very bad time in general#wheeljack is sad#i think thundercracker is gonna die soon lol#cliff and jazz are totes gonna tell him oh btw soundwave and starscream are the ones who fucked up skywarp#and hes gonna bust them out and die for it#mark my words
53 notes
·
View notes
Text
Guys I'm gonna be real here... I need a Jazz in my life. He can fix him or i can make him worse idk and idc, but I know that it would be great.
#steel rambles#sometimes simping over fictional robots is cathartic#Jazz why are you so fine. so much for being fictional smh#the style#the verve#the visor#the cat ears#and why such a pretty design in EVERY. FUCKING. CONTINUITY#find me a jazz that isn't pretty#go#bayverse was pretty#g1 was pretty#animates was DREAMY#in the comics he was pretty#EVEN ON THE MARVEL COMICS#wveryone was ugly in those comics but he remained pretty#oh i was forgetting rid 2015#pretty man#Yeah lol find me an ugly jazz i dare you#you won't#btw i noticed the typos but on mobile i can't modify the tags without deleting and i am lazy.#anyway jazz appreciation post because my man needs it and deserves it.#transformers#maccadam#shitpost
34 notes
·
View notes
Text
No one
Absolutely no one
Me the whole series: What if Danny napped in the sofa and he just changed forms while sleeping in front of his parents with Jazz just getting into the room and warning him before noticing they're there.
Danny: honk mimimimi
Maddie and Jack: *Confused confusing confusion.png*
Jazz, coming in from the kitchen: Hey Danny have- OH CRAP DANNY YOU'RE IN GHOS- *Looks at her parents* Uhh... It's a cosplay?
Maddie and Jack: *Recounting how many times they told Danny about ripping him apart molecule for molecule and probably dissect him*
Danny: honk mimimimi 2: Electric bongaloo
#Danny phantom#danny phantom fic#idea#writing ideas#angst or fluff#you decide#Jack Fenton#and#Maddie Fenton#have a mental breakdown#while#Jazz Fenton#panics#Danny Fenton#just sleeps as Phantom because his body decided to betray him#Fentons A+ parenting right there#the ghost defenses are in maintenance so he doesn't get destroyed in a matter of seconds in front of his parents#they watch him transform btw else they'd just think it's phantom stealing the sofa lol
92 notes
·
View notes
Text
my fenton family + vlad height hcs be upon ye
#danny and jazz's heights are what imagine how tall they'd be at the end of highschool btw#danny will always be a guy who despite being sm like his dad didn't get the 1 thing he wanted which was his height and instead all of that#went to jazz instead he's kinda bitter abt it lol#meanwhile jazz is like look it's not my fault you got stuck w mom's height so quit whining abt it already🙄#in all srsly i don't think danny would mind being a short king at all actually#he just has to be annoying abt it bc ofc he does#also YK anytime jazz mentions how danny and maddie are basically the same height#danny's always like um actually i'm an 1/2 inch taller than mom#she's always like danny yk i don't actually care right ^^#bc at the end of day you're still short lol#that pisses danny off every time he's OK WE GET YOU'RE TALL#danny phantom#robi hcs#robi rambles
25 notes
·
View notes
Text
Quick doodle with Armin. He grew up with his eyes nailed to this chubby doll and didn't had the guts to call herr until started going crazy!! 🤯👹
#LOL THEY'RE SO CUTE#i've seen so many cases of racism in this shit that i feel like drawing 7128x more black ppl with AOT#why people are like this bad!!!??!!!!!!!!???#btw I loved they two so bad 😢😢😢😢❤️❤️💜❤️💜❤️💜❤️💜#armin#armin arlert#aot x black reader#attack on titan x reader#i'm very tired so i posted on my personal#ya like jazz#my art#my doodles
189 notes
·
View notes
Text
lockscreen, last photo I took, last movie I watched, and last song I listened to!
@vampireghoul thank you for the tag my friend!!
Aaaand I'll tag @sluttybeanbabe, @echosofthesidhe, @hold-me-close-and-bloodied, and @deputy-h if you guys would like to share 🩷🩷🩷
#bitts posts#its been soooo long since i did a tag game lol but this was fun!!!#i know the last photo taken seems implausible but honest to god my mom and i were looking at the family tree tonight#and i snapped a pic because i wanted to tell the discord server what i was up to#we were trying to find our ancestor whos name was plain bacon btw#we didnt find her. think shes in a different branch of the family tree#anyway if you read this please listen to the song its soooooo good i love prog rock/mathy jazz#Spotify
13 notes
·
View notes
Text
i hate it when people gas up posse and bat’s discography and then throw in bb needs to change up their sound as if posse doesn’t have 3 bubblegum pop songs rebranded and bat doesn’t have 3 spoopy songs of the same vibe 😤
#vee queued to fill the void#i would much rather y’all say you don’t like bb’s sound lol 😭😭😭😭😭😭#all the divisions have a motif????? genre???? idk the term but general sound they lean on like dh also leans into jazz and its sub genres#music is subjective and my head understands this but sometimes it just annoys me seeing people shit on bb’s music lmao#like there was that best rhyme anima➕ song contest on twitter that pit bring it on and jingi against each other and the moment bb lost#i had chant to myself ‘MUSIC IS SUBJECTIVE MUSIC IS SUBJECTIVE MUSIC IS SUBJECTIVE’ to keep my cool lmao#it really does kill me that the team with the most hiphop influences in their music takes so many Ls in the fandom lol#bring it on is COOL it takes inspiration from biggie smalls hypnotise ITS FIRE#the takes on that post are funny btw lol the hater energy some of those posts have lmao
15 notes
·
View notes
Text
Type of guy who just says things but still thinks he's all that.
NOTE: this art features an outdated s/i design
#also guy who winks twice in a row akhfkshd#I think about ''bc u r building'' all the time it's on my list of favorite nonsense phrases. and it fit these two just right.#not SUPER happy with the expressions in this but I spent too much time on it to wanna spend any more changing stuff lol#backgrounds are from the game demo btw go play it 👍#roz posts#roz art#s: it's happy hour#♡: 🔨🎰🥃#jazz❤️🧱
32 notes
·
View notes
Text
this is funny bc i'm aromantic but one of my "personalities" most certainly is not
#THINKING ABOUT HIM#amazing#truth be told#i've just been listening to a lot of 1930s/40s soft jazz ballad-type music recently#and a lot of those songs tend to be more on the romantic side#oh btw#i say 'personalities' bc. it's complicated#i girlbossed too close to the sun and now i'm all fragmented#i'm hesitant to call them alters bc i'm not diagnosed with DID lol#and it would feel like i'm using language that is not for me use#silas' daylists
4 notes
·
View notes