#other things in order of appearance :

[thelassoway]

Jason Sudeikis as Ted Lasso Seasons 1-3 » T-shirts

[a-most-beloved-fool]

For the writing prompts;

19. For luck - Rom and Leeta

"And then," Bashir was saying - though in truth, Rom was paying only half attention, far too busy thinking about Leeta - "she came right up to me, and kissed me on the lips!"

"Oh, she did, did she?" Chief O'Brien said, scoffing good-naturedly.

"It's true!" Bashir insisted, though he didn't look insulted by the Chief's doubt. He was smiling into his glass, seeming quite delighted by the disbelieving frown on O'Brien's face.

Rom didn't quite understand what was supposed to be so 'unbelievable' about the story. In fact - "It seems pretty believable to me," he said. "Doctor Bashir's always kissing beautiful women." (Including, at one point, Leeta - though not anymore, Rom thought with some pleasure.)

"Yes, but this one was out of his league," the Chief said, batting his hand playfully across the table.

Bashir just smiled bashfully, ignoring the swipe. "Ah, well. You're right about that. She wasn't really interested in me after all. Turns out, she'd just misconstrued the human concept of a 'good luck kiss'".

"Ohh! A 'good luck kiss'!" Rom said eagerly. Then, after a pause, "Uh, what's a 'good luck kiss'?"

The Chief sat back, idly crossing his arms. "Well, it's pretty much exactly what it sounds like. It's a kiss that you give someone to wish them luck."

"Oh," Rom said, considering that. Luck was always a good thing to have. Perhaps... "Oh! Leeta!" He stood, sending his chair clattering backwards. "I'll be back!" he shouted, then raced from Quark's bar, ignoring his brother's parting shout out dismay.

He needed to find Leeta.

--

"Leeta! Waaaait!" Rom hollered, shuffling through the crowded promenade as quickly as he could manage, chasing after her familiar voice. "Leeta! I need to give you something!"

This would be easier, he thought, if Bajorans could hear as well as Ferengi could.

But, at last, Leeta stopped, turning to find him. "Rom? Rom, what's the matt-"

The rest of her sentence trailed off into a hum as Rom reached up, pulling her down to plant a kiss square on her lips. One of her hands cupped Rom's cheek, soft. Rom didn't really know how long a 'good luck kiss' was supposed to last for - he really should have gotten more details before running off (for example, does it need tongue? Bashir never specified.) - but he thought that this should satisfy it.

He pulled away, grinning toothily up at his wife. "Hi, Leeta," he said.

She smiled down at him, cheeks flushed and lovely as always. "Hi, Rom. What was that for?" she asked, looking bemused and delighted.

"It's a kiss," Rom said, perhaps unnecessarily. "For luck," he added. "It's a hoo-man tradition!"

"For luck? Rom," she asked, laughing, "what are you wishing me luck for?"

Rom blinked. "Uhhh... For your day?"

Leeta beamed at him, and then leaned down, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Well, I think it worked. I do feel pretty lucky now."

Rom grinned. "Me, too."

--

(also if anyone else wants to make a request, the ask game is here. i can't promise they'll get done as quick or be as long as this one is, though!)

[moeblob]

Demyx (my beloved)

[randomnameless]

And another what if where we could have went to Bastorias ealier... but Joseph canonically would have died :(

How's that "as you all guessed"???

Poor Joseph would have died during the Soldraga map, and Alain would have inherited his pony. Damn!

Hopefully Joseph's role in the scenario saved him, but I wonder if the Holonius!Alain thing in Albion - that still makes more sense than Sanatio ! - would have meant we would have had someone else play the role of the Lord (Virginia? Scarlett? Or Joseph himself?) or if Holonius would have hijacked Alain's body, but more Zenoiran stuff would have been appreciated (maybe Holonius would have told Galerius that, uh, that Baltro fuck was the loser who told us to sacrifice an unicorn which resulted in our doom, maybe we shouldn't work with him anymore?).

If Holonius hijacked Alain though, would that mean that he had no ring of the unicorn on him, or didn't put it on?

(Galerius needs the two rings to be exorcised out, but if Holonius is like Theodora when she borrowed Berengaria's body, the ring of the unicorn is enough to get rid of him?)

Alain was supposed to have been jailed in Bastorias, maybe we could have had more Reimann shenanigans, or maybe the devs wanted to cook something with the rat tribe? Given how Yunifi has a lot of concept illustrations, I wonder if she wasn't the "Scarlett" of that beta version, aka the "main girl pushed by the plot".

Also, nice confirmation that, at one point, the scenario was linear! But they dropped that idea - maybe for gameplay purposes? - and we ended up with, well, the game where after saving for Scarlett in Cornia, you can basically either do Elheim, Bastorias or Drakengard as your second chapter.

[dailyhatchetfield]

day 50 - goodnight, kyle

a link to the fic this is based on is under the cut

[mcsmtxt]

i have GOT to do more with the warden he is too important to romeo not to touch upon more. the narrative does him so very dirty alas … like he is so. meaningless. he’s set up as this, almost, false antagonist sort of character ( or is, at the very least, supposed to be viewed sympathetically / is noted to be someone one can reason with ) only for his screen time to be so limited and for him to be, no matter the choices, destined to die. like what?? sigh. s2 is full of so many interesting things and characters but is very held back by it’s limited five eps structure … it’s rather obvious that everything needed to be given more time, especially the sunshine institute + the admins’ towns below the bedrock, but they just have to rush through it.

[running-in-the-dark]

I think I need to make a list. not sure of what, but a list would probably help.

[ragdollic]

If I ever seem slow or slightly distant in conversation with you despite throwing myself into chat with a burst of energy beforehand, it's because I'm probably realising that I'm in fact talking to you and my brain struggles with that fact but it enjoys our chat very much I swear

[chopshajen]

1-5.

Janos’s Disguise Self disguise! They’ve had a few occasions to not look like themself, mostly because they were traveling to a country that had a massive bounty on their head. They disguised themself as a much more luxuriously beautiful tiefling woman, though one who was still short and who still looked kind of severe. They wore a sari-like outfit that was common in Nicodranas, because the disguise debuted there.

This sketch was cooking for a day or two and it was Not working so I nearly abandoned it, but today I rallied and tried to let go a little, and lo and behold, not feeding my perfectionism worked!

[sysig]

Damned Masterpost

Original run

ZEX wasn’t there for that, Dex!

Getting started

Kissing Strangers 💋

Captain Dating Sim

If I become lost...

It started with a whisper

Perfect comedy routine

Flowers for you!

ZEX loves wild horse!

Dexter’s first visit

Pivotal bright spot

Sunshine Captain ☀️

But ZEX loves humans!

Uniform ♥

Hard learning curve

Big Guy Teisel

VUXisms

ZEX’s hair <3

Haunted by Kayako

Zelnick has two hands

Zelnick’s gone :(

ZEX’s MU (blood)

Them (blood)

Leaving weird impressions

Last man standing

Wake up somewhere better (blood)

Despite everything, he’s still ZEX

New Daay

DAX profile

DAX Expressions

VUX duo Expressions

Lover’s tiff Expressions

Action heroes Expressions (blood)

Roughed up VUX Expressions (blood)

Too busy flirting

The Little VUXmaid ---

What if DAX was there

DAX’s Special Counseling

Homesick

After ZEX’s MU

Hope we die (blood)

Max’s visit

Karaoke Night

The girlies are fightinnggg

Different sensibilities

ZEX’s hair, again

Protect him, please

VUXémon

The three of them

Wander I mean Dr. Doran

More Dr. Doran

“Wake up” configurations

More VUXémon ft. Larry and Kabu

Dismissed ---

First re-meeting ♥

Chill, Sub-Commander

Each other’s VUX

Pyramid Head fight (blood)

Dr. Vargas

VUX silliness

Therapy went great

Nightly squabbles

You must snuggle

Obeying commands

Locked In

Damned, but make it Osmosis Jones

Wants to fight so bad

Some familiar faces

Drix Uniform

Main three’s profiles

Other

Stanley profile speculations

Max wants out

Crystal Gem VUX

All those missing eyes

2024 Sketchdump

[daydreamerdrew]

since I’ve got Geoff Johns writing the Shazam kids on my mind, something that’s particularly frustrating to me about the Shazam! (2013) origin story is that questioning the concept of someone being pure of heart isn’t actually so unworkable, in my opinion, to the existing Shazam mythos, but that the way it’s done ultimately isn’t really based on character.

I think that there’s something there in a modern reading of Billy’s original portrayal where that he’s given the powers because he maintained his moral code despite the hardship he suffered is questionable. that, as a child, Billy shouldn’t have been potentially punished by not being given the powers if he had had to break rules to survive, or that it would be unfair for someone else who hadn’t ever been in his position to be rewarded for never breaking rules when they never needed to.

Captain Marvel Adventures (1941) #88

and Shazam! (2013) does this a little bit by having Billy running away from a foster family be shown when the Wizard questions if he’s pure good, which is then reecontextualized when it’s shown Billy tried to take another kid with him to help her when the Wizard asks if he has embers of goodness within him:

but the problem is that this is ultimately so vastly overshadowed by Billy’s personality being changed to make him so abrasive at the time of the story, that the question posed to readers with the reboot becomes not if expecting someone to follow certain rules regardless of their circumstances is right, but if it’s realistic to expect someone to maintain a pleasant personality if they’ve had a rough childhood.

[zooblesbutchpuppygirl]

I am waiting so patiently for my package to get here (no I'm not I need it now so I can see if Stretchy actually makes an appearance in it)

[weirdfishy]

update: still have to write the fic i want to see in the world :/

[daemonbrain]

Part 2

1.8k, cw: ghosts a pervert, smut, readers husband is piece of work, not proofread.

Simon Riley who first saw you at the butcher's shop on the phone. 

You were a pretty thing. Wearing a pink little yoga set, one arm holding your mat and the other holding your phone to your ear as you wait for the butcher to bring out your cut of meat.

Which was taking a long time

Simon would’ve had it chopped and packed to go by now. Though, he can’t complain with the view he has of your ass- you. The man was touch starved. He hadn’t been back home in a while, back-to-back deployments keeping him occupied. His only company being his calloused and scraped hands roughly jerking himself until he came, bordering on unpleasurable. Not what some could consider enjoyable, but try being in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere for weeks on end and see if you care so much about gentle.

The borderline perverted look you were blissfully unaware of was tracking down your form. He stared at the way the material tightly clung on to every bit of you in a welcoming way, a second skin. The sweat on you from your little session.

Just how flexible does yoga make a bird like you?

It was only when he heard a grating sound come from your phone that he snapped out of his trance. Even with his bad ears from all the bullets whizzing past him, bombs going off within meters of him, and the usual shit show he did for a living he could hear the voice which bled through your phone's speaker.

"Get me a steak this time. Nonna that nasty shit from last time!"

You hurriedly turned your volume down as it blasted in your ear, startled by the voice. Chewing on your lip you pivoted towards the counter to see if your order had been brought out; the motion to no avail as the employee continued chopping away in the back room.

It was only when your other hand came into full view from the motion he noticed the absolute rock on your finger.

"Honey, I thought the salmon was pretty good." That prick clearly firing something back as you winced away from your phone once again. Gritting your teeth as if biting back your arguments, looking around to occupy your time as the man on the phone continues to speak. "I know... I'm sorry. Don't worry, it'll be ready by 7." You placatingly cooed.

"Listen, I have to go. I love y-" You began, but the moment the words tumbled from your lips you pulled the phone fully from your cheek to see a blank screen with the time staring back on you. The asshole hung up!

What a fuckin tosser.

Simon hears the butcher finally call your name with familiarity and with a sigh you step towards the counter. 

He leaned on to the wall further as he had been the entire time. Silent. Unsettling. A stark contrast to your bright appearance in the shop, the larger man brooded in his corner waiting his turn.

“See ya’ next Friday!” You still managed a bright smile at the butcher who handed you your meat.

A mild thing like you really shouldn’t be talked to so thoughtlessly, some guys are fuckwits though. He never liked the type. Why lock a bird down with a ring if you were gonna be mean to her?

“S’cuse me sir, i’m just gonna push past you here” You asked. With widened eyes, Simon gruffly mumbled a “Yeah,” out before creating a stupidly small space.

Maybe he really did want you to push past him. Or just push up on him but oh well.

Sweeping past him, you give him a toothy smile as you had so sweetly done to the butcher, as if you hadn’t got yelled at less than five minutes ago. God you really have no common sense, beaming up at the lurker in the corner at least twice your size. A girl as pretty as you should really stick to herself.

From that interaction on, Simon found himself being guided by the memory of you back to the butcher shop the next Friday.

And the next…

And the next.

Every week progressively standing closer and closer to you as you picked up your usual order. One day you had taken the liberty of starting small talk with him after recognizing his unmistakable stature. After all, there were only so many people you had seen in this shop and none so… large.

You could not deny you found this mystery man disquieting. Always dressed in dark colours, not so much as a word coming from him. Like clockwork you would come in after hot yoga, greet the butcher, he would come in, silence would ensue as you both waited for your meat, and you would leave with a quick smile.

It was rude. He had never even said a simple hello to you! Though, you suppose that it could be due to your own curt exits. The thought of the unkindness you might’ve exhibited subconsciously sent your mind into a spiral, leading to your abrupt introduction.

After all, who were you to judge! Kindness is and should always be the response in your books.

At this kindness, Simon swore he had to take a breath in as you politely outstretched your hand and spoke your name casually. Tilting his head down to your face he raises a brow skeptically, and then firmly shakes your head.

He failed to hide the shudder which wracked his body. The way your hand effortlessly slipped into his. Soft and manicured engulfed in his.

“Simon.”

“Well it’s good to meet you Simon” With the twinkly little smile you would grace him as you hauled it out of the shop. He felt the shiver go down his spine a second time when you spoke his name for the first time.

And then- it happened.

You giggled. A soft thing, no doubt intended to be small. It wasn’t to Simon though. It reverberated throughout the room, rang so prettily in his ears. Fuck. He would remember that sound later on tonight.

“Are you cold? You keep shivering. It’s pretty harsh out there right now.”

“Nah. Not really.” His accent thick as he shrugged.

Letting out a little “mhm” you nod and look back to the counter.

“I was freezing outside! Usually I walk home-” Simon already knew that “-but today I called my husband to come grab me! Way too cold!”

That visibly made him stiffen. Of course. Perfectly normal that guy is coming to get you, he’d be an idiot to leave you walking home alone in the cold.

If you were his girl, Simon wouldn’t have let you out of his sight. Fuck sakes you practically had “come mess with me” written all over you. There were creeps all over the place nowadays, (thought the creep).

He would’ve carried everything for you, scarfed down whatever the hell you had taken the time to prepare him. That husband of yours doesn’t like your salmon? Simon would. Hell if he didn’t, he’d cram it down his throat with gratitude anyways. He doubted anything could be worse than some of the rations he’s eaten on duty. 

That train of thought is pretty redundant when he takes note of how you wouldn’t be able to leave the bed to make anything.

Maybe you’d cram something of his down your throat in gratitude.

Shaking his head subtly, he hears the bells of the store door opening. He watched your face fall as you step away from him and it’s when he sees your husband's look of complete irritation he understands why.

You had grabbed your order swiftly and with a quick wave goodbye you were on your way back to your husband. Simon could only register your husband's whisper-yell as he disapprovingly glared his way. “The fuck are you doin talking to him?”. And with that you were hurriedly ushered out.

You deigned it necessary to continue greeting Simon, have little chats about the weather, any plans he had for the weekend. Tossing in your stupid jokes that he would laugh at. You interpreted it as something closer to a breathy snort-hopefully positive- and it went on as such for weeks

And every time he returned home Friday night, he came home with only one thought after. You.

As he laid in bed the same thought persisted as he slipped his cock out of his boxers, red and weeping for some sort of stimulation. He took to his usual harsh pace. You’d be so much softer.

You’d be so nice to him wouldn’t you? Coo some compliment as he lets you tug at him. Fuck he wouldn’t know what to take first.

Would you give him a blowie or a hand job? 

No. You wouldn’t be on your knees- not yet. If you’d let him have you, you’d be on your back in an instant. He’d rip the stitches of those leggings right down the middle, your panties next.

“Fuuuuuck” he moaned into the quiet of his room. He’d stick it in slow, he’d try. It would be torture not to ram himself right up to the hilt, but he’d do it for such a good girl.

That’s what you were, weren’t you? Always a nice word for someone? What would you say to him when he began to rut into you like a madman. When you would feel the pummeling intrusion, his head knocking into the deepest parts of you.

He’d be able bend you into so many different positions that you’d better hope that yoga has taught you well. Split your legs open to accommodate his imposing body size as he’d take purchase between them. Then you better hope your cunny can accommodate his other size when he spears you open on his cock.

Would you take it smiling? Would your tears roll down your cheeks, the prodding bordering too much? You’d take it either way, he knew you could. He’d rub at your clit with such tenderness he never afforded himself (as gentle as he could anyway). He’d make sure you begged to stay on his cock forever, fuck himself so deep you would be too stupid to pull away unknowing of where he ended and you started. Not that you’d have to care.

He’d flip you on to all fours and rip away your clothes entirely, pounding you from the back and instead of just his own labored breaths, the sound of skin slapping together would ring out.

In silent stoicism, he feels his balls tighten up at the thought of your perfect face stuffed into the pillows screaming your thank you’s. You probably were just as nice with someone stuffing themselves into your pussy.

At both his ruthless ministrations and boundless imagination, his release spurted all over his hand with a breathy sigh. When you were here he’d make sure to slam his hips to yours and keep them flush against you, coat your insides in hot cum better than your limp-dick husband ever could. That man wouldn’t be able to fuck you the way Simon knew he could. You deserve someone who could make you go stupid on his dick, not cry of frustration like you probably did everytime that knob who thinks himself a man rolled over after finishing himself off.

Not that you’ll have to worry about that soon

…

He wouldn’t be around for much longer anyways.

[connormoving]

my notes so far btw... i stopped writing down everything that appear bc there was a lot but im having fun yayy

[starry-bi-sky]

Just as it was in the air, the drive to wherever they're going is a mess of orange-streetlight smeared blurs and rapid-passing buildings. Danny keeps his head rested against the door, forehead pressing against the cold window, and breathing slowly through his mouth.

From his unfocused peripherals, the man -- of whom with the passing lights, Danny can see is dressed as... some kind of bat? Honestly, not the weirdest thing he's ever seen. -- routinely keeps glancing over at him. He's never seen someone grip a steering wheel so tightly.

"Do you know what your godfather poisoned you with?" The man eventually asks, his voice just as soft and raspy as it was in the air.

It takes Danny a moment to realize he spoke at all, his brain sluggishly catching up to his ears. "Hrm?" He blinks, lifting his head. Danny regrets it immediately, his vision swims nauseatingly and blurs dangerously. He rests his head again. "Oh. Y'h. A flow'r called blood bloss'um."

They pass a streetlight, shining just enough light that Danny sees the Bat-Man's lips purse. Danny's mouth opens, but he makes no sound, his mind trying to find the words he's looking for. "I'z- it's extinct."

He huffs a laugh just as the man snaps his head to look at him, regretting it with a sharp cough and a feeling of dust in his lungs. Weakly waggling his fingers to make jazz hands, Danny slurs; "Shcience."

A coughing fit overtakes him then, and without the adrenaline of flying and running away from Vlad to distract him, the ache and burn of consistently coughing returns and hits hard and sharp. He's been stabbed before, and somehow this still hurts more.

(Well, one is being stabbed. The other is the result of a toxin made from a flower specifically evolved to eat ectoplasm. Something Danny is 50% made of.)

Whining low and through grit teeth, Danny turns and curls back up into the corner of his seat, arms boxing over his head as if that will make him hurt less. Tears spring into his eyes, and he tries to use the feeling of breathing to distract himself.

If he's still breathing, everything will be okay.

Wherever they're going, he hopes they get there fast.

----

("You're a hero, right?" The boy said, but the way he said it made it sound like he was only asking as a formality. That of course Bruce was a hero, it was obvious.)

(He didn't know how to tell him that no, he wasn't. Then he didn't have the time.)

Bruce's hands would be shaking if it weren't for the white-knuckle grip on the car's steering wheel. Every time he focuses back on the road in front of him, his eyes are drawn back towards the boy coiled like a ball in the passenger seat.

He can't tell if it's rage or fear that's making his arms tremble.

The boy -- Daniel, if the voice of his godfather was to be believed -- is small. Bruce could wrap his thumb and forefinger around his wrist, and he's positive they would touch. A waifish, slip of a thing, and Bruce thought he'd been small as a child. His clothes -- simple, unremarkable; a hoodie that hangs off his shoulders and a band shirt he doesn't recognize -- look too big on him, and Bruce wonders if Daniel even knows he's shivering.

This was not how Bruce thought his night would be going -- he was following a lead on Falcone and his people. Now he was rushing back to the cave with a boy who couldn't be any older than fifteen, a boy who was dying of poison because of his godfather.

Hurt and fury bubbles beneath his ribs.

(Who does this to a kid?)

He glances at Daniel again. Messy, sweat-slicked black hair clings to his forehead, and gathers around his ears. It looks like it hasn't been cut in months. He's unnaturally pale, and Bruce isn't sure if his paleness is from the poison, or his natural color. It highlights the dark circles beneath glassy blue eyes, peering unfocused and teary out from lidded eyes.

The blood dripping off his chin is damning and stark against his skin. Some of it is half-dried against his cheek, but most is a horrifying dark red and wet, staining down his throat and into his shirt. Every time the boy coughs, Bruce fears that blood will spill from his mouth next.

He breathes in shakily, and swerves around a left corner. The boy moves with the momentum. Bruce throws his arm out to catch him, and keep him in his seat, the boy jerks, and grunts quietly.

Guilt turns the back of Bruce's neck red. That, and embarrassment. "...Apologies." He murmurs, retracting his hand quickly. Daniel blinks slowly, Bruce nervously keeps an eye on the unsteady rise and fall of his chest.

He's pulled away when, much to his surprise, the boy smiles. It's weak, barely even there and trembling like the rest of him, but glazed in fondness. "S'ok'y." Daniel mumbles, blood sticking to his mouth as he slumps back into the corner. "M'dad drove the same way."

...There were a lot of questions there. But the hurting, discomforting squeeze of Bruce's heart turns his tongue to lead. His throat swells shut, grows a cancerous lump, and keeps his lungs thick. "..Hh."

(What does he say to that?)

A silence, ugly, falls over them again for a few minutes more. Bruce should keep the boy talking -- it's confirmation that Daniel was still alive, still breathing, Bruce hasn't failed yet -- and yet, he can't think of a single thing to say.

They're coming close up on the cemetery, Bruce turns down the road leading to it. His eyes flick to Daniel again. The boy is staring at him, the sickly yellow streetlights catching shadows on his face, leaving a glow lingering in his eyes.

(In his lazy eye, his mind tricks him into seeing a corpse. Bruce suppresses a flinch, and looks over again.)

(Daniel is still breathing. Good. Good. Good.)

He breathes in shakily, something dark and angry rearing its head once again. Who does this? Who does this? He grits his teeth, biting back the scowl pulling on his face.

("You're a hero, right?")

(No, but for now he can pretend he is.)

----

They end up in a tunnel somewhere. Danny's not quite sure where, but the road gets bumpy and the uncomfortable, rough jostling brings a groan out from him. His eyes pound in their sockets, the discomfort ricocheting to this temples and circling to the back of his head.

His head lolls, and Danny shoves it back against the seat with a thud, ignoring the dull pain it rings through his skull. "Are w'there yet?" He asks, blood spilling into his mouth that he tiredly tries to spit out. He's done with drinking it instead.

The numbness he'd been so graciously left with was starting to fade now, returning back to a burning, rhythmic soreness spreading through his limbs. It clustered up around his joints, feeling like pins and needles in his fingers and down his spine.

Bat-man guy grunts shortly, shifts the gearshift into a new position, and glances over to him for the nth time that night. "Almost."

Almost. Almost was... good? Probably. Hopefully. Danny doesn't give a response, just nods mutely.

The car comes to a stop some minutes later, parked in a wide open space with LED lights spread erratically through the floor that hurt Danny's eyes.

Bat-Man barely has the car in park before he's flying out of his side. If Danny didn't know better, he'd have thought the man had phased right through the metal. That's not what happened, and he watches the guy zip around the front of the car to his side.

He's barely understood that he's even gotten out of the car before Bat-Man has Danny's door open. He jolts involuntarily, sitting lame in his seat as Bat-Man gets him unbuckled and pulled out of the car.

The lights are still painfully bright in Danny's eyes as Bat-Man pulls him out, and he whines involuntarily, tilting his face inward to hide it against the armor-weave.

"--sleep at a reasonable-- dear god! What happened!?"

Oh, forget the lights. Danny turns his head and braces against the brightness -- and his tilting, whorling sight -- to see who else was here. He sees an older man with a cane standing near one of the tables.

"His godfather poisoned him." Bat-Man growls, Danny nods heavily. "I need my antidote kit. Alfred, I need you to stay by him, make sure he doesn't start choking if he throws up."

The older man -- Alfred? Scoffs, and when Bat-Man passes by he follows after him. "As if you need to ask me. But where do you even plan on putting him?"

Without answering, Bat-Man shifts Danny until he's being held in one arm, and then approaches a metal table covered in nuts, bolts, and half-finished gadgets and gizmos. Without blinking, Bat-Man uses his free arm to shove it all off the table with a crashing, clattering, banging sound.

Then he lays Danny down.

The metal is freezing, sinking through the fabric of his jacket and shirt, and Danny turns his head to watch Bat-Man. In the process, he catches a glimpse at Alfred's expression -- and the sheer exasperated affront written on his face forces a laugh out of him.

Bat-Man's hands still from where they're tilting him onto his side, and Danny covers his mouth with his hand to stifle his giggling. "Sorry." He says, trying to catch his breath. "th'look on his face was funny."

The Alfred man sends a look at the Bat-Man when he glances at him, one eyebrow arched, before stepping over as Bat-Man gets Danny full on his side. Bat-Man disappears down somewhere, his footsteps echoing through the room.

"I hope he knows that he'll be picking all of this up when we're done, because I am certainly not." Alfred says stiffly, procuring a pristine handkerchief out of thin air. One of those nice looking ones that are probably made of like, butterfly silk.

Danny almost smiles, but Alfred starts reaching for his face, so instead he suppresses a flinch. There's a pause, before Alfred's hand glides over his cheek. Despite the callous padding on his palm, his touch is resoundingly gentle.

He cups Danny's jaw, and starts wiping the blood from his face.

...Oh.

Danny blinks uncomprehendingly up at him. He hasn't felt an actual affectionate touch in months. Vlad tried to be, but every touch to Danny's skin felt oily; disgusting. Danny wanted to scrub at the spot every time he pulled away.

So this was like warm sunlight on his face, and he hums low and pleasantly. "Tha'feels nice." He mumbles, relaxing unconsciously.

"I would hope so, young man." Alfred-guy says, folding his already blood-stained handkerchief in half for a cleaner square and moving to clean the blood from his throat. "All this blood couldn't have felt pleasant."

No, no, Danny thinks slowly, not that part.

"May I ask for your name?" Alfred asks before Danny can correct him. "It's not every night that the young master brings someone back with him."

Danny stares. "Danny." He says, "Mnh... just Danny. M'godfath'r calls me Daniel, an' he poisoned me."

Alfred nods, and pulls his handkerchief away. It was stained right through with blood. Danny cringes with shame. That probably won't come out. "I wish we were meeting on better circumstances, Mister Danny. It's a pleasure to meet you."

His good midwestern manners kicks in, and Danny nods curtly. HIs head spins in revenge for the movement. "Y'too, sir."

Bat-Man reappears in that moment, clearing off a space on the table across from them with a kit of various bottles and vials and other doodads that Danny's too unfocused to recognize.

He watches him yank off the vambraces wrapped around his arms, and then the gloves on both his hands. Alfred brushes the hair off his forehead, gathering Danny's attention again.

"If you don't mind, how did you two meet?" He asks, Bat-Man glances over his shoulder at them both, but says nothing. There's a clattering of bottles before he bounds off again down a tunnel. Danny takes that as his sign to explain instead.

"All'y." Danny says, shifting when the pressure on his shoulder grew too uncomfortable. His stomach flips, and he freezes in place to breathe in slow. He swallows dryly when the nausea passes. "Um-- I w'z runnin' from Vlad, an' I saw him in one 'f the alleyways."

Bat-Man reappears again with more things, and starts messing around with his collection of bottles and tubes and whatever -- probably to fix an antidote.

...Would he even be able to make one? Fuck, Danny hadn't thought of that. Blood Blossoms interact with him differently.

He forcibly keeps his breathing even, and zeroes in on Alfred. "I thou' he was a hero, n' I was right. He is." He smiles, and Alfred's expression softens out.

Danny breathes in sharp, pain ricocheting up his spine. "He's-- mine, at least."

I am loudly pushing the batdad agenda i am loudly pushing the— DPxDC Prompt

“Woah. You look like shit."

Granted, that’s probably not the first thing Danny should be saying to the guy that just bit the curb, but in his defense; he’s not running on 100% right now either.

The man -- tall, towering, and broader than Danny is tall -- whips around on his heel, black frayed cape flaring out impressively. Danny would've whistled in appreciation, but he takes the time instead to wipe the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing the blood running from his nose across his cheek.

"Sorry." He blinks widely, not even flinching as the man with the horns zeroes in on him. "That was rude of me. I have a really bad brain-to-mouth filter; Sam says its what always gets me into trouble."

And she's not wrong either, per say. His smart mouth is what landed him in this situation -- with blood blossom extract running through his veins and cannibalizing the ectoplasm in his bloodstream. Thanks Vlad.

The man grunts at him; a short, curt "hm" that shouldn't make Danny smile, but he does because he's somewhat delirious and probably concussed. The man keeps some kind of distance, sinking towards the shadows of Gotham's alleyway like he dares to melt right into it.

If it's supposed to scare Danny, it doesn't work. Danny's never been afraid of the dark; he's always been able to hide himself in it. He blinks slowly at the mass of shadows.

"You look hurt." The shadows says, blurring together around the edges. Danny squints, and licks his lips to get the blood dripping down his chin off. Ugh, he hates the taste of blood.

"I am." He says, "My godfather poisoned me. M'dying." The agony of the blood blossom eating him from the inside out looped back around to numbing a while ago, so all he feels is half-awake and dazed.

"Hey," Danny stumbles forward towards the man, a bloodied hand reaching out to him. "You-- you're a hero, right? You're not attacking me; which is more than I can say for most costumed people I've met." Maybe it's a poor bar to judge someone at, but he's already established that Danny's not in his right mind.

The man makes no change in expression, but Danny realizes blearily that it's hard to tell with the shadows on his face. He stays still long enough for Danny to latch onto the cape -- stretchy, but almost soft under his fingers.

He looks up blearily into the whites of the man's eyes. "Can you help me? I don't-- I don't wanna die." Again. He doesn't wanna die again. He blinks slow and lizard-like. "I mean- I'll probably get to see mom and dad again, but I told them I'd at least try and make it to adulthood."

There's a clatter down the street, and Danny's ghost sense chills up his spine and leaves a bitter, ashy taste in his mouth. He immediately knows who it belongs to even before the deceptively gentle; "Daniel?" echoes down the way.

"Daniel? Quit your games, badger, Gotham is dangerous for children."

Danny's mouth pulls back, and blood spills against his tongue. "Please." He rasps, and grabs onto the shadow's cape with both hands. "Please. He's going to kill me. Please--"

"Daniel? Is that you?"

His lips part, dragging in air to plead with the darkness again. He doesn't need to, the whites of his eyes narrow, and the cape whirls around him before Danny can blink. Soon swaddled in shadows, the Night lifts him up, and steals him away.