#the 'who did this' trope

[elpida]

closed for @persephonyed from wishlist

sienna really hated being dragged to these dinners. her parents were posh, extremely posh and she never felt like she fit into what they wanted, adopted and very different from their natural born son, her brother. he'd become a golden boy the minute he was born and she couldn't help but feel pushed aside. they fronted the cost of her business, a florist with the most beautiful shop and yet that was never enough. it was never what her brother was doing, he was going to be a lawyer and she already knew that was all they'd talk about tonight, though how could she be ungrateful? without them she'd have been left in a care home, a frightened girl, given up.

the night prior she'd got in a bit of trouble, see she was a sweet person up until you offended her friends or made them uncomfortable and one guy at a bar had made her friend very uncomfortable. it ended up sienna shouting her mouth off, defending her friend without little to much thought about anything else. the same guy jumped her on her way home that night, mugged her, took her phone and wallet and that was fine, a phone could be replaced and cards could be cancelled and replaced but it's what they'd elft her with that wasn't all that easy to fix. she'd gone straight to the bathroom on arrival and was seemingly camping out there, trying to use concealer and foundation to cover the purple bruised eye, the bruise having formed today... but there was no hiding the bust lip, or the fact she'd carelessly rubbed her nose and it started bleeding again. the door was half open and she didn't realise she'd left it like that until she caught the sight of the other in the mirror, they'd never got along.. always bickered ever since they first started coming to these dinner parties, showed face as her parents said. "i can move, if you need the toilet or something.." she mumbles, holding tissue to her nose, her other hand white knuckle gripping the side of the sink. she very clearly wasn't up to being here but heaven forbid she not come, she'd never finish being berated for it. "oh— fuck." she cursed under her breath, a little blood dripping to her hand that now cupped her face.

[expiredhydrogenperoxide]

oh nothing, just jegulus ‘accidentally’ swapping ties and watching sirius go absolutely mental trying to figure out how james ended up with a slytherin tie.

(he would have so many outlandish theories)

[sharpbutsoft]

*contemplating my own take on an extremely overdone fandom trope* everyone loves two cakes, everyone wants two cakes, everyone loves two cakes

[bet-on-me-13]

Ellie isn't allowed to travel alone Anymore

So! Ellie was raised in a Lab by a Genuine Bonefied Supervillain. She was raised to be a Villain as well, so her Moral Conpass is a little skewed.

Sure she *mostly* knows what is right and wrong from Danny's quick lesson before her Adventure around the Country, but she still has trouble separating what is moral and what is not from time to time.

So it's really no surprise that the moment she left Amity Park she somehow ended up being branded a Villain.

Look, it's not her fault she didn't know not to attack the flying guy in Blue Spandex when he approached her! One of Danny's biggest warnings shen she left had been Stranger Danger! She did what any 12 year old girl would have done when approached by a strange Older Man!

Its also not her fault that her powers (being Magic based), managed to affect him! She didn't even use her full power! (She maybe should have kicked him in a different place tho...she hopes he wasn't planning on having kids...)

So she did what her instincts told her to do. She took any money he had on him and ran the hell away!

It wasn't until she was 2 cities over when she saw a newspaper titled, "Little Villain Girl Mugs Superman in Broad Daylight!", that she realized she may have screwed up...

After that, she really had no excuse.

She knew that she probably shouldn't have kept Mugging the Heroes who approached her, but she wasn't a Fenton for nothing! Her Family Motto had always been "Commit to the Bit", and she was gonna stick to it!

So when the Fast Red Guy tried to tie her up, she phased off all his clothes and took off with his money (not the mask, she knew enough not to take that off)

And when the Grumpy Bat Guy tried to corner her with some weird papers he pulled out of his Belt, she just distracted him while her clone picked his pockets and made off with the wheels of his Car. That one made her a pretty penny!

The flying Green Guy was fun, his attacks were just throwing Ghost Candy (pure willpower) at her. He did stop doing do after she nicked his fancy talking Ring however, but it was fun while it lasted

Then she came across a Orange Fish Guy, and he actually seemed nice enough. But she was committing to the Bit, so she took the fancy Trident he had and sold it at a nearby Pawn Shop for some extra cash. He would probably be able to find it, that's why she chose a nearby location.

All in All, her Adventure had been really fun! So she decided to visit Amity Park again to tell Danny all about it!

...

Aquaman walked into the meeting room of the Watchtower, a very frustrated look in his eye.

Barry spoke up first, "Oh! I know that look in your eye! She got to you too didn't she!"

Arthur just glared at Barry for a second before walking over to his Chair, sitting down with a thump. "She is certainly a tricky child."

"What did she take this time?" Clark asked.

"..mttrident..." Arthur grumbled out quickly.

"What was that?" Asked Barry with a twinkle in his eye. He heard it, but he wanted everybody else to know.

"She took my trident, Okay!" Arthur shouted out.

"I feel ya man." Responded Hal, "At least with me she threw it back at me when she realized it wasn't making 'candy' anymore. What did she do with yours?"

"She sold it at a Pawn Shop!" Arthus yelled in frustration, "She managed to steal one of the most Powerful Magical Weapons in the world, the Symbol of the entire Atalantean Royal Bloodline, and she sold it and a Pawn Shop!"

"...how much did she get for it?" Asked Hal.

At this, Aquaman just collapsed to the table and groaned.

...

Alternatively she could have just kept all those things, and gradually built up a collection of all the JLA's most treasured possessions.

She has Supermans Wallet, not very important to him but it was her first mugging

She has Batmans Utility Belt (trackers removed) along with his Tires

She took Flashes Costume Ring (his civilian clothes still stuck inside)

She took Green Lanterns ring as well, but unfortunately it managed to escape after a few days. It was feisty.

And her crowning Jewel is the Trident she took from Aquaman.

(She avoided WW, cause she likes her too much to steal anything from her)

[sharkenedfangs]

— ☆ “WINTER FEVER SURE SUCKS, DOESN’T IT?”

— #. synopsis. this annoyingly repetitive recurrence to delicately tuck light bandages around your wobbly knees, lovingly soothe the purplish bruise away with an affectionate rub of his tender palm. yet, that was precisely it — that it was you, he’d happily do this for without sparing the slightest thought for the numerous times he’s had to expectantly carry out such a gesture.

— #. content warning! surprisingly none, dirty thoughts, yearning and pining, sloppy blowjob, fluff in all its worth, blushy male robin, feverish male reader and just boys helping each other out, is all.

— #. word count? 3.8k words.

— #. extra extra! ashes snippets : “blowjobs cure your fevers and keep the illnesses away. trust me, I’m a professional doctor.”

Carefully tending to your every whims and needs has always been a part of Robin’s unnamed responsibilities, whether verbally spoken so or not. Each and every one of the naive, little orphans instinctively knew who to call upon when faced with another of your clumsy accidents, an accidental slip of your feet — you’d bashfully say, a muttered ‘sorry’ wistfully whispered beneath your huffed breaths and flushing cheeks.

Perhaps, as a poorly-expressed means of a genuine apology for your inborn inattentiveness, that odd, natural skill of yours you unfortunately possessed to repeatedly find shady trouble in every narrow corner of this filthy town. To be Immediately roped into the worst of situations and somehow, come out somewhat unscathed every time.

Maybe if it were to be anyone else, Robin’s cheery mask would’ve eventually slipped past to give forth to the gradual frustration of the instilled obligation he’s readily set upon himself. This annoyingly repetitive recurrence to delicately tuck light bandages around your wobbly knees, lovingly soothe the purplish bruise away with an affectionate rub of his tender palm. Yet, that was precisely it — that it was you, he’d happily do this for without sparing the slightest thought for the numerous times he’s had to expectantly carry out such a gesture. Tirelessly complain? How could he when you’d appear so pitifully before him, the subtlest of pouts adorning your rosy lips whenever you’d tearfully gaze up at him, falsely claiming that it didn’t hurt that much because surely, it really did. God, such a clutz, aren’t you? And honestly, he wouldn’t have it any other way. Every slight stumble and fall would simply be accompanied by his awaiting, helping hand to discreetly soften the landing, cheekily embrace you within his arms.

So, you see — this isn’t any different for him either, not when paired by this lucky opportunity set in place which, he hates to truthfully admit the mere fact that merely gazing at your weakened state sometimes, obtains certain.. reactions from him — from his body, precisely. Listen, he doesn’t mean to subconsciously widen his sat stance atop the wooden chair, make some much needed, accommodating room for his twitching cock noticeably stirring beneath his pants. Really, it’s an instinctual urge like any other man, y’know? And well, despite the known moral etiquette that he should be plainly feeling guilty for secretly getting off to your undeserving suffering here, he can’t possibly help himself, can he? Your fault for being so resistant yet, so weak.

Hence the pathetic position you now currently find yourself in, puffed breaths along with a blazing flush across your cheeks, one that Robin finds to suit you very well. Slicked droplets of sweat steadily trickling down the crook of your neck, softened features normally bright as his, now contorted to a blatant show of pain. Strands of hair attentively brushed out of the way so that he may periodically apply a fresh, new cloth onto your sweaty forehead in hopes of cooling your feverish temperature away. Obscene that he’s grown used to the routine of doting upon you every single, chilly winter cuz’— simply put, you get sick pretty easily.

Namely, he’d like to softly reprimand you for your lack of care for your own self, utter out once more that you should’ve properly bundled yourself up in a thickly knitted scarf or some layered jacket to brace for the pristine white snow and shivering breeze.

Though, of course, as per usual, you hadn’t actually listened to his common advice, so evidently, you’ve come down with a heated fever, rightfully reaping the eventual consequences of your thoughtless actions which he hates to say. Forcing him to— no, truthfully, he consciously chose to faithfully stay by your side till you’d get better. A bit of a slow healer though, that’s the thing. As an entire full week has now officially passed by, a week where he has not gone once to school considering your ailed state. Profusely tumbling out a series of muttered apologies, insistently nudging at him that instead of peering so precariously over you like he is right now, that he should be sat in class instead, intently listening to the teacher’s boring lesson or something.

“Really, you don’t have to. I, uh— ah, am just fine on my own, y’know. You don’t have to worry over me, Robin. It’s just a few hours and anyways, I don’t want you failing school cuz’ of me.” Blatantly uttering out falsehoods when in reality, he’s acutely aware of your quickening breaths, glazed over eyes barely focusing on his blurring figure and, ah.. shit, why’re you so pretty when you’re sick? Not that you normally aren’t, just that— maybe, the feverish haze settled upon you accentuated certain part of your features like your pouty lips sinfully glistening with your own spit, little, tentative swipe of your pink tongue poking out whenever you need to moisten the edges of those chapped lips. Wonder what it’d feel like coyly wrapped around his— ah, cut it out, Robin! Holy thoughts, holy thoughts.. Just like Sydney, right. They’d never think such a thing if faced with a sick, heaving boy. Seriously, he should be composing himself.

“School’s not important right now. You are. I’m not leaving till you fully get better and no matter what you tell me, I’m staying here, ‘kay?” Stubborn as a mule, two people set at opposite sides where one will not relent for the other. Typical argument of yours that involves your unconvincing insistence that you’re indeed okay whereas he will point out otherwise.

“Now, stop worrying about me, silly. Class can wait if it means I get to take care of you.” Hastily choking up at the involuntary confession he may or may not have brazenly unveiled his actual feelings for you— ah, did you notice? ..Yeah, no. So oblivious to your surroundings it sometimes frustrates him, but he can’t truly be upset with you for long, perceiving it more as an endearing trait he can poke fun at than an inherent flaw.

“..Fine. I guess if you say you want to stay then you can.. But I seriously owe you a favour for this.” Smiling gleefully at your reluctant act of conceding with a huffed pout, content in his momentary victory to tenderly dote upon you some more. “Mm? You wanna repay me?” That’s a funny thought, you, actually expressing your gratitude for him when he’s been acting more like a coddling mother excessively worrying over her child than anything else — not that he wouldn’t openly accept the idea of you fulfilling a favour for him. Question is, what exactly?

Subtly scanning over the sight of your curled frame underneath the woollen covers, curled fist loosely held onto the material and god, it makes his heart ache to single-handedly witness you being so cute in front of him. Without you even knowing, too. Instinctually trailing over the outline of your lower body below the blankets, skittishly being brought up once more to intently gaze at your bed riddled self.

Well, he’s got an idea maybe, of what to ask.. That’d be too bold though, wouldn’t it? Just friends or more like foster brothers to each other, even if the heat pooling in the core of his tummy is whispering out tell-tale lies. No friend of such should be secretly viewing theirs in a lewd manner, should be shamefully fisting their weeping cock late at night while their shirt is carelessly held back by their clenching teeth bitten between it. Muffling their stifled moans, desperately pumping their cock stupid, collecting the accumulated drool of pre at the tip to pervertedly slide down to the base with a wet squelch! all the while thinking of their supposed ‘friend’. Yeah, a friend is what you’d so cheerfully call him, ever since childhood, you’ve only had each other amongst the mess of an orphanage you’re miserably forced to live in by your cold-hearted caretaker.

However, would it be so bad if he were to consider you as more? Tentatively steer you in the other direction if you were to collectively see him in the same light as he does— “Robin? Can I have some water? ..Please?” Cutting his spiralling calculations abruptly with the timid lilt in your voice, almost shy of solely relying on another to be given something to drink. How you wholly depend on him sometimes for the simplest of tasks, unable to do anything or so, you frantically claim. Hurriedly interrupting his track of thoughts with a meek request and, how could he not obligate to your every whim? You’re only deserving of it, after all.

“Y-Yeah, of course.” Last of things he should be doing is envisioning stuff like sickeningly taking advantage of your bed riddled position, most definitely helpless in stopping him if he were to try.. anything, at all. Hah, no better than those lustful monsters that reside in this town, sneakily hide themselves amongst the shadows. Endless times he’s routinely walked to and back from school with you as per usual, only to encounter another one of those disgusting creeps that’d shamelessly try to land their filthy paws onto your untouched body, disgustingly slobber all over you as though they were deserving of the slightest sliver inch of skin from you. And yes, there is the slight tremor apparent in his voice when he’s actively telling them off in favour of protecting of you, but that’s precisely it. You’re enough of a reason for him to confidently fight back, take a stand even with the apparent wobble in his knees.

Truly, those hands of yours that find themselves clasping at his once the whole ordeal is fortunately over, beaming face filled with admiration is why he does it. Enough with the constant reminiscing however, dutifully reaching for a bottle of water set onto the oaky dresser, hesitating noticeably in his next actions to curiously gaze back at your awaiting mouth. “Want me to hold it for you?” Isn’t he simply enabling your unprompted, lazy behaviour? Bound to turn you spoiled if this readily keeps up, doesn’t mean he still won’t do it.

A subtle nod of your head to his gentle suggestion is all it takes, swiftly uncapping the bottle cap off before directing it towards your parted lips, palm decisively placed along your jaw, carefully titling your head backwards into the cushioned pillow to ease in on your swallowing. Noisy gulps accompanied by the rhythmic bobbing of your fragile throat, sluggishly drinking it all down with a satisfied sigh. Thing is, he shouldn’t be staring so intently at all these intricate details nor particularly zeroing in on the barely noticeable droplet of water that spilled past those moist lips, really— this is going beyond well-intentioned admiration and more like, borderline obsession.

Still, it’s just.. helping, is it not? It’s not like he’s physically harming you in any shape or form when his eyes lovingly peer upon you for a moment longer, stray hand instinctively coming to wipe away at the wet sweat built up there. Lingering contact, just helping in every sense of the word, that’s all it is! Thumb swiping lower to rest upon the gap between your parted lips, right where the wet warmth he so fervently seeks out is, digit dipping shyly with a shaky inhale at the sheer sensation that greets him— A wet and ready mouth, so easily pliable, mouldable for a fat cock that’d happen to be consequentially slipped inside, by chance. Drooling little baby you’d be, looking so very stupid with a mouthful of cock promptly shoved down the rewarding tightness of your throat.. You wouldn’t mind, would you?

At the end of the day, as so often told by many as a shabby excuse for their unforgiving actions — which he, himself, is no better of, at the moment — he’s nothing, but a man. Horny hormones offset from the mere, close proximity he shares with you, his crush, within this narrow space and time. Cock annoyingly straining against the rough fabric of his pants, hopefully palming at the hot, twitching bulge beneath your field of vision — or perhaps, truthfully he wants you to actually see him. Plainly witness the downright degeneracy of his current actions, heated palm clumsily circling over his red, leaking tip frustratingly covered by the material of his jeans, huffing over your bare form as though he’s solely being restrained by the horrifying idea of cold rejection on your part.

Cmon, won’t you rightfully take responsibility for what you’ve done to him? Having him just as equally heated as you over here, dangerously peering at the edge of his chair to unintentionally tower over your confused, oblivious self. See, the weight of those fluttering eyelashes, how you don’t even try to coldly discard his affectionate touch, borderline inappropriate one too — in fact, welcoming it as you subconsciously lean into the cup of his soft palm?? Surely, that’s shamelessly asking for it, a hidden sign of your reciprocation of his sentiments in return. Or so, his self-deluded mind dumbly convinces himself of such.

It’s the meek “Robin?” that stills him, curious eyes peering up at him with a quizzical cock of your head, veiled worry making its way past your strained features in a subtle questioning of if he’s alright. “Something wrong?” Oh, if only you knew that, yeah— something is indeed very wrong, knee now cautiously placed atop the bed, squeaking mattress dipping lower, distinct creak audibly heard throughout the four corners of the walls surrounding you both. Good, think he locked the wooden door nearby and it’s not like.. any younger orphan might upsettingly interrupt you two nor walk in, lest they actually want to be terrifyingly face to face with an angry Robin for once in their lives. A rare occurrence.

“Huh? O-Oh, well— I was just wondering about what you’ve said before. Y’know, owing me a favour for taking care of you and all..” Idly scratching at the back of his neck in a habitual instinct to soothe the spiking nervousness rendering him dizzy, hitched breath faltering in its smooth flow to ponder, briefly hesitate over his next few words. How exactly should he even go about this..? Discreetly hinting is sure not to successfully work if taking into account your naive innocence, albeit adorable to him — sometimes, is unintentionally setting himself up in the inevitable scenario of being direct. Shy as he might be, at times, specially flustered in the presence of you, Robin still determinedly carries on with a drawn out sigh, hovering over your laid frame ever so slightly to satisfyingly catch that split-second, shift of your incredulous expression.

“Is it fine if I use it now? I mean, what I’d really like for you to do right now, is.. take care of this for me. I-If you want to do that.” Swallowing thickly as your inquisitive eyes intently follow his pointed finger, direction openly set onto the growing bulge instinctually twitching in turn from your gaze heavily set upon it, his evident hard-on humiliatingly on display just for you. “Please. I-I just— ah, fuck..” Look at you, how you decidedly waste no time in readily obeying to his flustered request, seamlessly move onto your side where your head is sweetly nestled between the gap in his willingly spread thighs. “..You’re really doing it— hah.” Huffing, nuzzling and nosing along the visible outline of his bulge jutted against your squished cheek, appearing so goddamn pure despite the undeniable fact that you’re— ah, shit.. pervertedly inhaling the musky scent of his fat cock throbbing insistently underneath the layer of clothing, crudely smelling him in such a dirty place before your cute hands come to rest atop the surface of his hips. Slowly unzipping him free to give way to his drooling cock staining a wet patch of pre below the fabric of his boxers, pink, swiping tongue dampening the stain in shade from your little kitten licks.

Suckling attentively on the flushed tip right below his underwear, thin layer of cloth merely separating your skillful tongue from making actual contact with the pulsing flesh of his cock. Where’d you even learn to do such a thing and how did you even— accept so easily to the stumble of his awkward request? Graciously went along with it as if he were simply asking you to fetch some water from the cooling fridge in the kitchen, eyes reflexively shut in a soft hum of appreciation at the responsive twitch you receive from his cock in response to every careful lick. “I guess, it’s only natural to help each other as boys, right? Whatever you want, Robin, I’ll offer you it.” Whispering out so selflessly, fully handing him the ability to maneuver this entire situation to his liking and if that means having you so lewdly strip him down to his bare form, then so be it.

“Y-You really don’t have to.. ah—“ Promptly interrupted by a sharp hiss as his cock is suddenly freed from the annoyingly tight confines of his underwear, crudely smacking against the tender skin of your cheek with a resounding, wet slap! that it further fuels his fluster at the sheer noise. Pearly pre-cum naturally smeared across your face and, fuck— you’re not the least bit bothered by it, being sinfully tainted by his fluids stained upon your body and here you are, teasingly running your rosy tongue flat along the veiny underside of his throbbing shaft before finally, reaching forward to suck up all the salty, oozing pre accumulated at the head.

“But I wanna, Robin.” Stop calling out his name affectionately like that, he’ll really bust a load before you even get to sucking him off! Muttering out so sweetly, absently stroking the base of his cock with your curled fist tight around the girth, a rhythmic up-and-down motion to meanly draw out more beads of sticky fluid, lazily trickling down his quivering length. “You always take care of me and, hah— I think it’s only fair that I return the favour too. I wanna.. thank you for being so nice to me all the time, even if I’m a handful, huh?” Hand coming to rest atop your soft head at the generous gesture you’ve so nicely offered him now, caressing through the stray strands of hair, lovingly brush it out of the way so that he may obtain a better view of your half-lidded eyes, intent on getting him off. “So, let me. Let me take care of you for once, ‘kay?”

Ah, seriously.. Stubborn as always and he can’t help, but to let himself selfishly indulge deeper in this sweet act, widening thighs accommodating you along with his knees firmly planted at each side of your bobbing head, dizzying squelch! of your translucent spit coming to meld with the thick globs of pre. How is it that someone can appear so dutiful, merely carrying out one’s favour when you’re stupidly slobbering all over his balls? Wet, welcoming heat of your mouth— ah, god— pouty lips snugly wrapped around the pulsing girth of his length, obscenely taking him into the base as you automatically repeat the process. Poking tongue playfully alternating between light drags of it across the tip to then coat it once again in the warm depths of your throat.

Though perhaps what comes second to the sheer, slippery heat engulfing the entirety of his cock are the tell-tale signs, lulled whispers of your shared arousal, mindlessly gettin’ yourself off from sloppily sucking him off. Little, cute cock provokingly poking out, smearing a stained mess against the cotton sheets from the pathetic, adorable act of humping yourself stupid along the cushioned mattress. Ah, does having another man’s cock in your mouth, preferably your best friend too — get you off that much? Sucking in a sharp, held breath, gaze observingly fixated on the subtle bounces of your cock with every gentle movement, curve of your arched back laid on its side. “..You’re hard.” He evidently remarks the obvious, normally clear voice coming out all strangled in a stifled groan as your glistening lips instinctively tighten ‘round him to spare him a brief glance of your own.

“..Shut up.”You huff out, not necessarily meaning it cuz’ yeah— you are hard and it’s clear as day as to why. Resuming on with your actions, suckling on one of his taut balls before ultimately letting go with a wet pop! Thin strings of saliva connected to the flesh of your puffy lips, clumsily stroking the rest that your small mouth cannot pitifully reach. Natural reaction is all it is! Same goes for the embarrassing fact that he’s already so fucking close, so close to shooting a straight load down your tight, little throat. Busting his fat seed and surely, you’ll— you’ll swallow it, right??

A stammered hitch in his speech, stuttering hips jolting in tandem with each and every one of your sucks, savouring the feel of his fat cock deep inside your drooling mouth. “A-Ah— wait— I’m, fuck— I’m cummin’—“ Head thrown back, eyes reflexively rolling to the back of his skull which his fingers can’t help to follow on, entangling themselves in the mess of your hair, cruelly sticking you there as he suddenly busts a whole fucking load right down your throat, white ropes of cum spurting past your lips — messily drip over the clean sheets below. Spilling his cum to coat the insides of your mouth all sticky with his seed and truly, he didn’t mean to! Or maybe, he did. As downright, secretly perverted that he is in wanting to bear witness to your eventual ruin. Pretty sight of your chin all tacky and white, dribbling droplets of his fluids all over your shocked face. Ah, he’s gotta be doin’ this again, one way or another.

No time to waste one baseless apologies and such, for having staining you in the filth of his essence— No, those are all past Robin’s mind as he impulsively throws himself onto you like some wild animal, forcibly pins you down below his heaving figure with that familiar, cheeky smile. Plainly chuckling at the stifled whine of protest that draws out of you, settling his position so that he may instead, comfortably rest between the plush of your spread thighs. “Robin! W-What’re you doin’??”

“S-Sorry, I’m sorry. I’ll clean you up and make it all up to you later. Promise.” He furtively repeats, not exactly meaning it, but can you blame him when an awaiting cock is being so painfully neglected here? And, he’s consciously certain that you won’t refuse his gesture, not with that drawled out whine as he easily pops your cock between his glossy lips, eyes appreciatively fluttered shut to savour the taste of you. Etch it to memory.

Promise he’ll make it up to you in the way he knows most, tenderly inquiring you with one single question he’s all too keenly aware of the answer to. Bright, doe eyes, ruffled brown hair and that boyish grin you’ve seen him in time and time again. As you know him best. “But.. you haven’t cum yet, have you?”

As you’ve stated before, it’s just boys helping each other out, right?

[acertifiedmoron]

the magnus archives is a romcom—no what the hell it's not. it is, however, a gothic horror romance between jon and elias. because you see, the thing about jonelias is that their canonical dynamic is built around an absurd number of gothic genre tropes. jon sims obviously fits the mold of the tortured gothic protagonist quite nicely who's facing both external (the other avatars targeting him) and internal horrors (his progress as the Archivist weighing on his conscience). but he's also trapped in the gothic manor which is the magnus institute. there are secrets (the place being a temple to the eye), locked doors, forbidden chambers, and bodies in the attic which serve as evidence of past misdeeds (the panopticon; gertrude and jonah's bodies in the tunnels), the institute/archives is ultimately destroyed by fire - purging the gothic manor i.e. the symbolic destruction of the previous order with fire is a common motif in the genre. and jon's work in the archives is haunted by the figurative ghost of gertrude who remains a curious mystery he must unravel and will serve as a constant reminder to jon of his own inadequacies (just like du maurier's rebecca fr)

elias is then —

1) his personal bluebeard figure who murdered his predecessor, a comparison which only gets stronger with the jonah magnus reveal since he's been cycling through archivists for two hundred years, all having met gruesome ends in service to him and jon being his final and most notable choice. are you seeing the maxim de winter rochester imagery. are you.

2) his gothic double. doubles as a literary trope are your hidden self made manifest, the horror lies in the double (elias) revealing the gothic protagonist's (jon) hidden, true self to them. elias as an avatar of the eye is entirely unrepentant for his nature, he revels in it. which is a mirror to jon's own self-flagellation because despite how much he feels torn about his own metaphorical vampirism, he likes it. he admits as much to gerry as early as s3 when asked about his feelings on his ability to compel truths. and why wouldn't he! after being kept in the dark so long, why wouldn't he like it? and jon and jonah had in common their natural curiosity even before they found the beholding. elias is a mirror and jon looks in it and sees someone who is him, but not quite. someone who is what jon would be if he could simply let go, but jon can't. like most gothic protagonists he will kill his double because it is a reminder of a self-truth he can never escape.

and watcher's call. like what even is that. what do you mean that's a thing. what. literally wuthering heights. "why did you heed the call?" // "because this is the place i know i should be" <- normal dialogue to write for two guys definitely not starring in a gothic romance.

^ same genre of images. so the spider, the mother of puppets, the web which is the symbolic representation of narrative thread in the magnus archives universe WEAVED them together? red string fated, that's what they are? so they're soulmates. that's what you're saying. they're literally soulmates. soulmates as existential horror? just enough of an illusion of narrative agency for jonah/elias to claim, "the Chosen One is simply that – someone I chose" but paradoxically joined by fate, which isn't a good thing! because no god-like powers of hope, or love, or indigestion, or whatever, only fear. because even though both help the other achieve narrative self-actualisation (elias making jon the archive and jon making elias the king of a ruined world), their union also irrevocably destroys their lives as they hurt each other in deeply personal ways which signify their greatest fears. elias manipulating jon, whose biggest fear is mr spider, i.e. loss of control and jon repaying by being the very thing that kills jonah, who has spent multiple lifetimes trying to escape the end. and that's romance <3

[sevenines]

i saw this tweet and found it interesting for two reasons. one is that some people base how good cartoon network would be to toh by how it treated su, and despite the fact that su’s treatment by the network was considered poor at the time, now its thought to be exceptionally good in comparison to modern shows.

two is how exactly su got impacted by a limited budget. a common criticism is how characters like connie, peridot, and lapis are left out of missions. but balancing a lot of characters is not only hard but also costly (extra animation, extra voices—it’s been revealed that the show is limited to a set number of characters per episode otherwise they’re over budget). animation mistakes are not uncommon since retakes cost extra. the entire reason the original show got cut short was due to loss of funding!

[gracemcosta]

Him: Who did this to you?

Her, facing the worst trauma imaginable: It’s nothing.

Me, the writer: *snickering* it was meeee

[moonsoupstar-ao3]

We all agree that Rin's his father's son in the complete opposite way Yukio's his mother's son, right?

Rin is what Satan could have become if he have had the chance of growing slowly, in an environment of love and encouraging to be kind with other.

And Yukio is what Yuri could have become if she haven't had a family that encouraged her to be kind with demons, and had been raised to be a soldier rather than a free spirit kind of kid. (Not that I think Yukio was raised to just be a soldier, but he wasn't exactly raised to be compassionate with demons).

They're a mirror of their parents, where they got the looks, they got the other's traits to compensate.

Rin was (and still is) reckless, he was impulsive, hotheaded, he didn't stop to think of the consequences of his actions before doing them. He is kind, and a born protector, he opens his arms for everyone (though knows where to trace a line), he is keen to care for others, and do his best to provide.

Yukio was envious, too prideful sometimes, tended to himself and had a hard time accepting help, even more looking for help himself, he has a narrow vision of things. He's willing to sacrifice himself for his brother, and for the world, he tries to protect everyone, to know everything, he's an amazing learner and quick to think in logical solutions, tracing plans and go with them.

[vapolis]

Can we get a Royal snippet? Please please please please 🙏

[benjaminthecoathanger]

okay, because i saw a poll earlier and i thought the choices weren't clear enough and also the answers i saw to it annoyed me and also i'm curious:

NOTES:

I am including having watched gameplay of a game and not having played it as having watched the source material

In this context if you are writing fic/making art and you are not being commissioned to do so. This is purely for funsies

You getting into something because you saw a post/gifset/video about it and then watched the source material does not count. That's just how you get into new things.

Goncharov does not count because it's not real. I'll break kayfabe here I don't care.

[bruciemilf]

Somebody tell me if this is a bad take, or if my love for Bruce is causing my objective brain to glitch, but-- something about advertising Batman, a hero who's very popular for being good with children, for being NURTURING with children, a bad father kinda defeats the whole purpose of what he's supposed to represent.

Batman is a protector; He protects people the world (and especially law enforcement) does not care about. That's literally the point of him.

Something about marketing " you can be incredibly violent to people you care about! And Its fine, because you care about them even if you abuse them, and that's what matters!" towards people, but especially men and young boys, is REALLY fucked up to me.

[moliathh]

the scorpion and the frog

[crowcaws]

Okay so I am watching X-Files for the first time rn, having a great time glad to be here etc. etc. and look I knew going in that it takes seasons upon seasons for anything to happen between Mulder and Scully and it was platonic for a really long time. Right. I thought I understood this, I was (and still am) perfectly fine with that. It's whatever.

But I'm on 2x01 and Mulder is in some random shed in Puerto Rico talking to a cassette tape like it's Scully saying shit like "before I could only trust myself, now I can only trust you, and they've taken you away from me" and if this is them being platonic mate what the fuck does Not Platonic look like? Is this why you're all like this???

[hellfirecvnt]

It's Personal

Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader

TW: Violence against Y/N (not via Billy), farfetched for the plot, Billy is mean, angst, possible cringe idk. We're all friends here. THE VIOLENCE IS DESCRIBED IN DETAIL FOR THE MOST PART. A little bit non-canon Billy, but if you're reading his dialogue as sassily and as dry as I'm writing it, it's not quite as jarring to his personality.

Notes: I literally just learned about the "Who did this to you?" Trope and now I'm giving it an angsty go. This is not smut, womp, womp. Also, I did the gifs like a picture book so you can kinda see the expression or energy I was going for. Summary: Billy's been an ongoing bully/ nuisance in your life since you met. He's acting a little different after finding out you've been hurt.

"Can you try not to take up half the lecture dick-riding the professor?" Billy catches you as you're making your way across campus. He's always been an issue for you, ever since he moved here your junior year in high school. Now you're both freshmen in college. He'd taken a year off to pursue other outlets, but sometimes you're convinced he did it just to be able to torment you in college, seeing as he was always a grade above.

"What are you talking about, Billy?" You ask with an exasperated sigh. Already too exhausted from studying late the night before to deal with his endless harassment.

"I'm saying every time we have this course, you ask a million fucking questions the whole time," his voice is low, but filled with a palpable hate. Why does he dislike you so much? You've never known. You've never asked. "Try to save your desperation for after class, cool? It's hard to watch," He jabs, speed-walking ahead of you.

Most days, you'd say something back. A quip just as hateful, if not worse. You were his rival in every sense of the word. The two of you even shared the same genre of fashion sense. You stole his spotlight, and he doesn't like it, so he notices when your venom is running low. You're silent the entire lecture, not because of what Billy said to you, but because you're tired.

Your study session only ran so late because you and your boyfriend spent most of the day arguing. The gaslighting is constant, and his moods have become more and more unstable and harder to navigate. You tell yourself over and over that you love him. You've loved him since you were young. He's your high school sweetheart. Andy was on the basketball team in high school and while that type usually didn't take to a hair-metal gal like you, he seemed so smitten when you met.

The room is dismissed and you try to file out long before Billy can make it to the door. He laughs at your desperate attempt to get away. Like a cockroach scurrying away from a suddenly illuminated bulb. You're not fast enough and as he passes you before you reach the exit to the building, he leans over and taunts you in your ear.

"It's about time you listened," he hisses and walks away laughing. You're indifferent. Nothing he says could hurt the way Andy's words do. You tune everything out to make room for your insecure thoughts to take over. You blame yourself for Andy's rapid change in personality. What could you have done to make him feel like this toward you? Your mind is far too occupied by these untrue concerns, that you barely feel the anxiety settle in until you get back to your dorm. It was a bit more pricey on your tuition, but your scholarship allowed you to have a dorm room for yourself. Instead of another bed, it has a small "living room" area.

With a deep, grounding sigh, you reach for the door handle and step inside. Things are fine. Andy greets you with a smile and kisses you sweetly as you set your things down by the door. You're pleasantly surprised, allowing all the toxic thoughts circling your mind to melt away under his gentle touch.

"How was class?" He asks.

"It was fine. Nothing spectacular," you giggle, smiling warmly, overtly relieved that he's not still upset with you. You can barely recall what he was angry about, to begin with. You snuggle into him as you both relax on the couch. He stares straight ahead as he opens his mouth to speak.

"One of my buddies said he saw you talking to that Steve guy," Andy's voice becomes colder, and you realize it was all a trap. You're wrapped in his arms, feeling his body go rigid as you hesitate to answer. "Y/N." He finally looks down at you, meeting your anxious gaze.

"Oh, uh," your throat goes dry. "I did talk to him. He was a little late and just needed the notes from the first section. I charged him five bucks." You begin to ramble, hoping to defuse the situation before he explodes. "He's still going steady with that Debra girl, too. She's in my journalism class. I bet those cookie-cutter losers end up married, honestly."

"You know I don't like you talking to other guys without me." Andy clenches his jaw.

"I know! I completely understand, too. You know I love how possessive you are, babe. It's hot," you're desperate and hopeful that stroking his ego will put this anger to bed. "There were so many people around, so I was thinking nothing could happen." You furrow your brow at your own words. "Your friend was even there to make sure!"

Andy's grip around you tightens, nearly cutting off your ability to fill your lungs just using one arm.

"I don't ask you for a lot, Y/N." His free hand reaches up to your face, gripping your jaw and forcing you to look into his eyes, though you weren't looking away to begin with. "Don't make me look like a fool." When he loosens his grip, your lungs inflate with a loud gasp and his shift in position slides you off the couch, into the floor with a small thud. Now you're angry. The two of you have screamed at each other plenty of times, but how dare he act so bold?

"Andy," you stand, hovering over him where he remains on the couch. His arched brows frame his bright eyes with anger. "Get out." He smirks, and it fills you with unease. Standing from the couch, he takes one step forward, nearly chest to chest with you, if it weren't for the dramatic height difference. He towers over you, stealing the feeling of power you thought you were cultivating.

"What'd you just say to me?" He asks with a sociopathic smile.

"I said," You swallow hard. "Get. The fuck. Out." You barely get a chance to speak the last word of your sentence before a fast, hard open hand meets your cheek, knocking you to the ground, and almost sending you across the room, it felt like.

"Do not ever talk to me like that just because you got caught," Andy's words are full of anger. You stare at him with wide eyes, arching your brow in an expression that asks him who the fuck he thinks he is. He storms out of the dorm, but you know he'll be back. And after these events, you're scared to try and stop him. His college teammates are at every corner, it seems. It's as if ever since Jason went out of state for college, they all bend to Andy's will. Losers. Andy doesn't come home until after you've fallen asleep. You stayed up as late as your body could take, but he wasn't back in bed until 5 AM. You have no idea where he's been.

The next day, it's your misfortune that you and Billy share yet another class. This one was early in the morning rather than yesterday's afternoon lecture. You're running on very little sleep, and the trauma of Andy snapping and putting his hands on you. It's just something you could never even fathom. The way he would kiss the ground you walked on when you first met, how could he? You're more than distracted, staring directly at the floor as you walk until you run flat into someone else in the hall.

"I stood here, completely still, to see if you'd notice. I guess other people don't exist to you, huh, princess?" He mocks you. It's not long before he notices the dark bags under your lifeless eyes and the speckles of red that have risen in the hazy shape on the side of your face. Assuming it's an allergic reaction like you had back in high school, he didn't hold back. "Jesus Christ, Y/N. You look like shit."

"Still look better than you could pull, pussy," you sneer, shoving past him. "Don't fucking make me late." He steps in front of you again, knowing neither of you is late because he's on the same schedule.

"What happened to your face? It looks like your boyfriend had to tell you twice," he bursts out laughing at his distasteful joke. You can feel your blood begin to boil. You no longer wish to exchange hateful comments. Now you want to hurt him. You want to hurt Billy the way Andy hurts you. You can't swing on him, so you take your next best shot.

"Yeah? How many times did your mom have to tell you before she just gave up and left?" You boldly stare Billy in the eyes, hoping so badly that none of Andy's henchmen see the two of you going at it. Billy's jaw is rigid, and you can see it tighten as he grinds his teeth, subduing his emotions. You've never come at him like that, it wasn't expected. His taunting smirk is long gone.

"Are you trying to get your fucking ass kicked, Y/L/N?" Billy's disgusted with himself the minute he says it. Of course, he doesn't mean that. He'll drive you into an early grave, but it's never been in his moral compass to hurt a woman the way his father hurt his mom. He wants to rescind the rhetorical threat, but his ego just clamps his lips shut. Your eye twitches as you wonder what else you've got to lose. Or would Andy hit you again for letting another man kick your ass? Your thoughts are exaggerated and full to the brim with frustration. You finally explode.

"Fucking do it then, Billy! Swing! Hit me, motherfucker!" You drop your belongings and stomp toward him and he's unsure how to react now that you've called him on his bluff/ intrusive thought.

"Calm the fuck down. You look ridiculous," Billy takes a cautious step back.

"No, let's go outside. Let's see how hard you can hit someone half your fucking height, pussy!" You're nearly causing a scene, but the building is empty for the hour. Tears well in your eyes and you refuse to let up, demanding he act on his "big, scary" threat. He won't. He stares at your watery, red eyes. Your face is flushed and only your cheeks, nose, and around your eyes hold any pigment. He essentially waits until you tire yourself out.

"You've gotta do something about that shit, Y/N. You're fucking losing it," he shakes his head.

"I'm not losing any-fucking-thing, Hargrove. Don't ever mistake me for a bitch you can scare off with an empty fucking threat," you spit, grabbing your things and taking off, leaving Billy standing confused in the empty hallway.

"What the fuck was that?" He questions aloud. He has no idea you've been drained with no way to recharge. You've been hurt with no way to heal. To him, you're losing your goddamn mind. After that, he's not even angry at your comment anymore. He's just, concerned? Maybe just curious, really. After all, he's supposed to be your burden. Anything else takes the attention off of him.

The class is long and just like yesterday, you're quiet when you usually never stop engaging. Even the professor notices, and she asks you to linger behind after the lecture is over.

"Hey, Y/N. What's up? You were so quiet today," the professor's soft voice is sweet to your ears.

"I've just been, um, tired." You shake your head, barely convincing yourself.

"Is that a bruise on your cheek, honey?" The kind, older woman asks with two hands resting on her coffee mug. Just outside the open door, Billy waits for you to pass by before he realizes you're staying behind. He scoots as close to the door as he can, flat along the wall, listening.

"A bruise," he whispers to himself, recalling what he thought was a rash. His stomach almost attempts to simulate the feeling of guilt as he remembers the joke he made at you. The one that set you off.

"Oh, no. It's a reaction. New laundry detergent fucked me up," you stop yourself. "Messed me up, sorry."

"Y/N, you're an adult. I can't make you do anything you don't want to do, but it's very clearly not hives," the professor sighs, her eyes full of concern as she stares at the ever-developing bruise as it slowly takes the shape of a hand. "Is it another student at the University?"

"Ma'am, with all due respect, I'm dealing with a lot right now. I will see you on Wednesday. Goodbye." You snatch your things up and zip toward the door, holding your breath. The wind from your speed walking blows your hair back, giving Billy a perfect view of the hand-shaped bruise yellowing on the side of your face. You're too determined to get out of there to react to his eavesdropping, so the two of you just share a look, and you keep going.

Billy furrows his brow. He's unsure you even have a boyfriend, so who exactly is leaving bruises like that right, front and center on your face? After his last course of the day, Billy congregates with his friends at a nearby frat house belonging to a different college.

"Hey, Tommy," Billy calls his friend's attention. Tommy pulls himself away from the group of guys he was laughing with and sits across from Billy. "You know that Y/N girl? Lots of denim, nice ass?" It's not until the last two descriptors that Tommy recalls who you are. Figures.

"Yeah, what about her?"

"What's her deal? She dating anybody?" Billy asks, innocently enough.

"I don't know, man. Why do you always ask me about shit like that?" Tommy laughs.

"Because you gossip like a woman," Billy smirks, standing from his slouched position on the couch and grabbing a beer from the large, ice-filled cooler in the kitchen. "She's some annoying broad in a couple of classes with me. I thought I'd ask around and see if there's a reason she never shuts her goddamn mouth." Both of them laugh at his hateful remark, but it's true to him. You get on his nerves, but it's less what you say, and more so the fact that you do "him" better than him. The men drink irresponsibly and cause a ruckus until late, late at night where they then wander back to their campus/ dorms on foot.

You wake up in the morning finally feeling well-rested for the first time in a while, despite the sudden changes in your relationship. You look over to see Andy's side of the bed is empty. You assume he slept over at the frat house after getting too fucked up. You know he likes to party.

Sitting comfortably on your couch, watching an episode of your favorite show, though it's a rerun, you involuntarily flinch when you hear the door open. Andy slightly stumbles through, laughing with messy hair. His clothes seem disheveled, but you chalk it up to drunken hijinks.

"Hey, babe! Did you have fun?" You ask, smiling, beaming, really. Hoping the sound of his laughter is a sign he's in a good mood this morning.

"Huh?" He looks over at you as if he didn't notice your existence until you spoke.

"I was just asking if you had a good time. Sorry I couldn't go with you, I was just too tired," you laugh.

"Oh, no. It's cool. I like it when it's just me and the guys, actually." His confession makes you a little sad, but you try to understand.

"Got any plans for today?" You grin, letting your guard down.

"For the love of God, dude. Can I get in the door first?" He snaps.

"Okay... Sorry," you quieted yourself down at first, but then quickly realized that's not who your daddy raised. You're getting ready to confront him again despite the smack until you notice something that makes your stomach drop, a small trail of three faint hickeys along your long-term boyfriend's neck. "Babe. Where did those come from?"

"What are you talking about?" He groans, throwing himself on the couch next to you, gripping your thigh possessively.

"I'm talking about the hickeys on your neck, Andy. Where did they come from?" Your voice is low and shaky. "Just you and the guys, huh?"

"Don't start with this shit again, Y/N. I'm too hungover." He dismisses you entirely, and all the rage you'd been holding back to be the "cool girlfriend" comes pouring out.

"You knocked me to the floor for looking at Steve Harrington! You put your hands on me for some made-up story you formulated in your own head and now you're coming home with hickyes?!" The longer you scold him, the darker his expression becomes.

"I'm giving you one fucking chance to get on your fucking knees right now and apologize," Andy's unsettlingly calm. You're frozen. Too scared to be openly defiant, but too angry to fold at his command. "One... Two..." He stands, softly placing a hand on your cheek and sliding it up into your hair, gracefully scraping the tips of his fingers behind your ear. It's so soft and soothing, that the sensation causes goosebumps to rise on your skin. Your eyes flutter shut and just as they're about to open again, he closes his fist around a large portion of your hair and forces you to the ground.

"Andy!" You scream, both terrified and in pain.

"I'm so sick of this, Y/N. I'm sick of you," he growls through gritted teeth, holding you painfully at his side like a heeling dog.

"God damn it, stop! It's fucking over! Fuck whoever you want!" You cry, shifting your position against him in hopes of loosening the pull against your scalp.

"And let you whore yourself out to every other guy on campus? Fuck off. You're mine." He finally releases your hair, tossing you forward in front of him. He kneels down to get closer to your face, speaking lowly. "I heard Hargrove's been asking about you. Think you're safe with your playboy side-piece?"

"He's not my side-piece! Please, Andy. Why are you being like this?" You hold a hand up to defend yourself.

"You think I don't see you two whispering to each other? You think you're smart enough to hide anything from me?" Andy's voice is slowly rising in volume. You worry the other students will hear the commotion. You don't want to lose your solo dorm rights seeing as men aren't supposed to "live" with women in the dorms.

"He's a dick, dude! I fucking hate the guy, please stop!" Your makeup is trailing down your face as you continue to cry for mercy. He shakes his head at the scene.

"I tried warning you. I tried getting my point across to you, but you won't hear me," he sighs as he snatches your hair back into his fist in one, quick, snake-like action. You wail at the aching tug, squeezing your eyes shut from the pain. Just as you go to open them, you see his hand flying toward you. It starts with open-handed smacks, knocking the wind out of you from how bad they hurt, but he progresses until he's landing blow after blow, all over you. Anywhere he can reach as you try to block him.

Eventually, you're badly roughed up, and Andy stands to look at what he's done. The remaining alcohol seems to clear from his system as the reality of his actions sets in.

"Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck," he mumbles, tearing his shirt off as it's stained with your blood. He shoves it deep into the trashcan and disappears to wash the evidence of the horrors against you off of his hands. He returns to where you lie in the living room. He's wearing a fresh shirt and his breath heaves as he stares at your seemingly unconscious body. You're awake though, barely. Holding your breath as long as possible, only allowing the shallowest of breaths, basking in the stillness after the abhorrent beating.

Andy bolts out the door and after a few moments of silence, loud sobs of relief and pain emit from your sore chest. You roll over into a ball, holding yourself close as you process everything. You mourn who you were before the person you trusted most betrayed you. You mourn your relationship, regardless of the last few days. You mourn your own face as you imagine the recovery process will be long and draining. You lie there for a while until night falls.

Once it's dark out, you sneak to the old gym building to use the showers there, hoping to avoid running into anyone and having to answer any questions about your battered appearance. No one uses the old gym because it's full of spiders and has a terrible draft, but it's still open to the students 24/7. It's your run-of-the-mill college basketball court with a weight room and showers.

You get inside the building and listen to the silence of the empty halls. Peace. You're numb now. You've cried all you can, and the pain has become a dull hum. Now you just want to shower and try to find yourself beneath all the blood. You scale the walls of the dark hallway, searching for a light switch. You nearly jump out of your skin when you feel what you can only imagine is human flesh.

"Oh fuck!" You and the mystery person exclaim in unison, startled by each other's presence. Still on edge, you duck down, covering your face. The light flips on and you recognize the sweaty figure who stands before you. Billy. He comes to this gym for privacy in the weight room and always has. Not as confident as his demeanor would lead you to believe.

"Had to be you, didn't it?" He rolls his eyes. "Did you come here to- Oh fuck, Y/N." His uncreative insult is cut short when you lower your arms, revealing the massacre of swollen features and bloody skin that used to be your face. His mouth hangs open for a moment. "What happened to you?"

"Oh, shut the fuck up. Like you fucking care, Hargrove. Get out of my way," you're angry, and it feels like you'll be angry forever.

"Hey," he stops you from walking past him by stepping in your path. "I said what happened?" His voice sounds different. Like you've never heard before. Uncharacteristically concerned, but don't let that fool you. It's still not a lot of concern and it's quite monotoned. His eyes search yours for any kind of answer and it's the least arched his brow has ever been. He's being so... Quiet. You're silent too, stunned by his behavior.

"Thought you were gonna kick my ass too, Billy. You scared now?" Your remark is meant to be a bold taunt, but your voice cracks as you fight for your life to hold back tears.

"Y/N, I'm serious. Who did this to you?" He asks sternly, losing patience by the minute. You still can't seem to trust him enough to open up, so you look down at the ground in silence. "Fuck it. Come on." Billy's long legs float him swiftly down the hall and you hesitate to follow, ultimately deciding all these years arguing with Billy have at least felt better than the last three days with Andy. He leads you to the empty men's locker room where he retrieves an old first-aid kit and a bottle of water from the coach's office, then he makes his way to a locker and retrieves a clean shirt. It's soft and worn in and has the name of your university written across the front.

"Thanks," you mumble, taking the box and other supplies from him. You douse the shirt in water and begin to try to wipe your face clean. There's no mirror, so you can't quite tell what you're doing, causing you to scrape over your open wounds and flinch.

"Just fucking," Billy snatches the damp shirt from you. "Let me do it." He's careful and thorough as he gently works the soft, wet fabric across the new and old blood covering your identity. You can't help but stare at his eyes as they focus so intently on each section of your face that he wipes clean. Just as he's finishing up, his eyes meet yours for a moment. It's a short, little second, but it felt so drawn out. Billy breaks the eye contact when he sets the shirt to the side.

"That should be okay, for now." He reaches for the kit in your hands.

"I can do it, Billy," you remind him, yanking the box away, rejecting any more gentle touch. It doesn't feel like you deserve it right now.

"Let me help," he demands softly, popping the little tin box open and rummaging around for bandaids and antibiotic ointment. He patches you up and while he's working, you're watching his intense face. His brows are arched and his lips every so slightly pursed. You can't clock what emotion he's feeling. Obviously, he's expressing some sort of sympathy, but he hates you. He always has. So maybe he's just having a human moment.

"What's the matter with you, man? Are you fucking with me?" Your guard begins to rise again. You don't trust your own intuition anymore. You tighten your grip around a plastic pair of scissors from the first-aid kit. Billy notices and releases a laughing sigh.

"No, I'm not fucking with you." He places one final bandage. "You're insufferable as fuck, but I don't think you had this coming." He looks you up and down. That's as close as Billy can get to "comforting" anyone. "Don't stab me with those." He points to your hand and you blush, a little embarrassed by your overly-cautious behavior.

"Why do you hate me, Billy?" You ask, point blank as you release the scissors, catching him off guard.

"Because you're the worst. You're loud, you're egotistical, you're an ugly crier," he chuckles, all too quickly, being put on the spot.

"You're just describing yourself," you knit your brows, quickly wiping the tears from your eyes after his ugly cry comment. "I'm serious. You'd think we'd have so much in common. You hated me the second we met. Why?"

"I don't hate you, Y/N. I'm putting bandaids on your split fucking eyebrow. You're just fun to get a rise out of." Billy closes the kit and tosses it aside with the bloody shirt. It's not news to him that he torments you because of a mix of annoyance and attraction, but you have no idea. What started as his catty attempts to pick you up turned into an all-out rivalry when you were the first girl to tell him to shut the fuck up instead of batting your eyelashes at him. To you, he's just a mean dude. But right now, it's like he's someone else entirely. When he's acting like this, you're finally able to see what makes him so irresistible to every girl on campus. Your rivalry kept you blind to it, but now, you can see his brilliant teeth in his wide, warm smile. You can see his sunflower eyes, framed by long, thick, dark lashes. His jawline, his shoulders, everything about him seems so beautiful to you now.

"Thank you, Billy," you smile weakly. He scans your swollen features and something in him awakens. A possessiveness. Rage ensues. Every opinion of you he's ever had melts away except for his attraction to you. Your voice, your mannerisms, everything he's ever absolutely torn you to shreds for, suddenly he admits to himself that it never bothered him. In his eyes, you're his, even if you're just a target for his teasing, a bit of banter around the school, you're still his.

"You never said who did it," Billy chews his inner lip, trying to keep calm until he gets the information he needs from you.

"It doesn't matter-"

"It matters. Who was it?" His voice is stern and sharp. He's still knelt close to you even though he's done tending to your wounds.

"It just... Happened so fast..." You flinch as you recall opening your eyes to his incoming hand.

"Start from the beginning," the sternness in his voice softens. You give him the full run down. Billy's face remains stone, motionless, but his eyes twitch and flutter with each gruesome new detail dragging him further down to the point of no return.

"We've been together so long. I never thought..." You hold your hands up in confusion, dropping them hopelessly in your lap.

"A name. Now." Billy stares deep into your eyes as he makes his demands. You can almost feel a heat coming off his gaze as it bores into you. It's clear he will not relent until he gets the answer he's asking for.

"His name is Andy." That's all Billy needs before he's standing up and exiting the locker room without another word. "Billy?" You call after him, still sitting on the bench. You finally stand to follow when you don't hear a response from him. "Why do you care?" This stops him in his tracks. He turns around for a second as if he's going to explain, but he never does. He tilts his head with a small shrug and disappears. "Wait!" You call, but the exit door is already closing behind him and he stalks off into the dimly lit campus. He sparks up a cigarette on the way, exhaling a large cloud behind him. Andy better have life insurance.

Billy ponders your question as he makes his way across the courtyard. Regardless of any flirtatious feelings he has for you, this comes down to wishing he could've defended his mother in this same way. He was too small then, he's not now, and Andy's about to face the full extent of that rage extending all the way back to his childhood. For now, it's personal.

You take the time alone to have a quick shower to wash away the blood in your hair and hopefully make yourself feel a little better. You're careful not to get your face wet and ruin Billy's careful doctoring. Once your shower is finished, you grab your bag and head back to your dorm. It's still dark, so you keep close to the dim, yellow street lamps that lead to the student housing. There's a dull hum that vibrates from each light post, it's all you can hear, all you can focus on to make yourself stop thinking about Billy.

Back at your place, you lock the door as many times as possible before shakily taking a seat on the small couch. You flip the TV on, just to have something to fill the silence. Every time someone passes by your door, your heart rate leaps and you lose control of your breathing. After the third or fourth time it happens, you seem to desensitize. Billy's new demeanor he has toward you is all you can think about. The softness of his words, his touch. You didn't think he was capable of it. You curl up, pulling your legs to your chest as you snuggle into the plush cushions, nearly dozing off, trying to remember the way his shirt smelled when he was using it to clean you up.

Billy's hell-bent on getting his hands on Andy, tonight. Crossing the lot, he reaches his car and slides inside. His face is blank as he stares ahead, with only one objective in mind. He follows the sound of blaring house music to a nearby frat house and angrily tears the door open. Wasting no time, he walks right up to the first person he sees.

"Where's Andy?" He asks, yelling over the music. The first few people have no idea who he's looking for until he comes to Tommy. "Where's Andy?"

"Andy from Econ? He's upstairs. Dude's super stressed about something and took a bottle up there. Finals, man." Tommy laughs, but Billy's already walking away before he's even finished his sentence. The entire party becomes muffled beats in his ears as he climbs the stairs in pursuit of the man who made you look like a bad Halloween decoration.

First door, nothing. Second door, nothing. Third door, Billy slings it open and a stressed out, curly-haired brunette man jumps out of his skin.

"Fuck, dude! You fucking scared me!" He exclaims.

"You Andy?" Billy asks, already breathless with anticipation.

"I- yeah? Why?" Billy answers his question by crossing the room in the blink of an eye and scooping him up by his shirt. He slams Andy against the wall, eyes wide with unbound rage. "What the fuck are you doing, man?!" The commotion can't be heard over the party below. It's just the two of them.

"You know how much of a pussy you gotta be to beat up on someone half your height?" Billy strains through gritted teeth. This is a thin reference to what you said to him when he let his emotions cloud his judgment and threatened to kick your ass.

"Wait... Y/N? She's alive? Jesus Christ..." Andy's eyes nearly roll back with relief and Billy looks at him disgusted.

"What? You thought you beat her to death? Then, you just left her there and went to a party?" Billy raises his eyebrows, almost seeming to smile. "That's fucked up, man." He slams Andy against the wall again, harder, to accentuate his point.

"Come on, dude. Whatever she told you-"

"I'm not here to talk about her." Billy silences your cruel, long-time partner. "Right now, we're not gonna talk at all."

"Dude-" Billy tosses the guy to the floor, cutting off his futile begs.

"I think right now, I'm gonna beat the living shit out of you," Billy kneels at Andy's side. "And then I'm gonna go fuck your girlfriend."

Billy lands punch after punch, unintentionally mirroring the way Andy laid into you. The only difference is that Billy's got a lot more size, muscle, and strength training than Andy. He lays into him, pummeling in any way he can figure out to mimic all the bruises and blood he could see on you. Billy grips Andy's shirt by the shoulders and forcefully pulls him to his feet just to uppercut him in the stomach, over and over. Blood and saliva fly from Andy's mouth as Billy hooks his fist up against his stomach.

When he's finally done, Andy's no more than a gargling mess on the floor. Properly bloodied just like he left you. Once again, Billy kneels down to Andy, establishing dominance and reminding him who he's fucking with now.

"If you come near her again," Billy inhales and exhales a shuddering breath as adrenaline continues to surge through him. "I will hurt you. I will hurt your family. There is no hiding, I will fucking kill you." His threat is no more than a low whisper before he stands and leaves Andy to wallow in his filth.

Billy's drive back is short and sweet, but he doesn't trust Andy or his entourage of prissy jock boys, so he rolls his eyes and pulls into the lot in front of the women's dorms, and makes his way to yours. He's always known which one you stay in, though finding out was an accident while he was being snuck in by one of his one-night-stands. It was common practice, hence why Andy pretty much lived with you since he had a shared dorm on the men's side.

He raises his hand to bang on the door, but hesitates, knocking softly and even calling your name through the door so you'd know it was him.

"Y/N, it's Billy." You smile with relief, still steadying your anxiety from his initial knock.

"Billy? How did you know which dorm was mine?" You question as you pull the door open.

"I knocked on every single one. And asked for you by name. At 11 PM." He looks at you, straight-faced, annoyed that you think so little of him.

"Are you fucking serious? They'll crucify me," you sigh, unsure if you can even feel any more stress at this point.

"I'm fucking with you. I know where your dorm is because I pay attention."

"And here I thought I was so annoying," you chuckle. There's a short silence between you, something unheard of for you two. "Do you, um, wanna come in?" You step to the side, inviting him in. Nervous, but not sure why. He's never had that effect on you before.

"No, you're coming with me."

"I am?" You raise an eyebrow.

"Yeah. I just stirred up a lot of shit, probably. I don't like the idea of you sleeping here alone." His words are compassionate, but the delivery is so blank, that you'd think he didn't actually care at all.

"Oh, alright. Let me grab some stuff." You gather your things and follow Billy to his light blue Camaro. He opens the door for you, but even he's wearing an expression that says this is a foreign act of kindness for him. He closes the door and takes his spot in the driver's seat. Billy glances over at you, but you're peering out the car window, searching the shadows for movement. The copper-colored light shining from the street lamp illuminates the high points of your face, exposing your expression as he watches the anxiety dissolve into comfort. Something about being the cause of it strokes his already inflated ego.

"You know what?" You break the silence, turning to meet Billy's gaze.

"What?"

"Contrary to the way my face and body look right now, he really can't hit that hard." You raise your eyebrows and nod, reassuring him that you mean that with your whole chest.

"I wouldn't know. I didn't give him a chance to swing." His grip around the steering wheel tightens, but he grins proudly.

"Don't worry, I took enough for the both of us," you joke, earning a shocked laugh from the curly-haired man you positively loathed just a day or so ago.

"I dunno. I think you could've taken him if the circumstances were different," he smirks at you, chin up.

"Oh, absolutely. If the emotional ties weren't there, we'd at least have gone a round or two," you mimic boxing the dashboard. It's obvious to both of you that this is not the case, but making a joke of a bad situation is a lot easier than crying. Billy's relieved, as he would have zero idea how to even approach you if you were crying. He's the "tell you you're not a pretty crier and then wonder why you cry harder" type of guy.

"Matter of fact, put me back in coach," you chuckle, accidentally reopening the split on your lip. "Oh, fuck," you mumble, pressing a finger to the wound, worsening the mess.

"Shit," Billy grabs a napkin from his glove box. "Don't touch it," he snaps. You quickly pull your hand away from your face and for just a moment, your breath hitches in your chest. You don't mean to react this way, you're not scared of him, you hope he knows that. He gives a small smile and a nod, almost like a silent apology for scaring you. He holds the napkin to your lip for you as he pulls into the Men's dorm parking lot. His family, much like yours, paid the extra fees to have a large dorm room all to himself. It was sort of a necessity for Billy considering his short temper and inability to compromise.

"How's your lip?" He asks as you set your overnight bag on his small futon in the tiny living area the solo dorms come with.

"It's fine. I think the bleeding stopped and everything," you smile, keeping it small so as not to pop open another split.

"You can take my bed. I got the futon," once again, his words are so kind and generous, but his tone is flat and bare.

"Don't be stupid. I'm your guest. You've..." You sneer at yourself in disgust as you prepare your next sentence. "You've done a lot for me already."

"God," he stares at you with wide eyes.

"What?"

"It looked like you were gonna be sick from saying that out loud."

"Came pretty close, bud." You squint your eyes. It's clear to both of you that this is weird. It's awkward and even a little uncomfortable. He's done so much for you, yes, and you do feel it outweighs all the innocent hell you gave each other, but where do you go from here?

"So, now what? I sleep here. We go to tomorrow's lectures. Then, I just go back to normal?" You don't want to insinuate that you expect him to play bodyguard forever, but it would be kind of nice. You lie the futon into its flat, bed position as you ask.

"We'll cross that bridge when we get there. 'Night." Billy climbs into his bed.

"Goodnight, Billy," you say, lowering the tough-gal front you attempt to keep up, usually when you aren't dealing with shit like this. Your voice sounds different when you let your walls down. It's sweeter. And the sound of it makes Billy's chest light.

In the safety of Billy's dorm, sleep finds you swiftly. You're out like a light, but Billy can't say the same. He lies with his eyes plastered to the ceiling. His mind is incoherent, bouncing all over from the possibility of the entire college sports program jumping him to the thought of you and him going back to "normal." It all started when he saw you, thought you were hot, but learned pretty quickly how self-assured you are. You would never be the easy catch he was used to and it pissed him off, igniting a multi-year feud between you. What if that feud were to end?

Billy lies on his back, his two muscular arms propped beneath the back of his head. He glances diagonally in the direction where you sleep. You're peacefully out, features slowly healing from the damage. He could stare at you all night, and that pisses him off too. He rolls his eyes and expels an exasperated sigh before rolling over, hoping that keeping his back faced in your direction will help shield him from the ambiguous thoughts invading his mind.

The next day, you're awake long before him, and to avoid overstepping, you rush through your morning hygiene routine and begin to reset the futon. You're as quiet as possible, but the second your fingertips graze the doorknob, Billy stirs.

"No," he says, wiping a hand over his face to rub the sleep away. "Just give me a minute. We'll go together." He sounds annoyed. You shake your head, dropping yourself down onto the futon while you wait for him to wake up.

"It's really no rush. I gotta get back across campus to get ready anyways." You call to him as he brushes his teeth in the small bathroom.

"I know you do. I'll drive you, just give me a minute," he waves away your excuses to leave without him, his voice becoming a little harsh as he repeats his request for more time. You know walking across campus isn't a treacherous walk. It's long, sure, but not unmanageable. What's really at stake is you running into anyone from the basketball team. And while that's your main concern, Billy has his own selfish reasons for wanting to keep you around. She's nice to look at, he tells himself, but it's more than that.

He walks from one end of the dorm to the other, wearing nothing but a dark grey pair of boxers. He's so lean and huge with well-toned muscles. He must spend a lot of time in the old weight room. You begin to wonder if Andy's in the hospital or not. Your eyes travel from his broad shoulders down to the V shape at his waist. You're unsure if it's your newfound ability to see him as a person, or maybe a trauma bond, but this man has you feeling out of character.

"Alright, car." He points out the door, using his primitive two-word command to instruct you to get into his car. He's still waking up.

"Billy, you know I could've just come back by myself, right? You didn't have to get up so early." You're the first to break the sleepy morning silence in the car. He looks at you like you've suggested possibly the most ridiculous thing he's ever heard.

"I know that. That's stupid. You're too trusting." Billy stares straight ahead through his black sunglasses.

"I guess," you shrug, not taking anything he says too seriously. How could you after all these years? He pulls into the Women's dorm lot and the two of you approach your personally decorated dorm room door. To your horror, the doorknob opens with ease. You forgot to lock it. A wary breath falls down your chest as you squeeze your eyes shut, grounding yourself before opening the door. Billy's confused until he finally sees inside. It's just as you suspected. The entire room, top to bottom, is trashed- thoroughly.

"What the fuck?" Billy inserts himself in front of you, taking a few steps inside to further assess the damage. His eyes narrow in anger as he catalogs every broken picture frame and demolished knick-knack. You seemed to have had a lot of curiosities and oddities, all of which were destroyed on your equally ruined floor.

"Oh, Jesus fucking Christ, I'm gonna lose it," you whisper, exasperated. You place your fingers on your temples and apply gentle pressure in hopes that it'll do any fucking thing for the way you're about to break the fuck down right now. "They want me to fuckin' lose it." Your voice is nearly inaudible.

"Hey, okay. Don't... Lose it. Let's go find 'em and beat the fuck out of 'em." Billy grins, still bloodthirsty. It's as if defending you almost feels like having you.

"I'm gonna get dressed. I'm gonna fix my fucking hair and makeup. And we're gonna go to our goddamn morning classes. This afternoon, we will figure out which one of them is getting their mom's severed middle finger in the mail."

"Sure thing, Killer Klown. That's not at all an overreaction." Billy shakes his head, laughing at your misfortune, though he does feel for you. You disappear into your restroom. It's miraculously, for the most part, untouched. You do a quick version of your usual big, glamour hair and slap on your makeup. It feels good to look like you again, even with the scabs and colorful bruises threatening to peek through the foundation. When you return to the common area, looking and feeling more like yourself, you radiate a type of glow. Billy catches himself in the very initial stage of staring but quickly nips that in the bud. You hardly notice.

"I guess I'm ready. You walking me to class, big guy?" You ask, teasingly.

"I am."

"Listen, I really appreciate everything you've done for me, but this isn't nes-"

"Y/N, have you looked at your dorm? Do you see how every single thing you own is destroyed? Stop being an idiot." His harsh words carry an air of motivation with them as he scolds you.

"Fine. But you're gonna have to pick up the pace or something," you snap your fingers repeatedly, in a circle to show him it's time to leave, now. He sighs, standing and leading the way out the door.

He walks you to your first lecture and waits outside for the entire hour. You don't know, but he actually doesn't have any classes today. He just knew you'd make a big deal out of it if you knew he was going any more out of his way than he already is. All 60 minutes drag by painfully slow, but all the while, Billy notices a few familiar faces casting passing glances into the building, only to suddenly change direction when their eyes meet his. He huffs out a satisfied sigh.

"Don't even think about it," he whispers, staring out the small door window. He glances at the clock, and just a moment before the lecture hall dismisses, he steps outside and waits for the crowd. After a handful of peers pass by, he then walks inside, keeping up his ruse.

"Oh, just in time, I guess," you say, meeting him in the middle of the breezeway as if he'd come from the other end of the college.

"As always," Billy sighs, unbothered, indifferent. You don't mind. It's a peaceful shift from his usual behavior before everything went down. The two of you step out the door and immediately, your eyes meet Andy's. He is standing around his car with his goons. They're all staring, not at Billy, at you. An intimidation tactic that might've worked before, had you not been walking next to a brick wall of a man. As the two of you strut past the bitter sportsmen, you hear Andy decide to pipe up.

"Told you she was a slut. It's already happening," he laughs and his teammates join in. You are unfazed by this sort of insult. Before the trauma at the hands of Andy that you'll now have to work through, you've always been a confident, self-assured person. At least that's all you'd allow anyone to believe. You shake your head at the insult, but when you look beside you, Billy's nowhere to be seen.

"That's pretty bold Andy. How're you healing? Doctor already tell you it's safe to get your shit rocked again?" Billy smiles sadistically as he stalks up to Andy. His crew of bench warmers seems to tighten up, taking a few steps closer, surrounding Andy. Billy can't hold back his laughter.

"Are you guys gonna jump me?" He asks, taunting, grinning as he does. "You think it's gonna be easy because there are so many of you?" Billy's only getting closer by the second, and the confidence of most of the players begins to waver. "Do you think I'll stop if I get my hands on you a second time?" Billy's icy blue eyes are dark with rage, almost black in the right lighting. They bore into Andy's and the two men fall silent.

Eventually, Andy's the one to back down. As expected, of course. And from the look on his face, you'd think he'd just been mugged and told his mom died. Billy smiles, tongue between his teeth as he watches the team climb into their cars. They have a visitors game, so you won't have to deal with them for the next 48 hours at least. As Billy returns to where you wait for him on the sidewalk, he wraps a protective arm around your shoulder. You're visibly jarred by this action, but Billy just stares straight ahead, leading you back to your dorm. He's wearing a self-satisfied grin as each and every busybody on campus whispers when they see the two of you.

Billy's a known bachelor and you're a known bitch. Even his more reoccurring hookups never got the public treatment. And you, fuck you're mean sometimes. Andy liked that about you. You'd be mean to anyone but him, but you guess it just stopped being enough. Even you and Andy weren't exactly "public" with your opposing schedules. You'd only ever been seen together at parties.

You finally reach your room and Billy leans against your counter, silently smiling at you as if he expects you to say something.

"What?" You ask, already starting the clean-up process.

"Just thought a 'thank you' would be in order." He shrugs.

"Thank you, Billy. Please hand me the broom," you groan, pointing to the tiny closet in the kitchen area. He rolls his eyes and carries the broom over to you. You're picking up the larger pieces of shattered glass and placing them into a small trashcan, hoping to make sweeping easier.

"Careful," Billy says as he notices a crack in the shard you're holding. His warning didn't reach you in time though, and the piece snapped, catching the upper part of your palm, slicing it open. "Jesus fucking-" Billy drops the broom and you follow him to the counter where he tears a wad of paper towels off the roll and shoves them into your hand. He stares at you with a straight face, almost like a disappointed parent. You stare back, blinking.

"What?" You ask, daring him to give you a hard time or risk being kicked out of your domicile.

"Nothing. Just getting tired of having to play doctor for you all the time." You release a huff and he smiles, a little sweeter than before.

(Do we want a part 2? Do we still read angst or are we all into smut rn? Maybe sex next chapter. idk.)

[starry-bi-sky]

I am absolutely loving your Danyal Al Ghul au. While I have a soft spot for the whole plotline of Danny becoming his canon personality almost right after breaking away from the LOA all because of Jazz, I'm just as much for your take in which he goes through the same character development as Damian.

Now I'm curious. You already tackled his relationship with Dani, will you eventually take a stab at when he, Sam, and Tucker meet Gregor? Given that it's one of my hated episodes as I couldn't stand Sam's infuriatingly hypocritical attitude to Danny's suspicions of him, I'd kill to see your spin on it.

Aw, thank you! Danyal Al Ghul aus are what got me into DPDC first, so I have a major soft spot for them. That being said, uh, its exactly that soft spot that causes me to have Many Opinions about the trope you just mentioned. Like the trope is all fine and dandy, i don't blindly hate it, my main issue with it is that most aus i've seen treat his backstory as an ex-assassin more like a pretty cosmetic accessory rather than something that actually should have had an impact on him. Especially if he remembers being in the league.

Like i cannot stress enough the fact that being in an ecofascist assassin cult (regardless of his standing in it) should've left him, in some way or another, screwed up morally and psychologically because that's just how development works. Nature vs. Nurture is like a game of tug-o-war that never ends, where they are constantly fighting against each other and one side usually has the upper hand or greater influence. Children model the behaviors of the adults around them (ex: bobo the clown doll experiment), and what impacts them in childhood can stick with them permanently.

Like how my psychology professor put it: a baby's brain is like wet cement; if you slap your hand on it, it leaves an imprint, and the cement dries that way. The same rings true for small children.

I could go on, but I frankly have so many thoughts on that alone that I would end up completely derailing from the second half of your ask, and I don't want to be more critical than I already have. Especially since you just mentioned you have a soft spot for the trope.

[Okay, hold onto your hats because this is long. Naturally lmao.]

Gregor! Man, I'll admit I last watched the show back in middle school on a dodgy illegal website (it had surprisingly good audio and visual graphics, and full episodes. But really annoying porn ads.) but I only made it to like season 1 before my hyperfixation faded and I lost interest. So I never actually saw the Gregor episode.

But... it is relatively easy to find free websites that stream Danny Phantom :), so finding the episode took me like. Thirty seconds. Plus the Tv.Tropes recap page because my damn earbuds just died and im out in public as of rn.

I'm not sure if I'll write something for the gregor episode like I did with Dani, since Dani's a bit of a special case in that she's a clone and tends to be a reoccurring presence in DPDC, and I thought the new dynamic with Danyal would be interesting.

Plus, I'm not a big amethyst ocean shipper for the pure reason of I'm just not all that interested in it; its kinda bland to me. I'll admit I've entertained the thought in this au due to the whole balcony scene i wrote, but I would've entertained the thought anyways if it was Tucker in that position instead. Big multishipper, me.

But, if I had to make it official? Danyal is not interested romantically in Sam when the Gregor episode happens, regardless of his relationship with Valerie. Who, speaking of I'm trying to think about how that would go, and I'm torn between including him almost-dating Valerie or not.

Because on one hand it helps point out Sam's hypocrisy (and i love her but i am always happy to point out her flaws and address them in au) in this episode in terms of Danny spying on them, but on the other hand I'll want to include a lot of set up in order to make Gray Ghost work in this au and wow will that take a while.

Especially with the Flirting with Disaster episode because it happens due to Technus' meddling, and Danny is, well, the son of the Batman? A trained assassin? An ex-assassin nonetheless, but still an assassin? A prodigy child in this au? He might not have needed to use most of his skills in the last few years, but like... there's just a bunch of 'what if' and 'well technically...' and 'would he? he could, but would he?' things that is getting in the way of my thought process and making my head spin.

.

Mmm. Okay. Flirting with Disaster occurs relatively the same as canon with a few exceptions; like Danyal noticing the strange coincidences, and he might take the idea into proper consideration because Sam has a point it is strange, especially out of nowhere.

However,,, he really enjoys Valerie's company, and he does really like her. He's been adjusting to civilian life for the last four years and while he's made a lot of progress, he's still. an ex-assassin child living like a wolf amongst sheep. This is normal, typical teenager stuff, and usually his friends like to encourage him doing normal teenager stuff.

So he's stubbornly holding out on the thought that this is normal, that ghost stuff isn't interfering here. He's a little hurt that his friends are discouraging this, he's not bothered by the fact that Valerie is a ghost hunter and he a ghost -- his mother is an assassin, and his father is Batman, and they still had a relationship. (Granted, he's not gonna tell them that)

If anything, being diametrically opposed to each other but still being in love is part of the family! Granted, usually both parties are aware of said opposition to each other, but he'll make a special exception this time around.

(And man now that i'm thinking about gray ghost, im now thinking about various like. scenes i could write between the two of them. maybe in a reblog.)

Anyways uhhh things relatively go the same as canon. Yeah. I think Sam still has a crush on Danny and still spies out of jealousy with Tucker.

.

Now, the Gregor episode! With that out of the way; the TVTropes recap for this episode isn't the best because it doesn't go into detail about the entire episode like it does with Flirting With Disaster and Shades of Gray.

(which i looked at earlier because I made a section of this post talking briefly about what changes I'd make to the Shades of Gray episode to help set up Gray Ghost, but ended up deleting because it was kinda irrelevant for the matter at hand.)

So I'm taking in bits of the episode clips at a time, I'll try not to get too nitpicky about how each scene goes because then it's gonna take me a longer time to write this.

But! First thing's first; since Danny is not romantically interested in Sam, he is also not jealous of Gregor. He is however, a bit eyebrow-raisey at him in their first introduction, but that's because Gregor is coming off as obnoxious.

Danny thinks he's kinda annoying, and it doesn't take a genius to see that Gregor is trying to impress Sam. But since they've only known him for five minutes he takes the good faith assumption and assumes that Gregor is genuinely trying to show interest in Sam's interests too because he likes her, so he keeps mum. The fake hungarian accent is weird, but it's overall harmless, so he doesn't point it out.

He does do the spying thing when he starts suspecting that Gregor might be working for the GIW. The episode only has this happen twice, but for the au this happens a handful of more times over the course of the week, with Danyal's suspicion steadily rising more and more each time.

Hah, when he brings up wanting to spy on Sam and Gregor because of this reason, Tucker still does his "woah! you wanna spy on Sam?" thing.

Danny immediately turns to him, completely unimpressed, and crosses his arms. "Tucker," he says, deadpan, "you and Sam spied on me and Valerie."

He uses a combination of his ghost powers and his regular stealth ability to spy on them. He's hiding in a tree when they're skipping rocks, close enough that he can use his powers to hear them talk but far enough away that he has a good view of their surroundings.

He's invisible in the cinema, but doesn't accidentally get in front of the projector. He checks the inside of the room for the GIW, and then waits outside the actual room itself, keeping an eye on the area and occasionally flying in to watch the movie out of boredom. It reminds him of being back on a recon mission with the League, but it doesn't end with him orchestrating someone's death.

Then when they're at the mall he stays in human form, blending in with the crowd. He runs into the GIW there, but realizes that they're not there because of Gregor; they're just shopping. They didn't show up at either of the last two locations, and he follows them to make sure they're not also trying to blend in. But they're literally just there for shopping.

Danny is rather pleased with this turnout; so far Gregor isn't a spy, he's just annoying. The next day at lunch he asks Sam how her date with Gregor went, and that's how she figures out he spied on them, because well, she didn't tell him that.

"Have you been spying on me?"

Danny messes with his food a little bit, and Tucker is sinking into his seat with embarrassment. He frowns, "Only last night. Those incompetent government dodos--"

His lip curls up; he gets all 'Shakespeare-y' (as Sam and Tucker put it) when he's insulting someone, "--kept appearing whenever Gregor did. I followed you and him last night to make sure he wasn't a spy."

A roundabout way of saying, "I was worried".

Sam is, as canon, furious. Danny understands why, he knows generally speaking that people don't like being spied on. But he's confused on just how angry she is, and is a little irritated by it.

"Why would you do that!" She exclaims, "That's way out of line, Danny."

"How? You spied on me when I was going on dates with Valerie." He narrows his eyes, and points his fork at her, "I'm not blind, I noticed."

"That's different, we told you why we were suspicious. And we don't have ghost powers like you do."

"I don't need ghost powers to sneak around, Sam, you've seen this firsthand. And I just told you why I followed you, I thought he was working with the guys in white--"

"So you think someone can only be interested in me if they're after you?" (this is a paraphrased quote, folks ;D)

"No! If that was the case I would have voiced my concern the moment I thought it. I don't get why you're so angry, you spied too."

Iiits.... a mess. Sam storms off with Gregor, Tucker tags along because okay, yeah, maybe Gregor isn't with the GIW, or maybe last night was a fluke. Either way he ends up tagging along. Danny overhears that conversation between the GIW and Mr. Lancer, and maybe he's right, maybe he's wrong; but something is up.

I've gotten to that scene in the locker room where Gregor tells Danny that he knows he doesn't like him, and I've paused at Danny's reply to say this: Danyal doesn't even bother trying to deny it.

"I know you do not like me."

"You're right; I don't."

"Ah, let me finish. I know you do not like me because you want to protect your friend, Sam, and I respect that."

"...That's correct."

"Good! Because I am going to ask her out."

"I had a feeling you'd say that," he stands up, claps his hand tight on Gregor's shoulder, and leans close to him with a threatening smile, "so you understand me when i say; if you break my best friend's heart, you're as good as dead, right?"

"Ah,, yes. I am so glad we got that cleared out of the way, and now I hope after we can.. how you Americans put it, hang out?"

In the episode he hugs Danny and gives him a la bise (which is that french greeting where you kiss someone on the cheek two or more times) after they end their conversation. But here, when he goes to do that to Danyal, Danny leans away, points an accusatory finger at him, and says; "Absolutely not; we are not close."

The next scene after that is like, end of day. Sam, Tucker, and Gregor walking away. Sam looks over her shoulder to glare at Danny, then gets forlorn. Tucker looks back and just looks forlorn.

(When did I start narrating each scene?? Eh, I'm writing this in brief spurts of time throughout the day. Don't fix what's not broke)

After that there's this whole scene with the two GIW agents that have been chasing Phantom all episode. They're there because they have Tucker's PDA that Skulker took, and it's got the information of their purple backed gorilla assignment on it. They've been going around seeing who Tucker associates with in hopes of catching Phantom.

Uhh ahaha and that is where this gets a little interesting imo, and also allows me to mention that im retconning Danyal's (already) redesigned ghost form. Which I've wanted to retcon even before this moment bc it was just too busy. I'll get to that in a moment.

The GIW suspect Gregor for being the Phantom because of his white hair and green eyes, which is all fine and dandy until you remember: Danyal (and by extension Phantom) has that very noticeable, rather identifiable facial scar that goes across the middle of his fucking face. The GIW could easily suspect that Phantom hides his scar with makeup if he's in disguise, but if they meet a kid with a seemingly identical facial scar and similar disposition? Hoo boy.

Solution? I've got two: Gregor is canonically a kid from Michigan who faked everything to impress Sam. Considering he knows she's gothic and knows that she's ultra-recyclo vegetarian? He probably watched her from afar or got information on her somehow. His hair is dyed, his eyes might just naturally be green, but if he notices that she's got a crush on either Danyal or Phantom? A little sfx makeup could help him recreate a similar looking scar.

My second solution that's gonna happen anyways bc its that suit redesign; Danyal does hide his face as Phantom. Ghosts are emotional creatures and its a popular headcanon that their interests, ambitions, etc, influence the way they look as a ghost, not just their death. A big reoccurring theme of my au is that Danyal did not leave the League unscathed, and that being an assassin is an important part of his identity.

So i'm discarding the hazmat suit look entirely and leaning into the 'assassin' thing. But the general (stylized) feel is like, white ribbon/cloth vambraces that he has used as a garrote at some point, a hood, a gaiter scarf-type thing. I'm keeping the cape. I did a doodle a few days back that's not the official redesign, but a redesign for Phantom. I may reblog this post with that attached because it's got the general feel down. There's very little white involved, but the inside of his cape flares out and looks like the night sky.

Now, the hood and gaiter scarf gets rid of most of the problem, but Danny's hood doesn't stay on all the time, so the GIW have likely seen the upper half of the scar. :] Gregor's own drawn-on scar doesn't have to be 1:1, but it looks close enough, right? A small scar cutting through the edge of his brow and ends right below the corner of his eye. A 'cool, badass' one opposed to Danny's 'garish' scar.

But! Back to the episode scene. Canon Danny gets written off as being 'too prepubescent' to be Phantom, and honestly it'd be hilarious if Danyal was written off for the same reason (he's calling them idiots in his head if they do). But instead -- leaning into the GIW's incompetence here -- he gets written off as being too mature or too talkative. Or something equally as absurd.

Sam breaks up with Gregor for canon reasons, but when Gregor does his "i really like you, but, come on-!" and gestures to tucker, he adds on "and that scary friend of yours too, seriously!"

Things go relatively the same as canon after that. Danny does end up apologizing for spying, however. Sam does it first. Sorrows, prayers, all that.

.

Things usually end up changed or different when I actually write it down, so I'd likely add more or adjust different scenes according to the flow of the oneshot. This is just like, a general vibe of how things would go, and where some of the more obvious changes would be if I did write this oneshot.

Hope you enjoyed! Thanks for the ask :]