#sound off 1

[risequotes]

Daily Rise Quotes: DAY 605

Splinter: No more talking! We have much to do! Is that what you're going to wear? Have you chosen your stylist? We should get headshots made!

(Rise of the TMNT: Sound-Off! #1)

[happyfirstpri]

Nothing more homo than having parallel or mirroring nicknames with your rival since childhood

Charles Leclerc and Max Verstappen. Also known as:

the phoenix and the dragon

the sun of maranello and the rain of milton keynes

il predestinato (the predestined) and the inevitable

eterni rivali (eternal rivals)

Eterni rivali is so sexy, like imagine signing off letters with that?

“Il tuo Eterno Rivale,

[insert name]”

HOT. SEXY. I’D KISS YOU ON THE LIPS.

[literallyjusttoa]

Ok, I actually really liked that short haired post-toa Apollo design, so here's some more of that plus Hephaestus because we all love Hephaestus.

[socialistexan]

Cis women on tiktok for the past like 4 years: "I'm girly pop, I do girl math and have girl dinner after going to my girl job ✌️😜"

Dylan Mulvaney: *makes a mediocre pop song that is literally just about that*

Those same cis women:

[starry-bi-sky]

Clone^2 - Separation Strikes

"Why do I have to go?" Damian asks, surly and accent-thick, it sounds more like a demand and a whine at the same time. Sitting on the kitchen table with his arms crossed, in a green t-shirt that Danny bought him at a whim when he was at a thrift shop, and black shorts, he's never looked more like a kid. There's a little backpack leaning against the table leg, Damian begrudgingly picked it out when they went shopping.

His English has grown in leaps and bounds since Danny found him -- er, or more accurately; since Damian was spat out in front of him. -- and very little did they have to use the translator on Danny's phone these days.

Which meant one thing: Damian can start attending school comfortably now. And 'go' was the Amity Smiles Child Care Center. Danny and Jazz went as kids until they were twelve, and Mom and Dad actually managed to convince the center director to let Damian enroll for the summer.

And it was summer; Damian starts today.

"Because," Danny says, trying and failing to hide the smile pulling on his face, his heart warm and soft, and also laughing at Damian's expense; "being cooped up in the house all day isn't good for you, and you're starting school in the Fall. And, in Jazz's words: you need to have interactions with other kids your age for the benefit of your social development. And besides, it's only for the morning."

Damian's nose scrunches up, and his eyes roll so violently that for a moment, Danny thinks about joking that he'll get his eyes stuck like that. He holds his tongue; his little brother already looks like he's five seconds away from committing an act of violence.

"I don't need social interaction." Damian sneers, his cheek in his hand; a neverend pool of pride. "I am--"

"The Blood of the Demon Heir, better than everyone else." Danny cuts off, waving his hand in dismissive circles, his voice mockingly deep. Damian's brown skin darkens in embarrassment, and he scowls at Danny. "I know, bud. But Jazz is right, -- don't tell her I said that, -- you should be around kids your age."

Especially when he starts First Grade in the Fall. Honestly -- Danny was a little nervous to send him to the center. Damian's long since cut the habit of trying to kill or otherwise maim people, his palms ache-burn with gentle reminder, but his tongue was as sharp and as cutting as his sword. He still struggles with trying to quell it when he's upset. Vicious child-weapon that he once was, and will never be again.

Danny knows that it comes from a place of fear and defense, that Damian lashes out because that's what he's been taught. That at the end of the day, he doesn't really mean what he says, and he's learning to express himself better. But the other kids don't know that, and kids can be unforgiving and cruel.

Danny just...

His slow beating heart sighs, melancholy settles behind his lungs.

He doesn't want Damian to be outcasted. He doesn't want him to be alone.

Not like he was.

Damian sneers again, but says nothing, his shoulders crawling up to hide his ears like a turtle receding into his shell. Danny watches him silently, leaning against the kitchen counter with his own arms crossed. The clock hanging on the wall ticks in their ears -- it's almost time to go.

He watches Damian, careful, and so he sees it when his little brother's stone-shell pride and petulance shudders, and cracks. The darkened furrow of Damian's brows weakens, and for a moment, slants back.

Ah, Danny thinks, his own shoulders slumping. Epiphany washes over him, and his sad-heart soothes in warm understanding. So that's what it is.

His head tilts, and his hair spills over his shoulders, messy and fluffy, tickling his neck. Some of his bangs fall into his face. "Hal 'ant easabiatan ya habibi?" He asks, voice low and soft. Just as Damian's English has improved, so has Danny's Arabic. He still stumbles over himself some days, and Damian says his accent is trash, but they can have whole conversations now in Damian's mothertongue.

(Danny was incredibly proud of himself for it.)

Damian's face darkens, his blush spreading across the rest of his face, and he ducks his head down. Grown-out curls, black-brown and springy, falls over his eyes. "La!" He yells, loud and indignant, and not at all convincingly. "La 'asheur bialtawaturi!"

He was nervous. Danny can see it now, in the hunch of his shoulders and the tightness of his face, and faintly, he can feel it too. In the ecto-rich air of the Fentonworks House, it thrums, barely-there, like a hummingbird behind his lungs.

Danny can't stop the little, fond smile that forces itself across his lips and upticks the corner of his mouth. "It's okay to be nervous, little brother." He says, he sounds like Jazz when he says that. He doesn't think she'll mind him borrowing the nickname.

He pushes himself off the counter, and Damian refuses to look at him, hiding behind his hair and in his shoulders. It takes three long strides for him to reach the table, and Danny turns, plants his hands on the ledge, and hoists himself up. Right next to Damian.

Damian leans into him easily when Danny's arm wraps around his shoulders and tucks him close to his heart. He can feel his ear against his ribs. Danny hunches over him, resting his chin on Damian's head. "It's so okay to be nervous, actually. I was nervous, Jazz was nervous." He tells him, scratching the blunt edge of his nails across his scalp. "Everyone gets nervous."

"'Ana last aljumiea." Damian mumbles, as small and feeble as he was the night on the OPS Center balcony, realizing that his mom and the League weren't coming for him. Realizing that he was replaceable.

Danny's half-working heart squeezes; in grief, in rage, and his faucet eyes sting. He breathes in carefully, and presses his nose into Damian's hair in a loving faux-kiss. "You're right, you're not everyone." He says, steady and strong, because if he's not a pillar for his family, who else is he?

He can feel Damian's eyes flick up to him, and Danny smiles into his black-brown curls. Tilts his head to squish his cheek against him instead, hand dropping to thumb below Damian's lashes. "You're Damian Fenton," Because the adoption went through a few weeks ago, and he's still riding that high, "You're my baby brother. O' Artist Extraordinaire, Kickass with a Sword, Vegetarian and Wonderful Co-Ghost Hunter."

Damian tries to stifle a smile, and fails. Score! Triumph gathers in Danny's gut, his smile grows wider. He squeezes Damian tight, and only releases him so he can look him in the eyes. "And if anyone gives you a hard time at school, and I mean anyone--"

Danny has bad memories of the teachers looking the other way when the other kids were bullying him, all because he was a Fenton.

And Danny, bleeding heart, bleeding hands, loves his family more than he will ever love himself, will never let Damian experience the same injustice. Not if he can help it.

His eyes narrow, and the buzzy-film of ectoplasm covers his eyes, making them glow, "--You tell me. And as your awesome great big brother-and-technically-dad-but-only-biologically, I will handle it."

Damian, wonderfully made, full of light, his little brother Damian, giggles weakly at him. A sound that's worth it's weight in gold. The scary eyes dissipate, and Danny matches the sound with a cock-eyed, impish grin, dragging Damian into a soul-crushing, too-tight hug. The kind that only annoying older brothers can give. "Got it?"

That gets a proper, if short, laugh out of Damian. He wriggles in Danny's arms, trying to break free. But Danny does calisthenics, his arms are as big as Damian's head, so it doesn't work. "Understood, now, daeni 'adhhab ya 'akhi!"

Danny laughs, loud and bright, and loosens his hold just a smidge, only so he can adjust his grip and hop off the table with Damian still in arm.

"Never!" He crows, hoisting Damian slightly. One eye flick at the clock, and in one quick move, he secures Damian under one arm like a football, and hooks his foot under the strap of his backpack. Kicking it up, he tosses it into the air and catches it with his free hand, and slings it over his shoulder. "Now, to the car, my boy! Before we're late and Mom and Dad get charged."

Damian groans, childish and dramatic and long, but his face is all squished up with a wide grin and glee. Danny can taste his joy beneath his tongue.

"And, if my little pep talk didn't encourage you," He says, reaching the door to the garage, flipping Damian up onto his hip instead. "If you have a good day today, I'll make you bal mithai when you get back."

Like all kids at the promise of sweets, Damian's eyes widen and glitter. Danny loves seeing Damian be a kid, it's his favorite thing in the world. "I will!"

[v5m4k]

Takeda WINS✨

[the-muffin-master]

the astarion romance experience. I expected to be swept off my feet by a master of flirting and seduction but instead I feel the uncontrollable urge to pin him to the ground and [starts foaming at the mouth]

I swear I'll draw actual backgrounds one day. I just needed to get this off my chest and out into the world

[h-didanart]

I could try to make this a whole comic, but I don’t have the patience to. So….

Bloodmoon giggled to himself as he scurried away. It wasn’t always that he could get such a good glance at the Daycare idiot’s daily routine, but when he did, boy was it a blast.

Some odd creature emerged from the portal and some confrontation took place, he was excluded from it, having been up in the rafters and all, so he had been in a perfect position to see the absolute frustration in the Sun-Man’s face as the creature toppled over his precious barrel towers, and then, and then— he snorted just remembering— and then the Sun-Man chased around the creature screaming every single swear word that could ever be said.

He had almost fallen off the rafters from laughing too hard, which had sadly gotten him spotted by the computer, which meant he had to leave. But still, it had been very amusing, so now he was on his way to the place he and the little Pumpkin Sprout usually met at— the theatre basement, with its infinite food supply and stuff— and he was going to talk to them about it, because they had to know.

He entered the space, bouncing in place at seeing the pumpkin bot already there, and he approached them.

Hmm, Little Sprout didn’t usually go for knives that quickly. Nor did they usually tackle him that quickly, nor would they aim for his eye, nor would they be the ones to start a sneak fight, nor— okay this was just not how Jack normally acted. Which meant…

[sergle]

The body positive/plus size art has been great! But you can’t expect people to think there isn’t a discrepancy when you talk about being that, and then posting the pictures you do. You’re allowed to be average, especially now after the reduction. Super skinny people also have a different experience too. It’s just that you talk about being plus sized and people relate to that and the art and then look at pictures of you, and suddenly feel dysmorphic?

Me when I'm Average and Thin

Me when I'm so so skinny 🧡🧡🧡

[s0ap-bubbles]

NRS you can’t just give Sonya such a beautiful face model and then never add her as a playable character in mk1, I won’t stand for it

[tricoufamily]

and here's to you—

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[risequotes]

Daily Rise Quotes: DAY 484

April: There's this... thing I signed up for, and now I'm kinda... stuck.

Mikey: Details!

(Rise of the TMNT: Sound-Off! #1)

[itwoodbeprefect]

the great thing about falling really deep into a new media niche is developing opinions on many new things. the terrible thing about falling really deep into a new media niche is developing opinions on many new things

[raineandsky]

heyyyy i love your work! could you write about a hero who is given to villain as a gift from supervillain, and although villain is excited his enemy is in his possession at first, he starts to notice the hero is oddly withdrawn. by the time he realizes the hero’s been practically tortured (nothing graphic) by supervillain, he finds himself trying to clean the hero’s wounds. despite his hatred for the other, whatever supervillain did was a step too far. thank you! have a good day 🍀

i hope you have a good day too! thank you for the request as always :)

tw: implied torture/abuse, injury

“Well, I thought [Supervillain] catching you was funny,” the villain says slowly, “but this…”

There’s no words for whatever this is. Old bruises, dried blood. More wounds than the villain dares to count.

Maybe the supervillain’s use of the word ‘catch’ was underselling their part in the hero’s journey here.

The villain had noticed the uncharacteristic quietness, sure, the lack of sharp edges. He’d thought it might be a bruised ego. He thought being gifted the hero meant he got the hero, and not this empty husk that looks like him.

It all makes painful, unfortunate sense.

The villain unties the binds from the hero’s wrists. The hero doesn’t move. “You… you realise you’re not tied down, [Hero],” the villain tries after a second.

The hero glances down at the red raw lines biting his skin. “Yeah.”

The villain stares at him for a long moment. “Okay,” he says shortly. “On your feet.”

The hero lets the villain push him in an awkward shuffle into the bathroom. He watches as the villain rummages through his cupboard, pulls a box down, continues rummaging through that.

“Sit down,” the villain says shortly. “In the bath.”

The hero does as he’s told—a new characteristic, the villain notes—and slumps down in the bathtub. The villain manages to finally wrestle a first aid kit from the box.

“I’ll need you to take your shirt off, okay?” the villain says slowly.

The hero’s expression turns from blank to distressed in a second. “No, I—“

“It’s okay,” the villain cuts in quickly. “I won’t hurt you. I just need to see.”

Eventually, with a bit of gentle pushing, the hero lets the villain tug him out of his shirt. The villain had fully intended to keep his face straight, but he can’t help the gasp of disgust slipping out.

The blood and bruises he saw before are nothing to this. Red tears at every part of the hero’s skin. The villain doesn’t want to look, but if he wants to help he has to face what the supervillain has done.

A small washcloth gets run under the tap, the hero watching distractedly as water seeps into the fabric. The villain carefully sits on the edge of the bath, washcloth wielded in his hand like a shield. “I’m just going to get the worst of it off, [Hero],” he says slowly. The hero glances up at him blankly. “It might sting, but it’s not on purpose, okay?”

This is far from okay, it seems. The hero flinches and fights back tears every time the villain so much as touches him. The villain tries to soothe him as he goes, but he feels a bit like he’s trying to calm a wild animal and that feels unfair on the hero.

The hero looks awful without the blood to cover the worst of it. Bandages are cut and wrapped quickly. The hero sits silently, staring at a spot of scum on the bath in front of him, trembling slightly under the villain’s hands. It’s too much. The villain feels sick.

He has to help the hero out of the bathtub. The man looks like a mummy with how much bandaging the villain has thrown at him, but it should hopefully keep the worst of the damage at bay.

It’s strange, helping his worst enemy in his own home. He hates the hero, despises everything he stands for. But what happened to the word vigilante? What happened to trying to spread the kindnesses the agency refused to afford? The supervillain has gone too far. This is unforgivable.

The villain only has one bedroom in his little house. He offers the hero one of his shirts and sets him in the one bed he has. The hero, from the nervous glancing about and wringing hands, doesn’t like it.

“What—” The words catch on nothing. He clears his throat quickly. “What’s the catch?”

The villain stares at him blankly for a moment. Jesus Christ. “There’s no catch,” he manages after a moment. “I’m trying to help you get better.”

The hero looks more horrified by this. “Why?”

“So you don’t die? I’m not a monster, [Hero].”

The hero’s face scrunches up like he’s going to cry. “O—Okay…”

The villain steers him under the covers as he snivels and breathes in shuddering breaths.

“Some sleep will help,” the villain offers from the doorway. “If it helps, you can lock the door from the inside.”

He taps the chunky lock on the handle, and the hero nods. With a quick, slightly awkward goodnight, the villain lets himself out, and a few seconds later he hears the clunk of the lock turning on the door.

He flops down on the sofa with a sigh. He wasn’t intending to sleep here tonight, but the supervillain’s never been one to respect other people’s plans. It’s hard, dipping in places with use, the cushions paper thin from years of sitting on them.

The villain has always hated the agency. He certainly hates the hero. But laying on his uncomfortable sofa, his own bedroom occupied by an injured, traumatised hero, he kind of feels like he hates the supervillain more.

[yume-fanfare]

day 7 of torikasa week is future! what will they do after graduation?

[theoriginalfool]

Can we get a sound off for the murdle fandom? Who's in here?