#this got a away from me a bit

[smaeemo]

When the intrusive thoughts get to be too much I turn on easy listening music and pretend im a receptionist for a doctor on the shore of a remote island wherein the only people near are the residents of a small town.

The air from the decaying pink fan that lies in the corner slowly moves my hair into my face, but the whispers of ocean breeze urgdes the hair from my eyes. As I fill out spreedsheets for the patients and the occasional animal that the doc treats. My pencil is a number 2 pencil that was blindly orange before years of useage, now worn down almost to nothing. I have a mug of newer, cleaner pencils that lays beside me, but I continue to use the small one. I like it better. It feels almost special to use an important tool to fill out a report as intricate as this one.

Every door in the small building is open, the building is ajacent from the treatment center where the doc treats the patients. The treatment center is much newer, renovated and cleaner. The building where I am now is a small old building that over looks the ocean from almost every angle. Filled with a massive pair of doors that open to a small porch that overlooks the town and the ocean. It simply gets too hot to have the windows and doors closed in the building i am in (the med center), so the doc, and I decided we would never close them. Each of them has a small net, most of them patched with ductape due to the nets wearing out over time. We have blinds, small ones that were here from the past owner of the med center building (we assume it was the Mayor’s house back in the day).

The whole building is quaint and disorganized, but never dirty. Stacks of boxes that hold patient files, towers of medical books for the occasional curious high school student, plants that our old receptionist Maria put in years before she retired. She comes back every morning to water them, and to say hello. My desk is covered in papers, envelopes for our intern to send out on Monday. An old computer sits in the corner, seldom used due to the internet never working this high up on the hill. There’s a mug that my sister gave to me, it has now room temperature sleepy time tea I made this morning. It sits next to a coaster as aposed to on the coaster because I was too initially tired to set it down and inch to the left. My chair is a dark worn roller chair that squeaks everytime you lean back in it. There’s a landline on the side closest to the door, who’s calls usually consist of Maria checking on her plants, or my sister calling to remind me of the lunch she snuck into my work bag.

It’s sunrise in mid june, and the sun is peaking over the ocean leaving the blindingly sharp gleams shimmering through the room turning the mundane greys and whites to an almost etheral orange glow.

The sounds heard are the windchimes on the porch making an occasionally ear piercing but soft melody, the gentle whirring fan, and a husky but deep gravelly smooth tune playing from our record player. The soft easy listening music crunched with the aging vinyl, but a whisky smooth voice singing to me the sounds of Jazz and pretty voices brought to life by the aged needle playing in each groove of worn vinyl. Outside there are far off birds, a gentle hum of a boat from the dock, accompanied by the occasional crashing of waves.

For a minute, the windchimes quiet to a hush, the birds still, the fan turns from talking to small whispers, the boat goes on it’s way, and the waves even out to a slow ripple.

The whole world seems to come become a gentle hush.

Just for a minute, sereinity surrounds me as the rhythm from the record player continues softly at first, then becoming a gentle essence as if it were sitting next to me.

Then before I can question, the sounds start to trickle in slowly one at a time.

First the fan,

Then the birds,

The Breeze

Then of course the jingling of windchimes.

The music is soft, but a comforting presence as the sunrise is almost all above the horizon now. I stare in awe at the gorgeous sight that mother earth and father sun bring to us now. My hair blowing again in a stronger breeze. I hear the slow decent of papers falling to the ground behind me, and the ever so small squeak of the chair.

None of the sounds as pronounced as the slow melody seeping into the corners of the room, combining with the air’s humidity, becoming a part of each eased breath.

Pencil in hand,

I breathe in,

Breathe out,

and sigh

Contentness and peace, alongside a brilliant adoration glide through me.

The song starts to simmer out, and the sun is now in the sky. A warm power cloaks my skin in a humid but beautiful hug.

I turn back to the papers, and sigh as I pick them up. Dusting off non existent dirt and placing each on the desk, before walking over to the record player. Flipping the disc

Ah there it is

The soothing voices play in tandem with the crashing waves, and with that I pick up my now cold tea, and continue my work pencil in hand etching down numbers and dates.

Played on and out with the upbeat sounds of the trumpet and the gravelly soprano of the violins.

Gentle fondness, beauty, and sereinity finally found…

[gingermaple]

martyn in action!

[shapelytimber]

⭐ Besties on break ⭐

It's up as a print on my inprint ! :))

Kiki 4 bouba type ship

Loved imagining Uhura's space btw !!!! I had so much fun with the background ! Does it make sense ? Not really- but the vibes are here (I kept unconsciously adding tribbles kfkfk had to stop myself at six otherwise I would have just filled the scene with them)

[COMMISSION] - [PRINTS]

Process and rambling below vvv

The fact that quiji, back in 2022, showed me like 2 episodes before we watched the first movie.... And that I didn't hate it (still think the beginning is way too slow, especially for someone not really familiar with the characters, and the uniforms are *horrible*), should have been a sign that this fucking show would eventually consume my brain fklfof

Anyway this summer we watched more of the show and also watched up to the fourth movie ! And omfg the fourth one in particular rewrote my brain ckfkkf the Nimoy vision is incredible, the blorbos in silly situations after a pretty angsty movie, their flop era in a space clio 2, the whales- also thank god the marine biologist and old ass Kirk didn't have a romance (I'm choosing to interpret her as french, so that the little kiss on the cheek at the end is just a normal bise, the normal way to say goodbye to someone you now concider your friend <3 and not a hint of romantic interest toward this man who is 1) already married to Spock and 2) could be her dad)

I am now normal about this show I promise ! :)))))

[hinamie]

yeah sorry theyre tragic in this au too

jjk atla!au with @philosophiums

[peachesofteal]

Lieutenant Riley and his favorite thing (physio!reader) 18+ mdni - series crossover, alcohol, rough blowjob.

You've decided the Lieutenant is certifiable.

After he takes you home and babies you through your period, he disappears. You don't see him for weeks. The 141 is still on base, but he's turned into a ghost. The Ghost, you guess, the whispers circling around and around, twisting and turning into gruesome stories, long drawn out tales told between pints in a bar.

You don't see him, but there is something else. A feeling, a creepy, crawly sixth sense that comes from the sensation of being watched.

It's beyond weird. Like him.

The worst of it all is you find yourself looking for him now. Wondering about him. Almost wanting to know where he is, the question of why he hasn't come to see you again flourishing from a small niggling thought in the back of your mind to a full blown distraction.

It's unnerving. He's unnerving.

Because you don't want him, right? And clearly, since he's MIA for weeks now, he doesn't want you.

Right.

Your thoughts do stray though, to the night he tucked you in with a heating pad, the way he sat at the edge of your bed until you fell asleep, stroking rough, calloused fingers down your cheek when he thought you were completely out. He was murmuring under his breath, grit and grain in his throat impossible to make out, the sandpaper strain of it finally pulling you under.

Weird.

The weather is finally starting to turn. No longer boiling, the breeze is now crisp, and cool, a welcome reprieve considering the standard issue pants that suffocate your thighs at every turn.

You bask in it. Enjoying it so much, you're lost in breathing it in as you trek back to your place, not paying attention to where you're going-

until you physically run into another girl.

"Oh my god-" She bounces away from you, bag spilling over her shoulder, stumbling to the side. "Oh my god I am so sorry!" You snatch her by the arm, trying to keep her steady, and once she rights herself, she gives you a half panicked, half flustered look, eyes focused past your ears.

"It's okay, I'm okay." You recognize her. She's the big deal analyst, the one apparently flew in by the station chief. What do they call her? Cypher? She gives you a weak smile.

"I'm sorry," you apologize again, and she shrugs. "Really, I wasn't paying attention to where I was going."

"Oh," she looks down, "I do that all the time." Her fingers twist at the bottom of her jacket, gaze snapping back to your face after it leaves her feet. Something clicks in her eyes, some sort of recognition. "You're the physio." It's not a question. It's a statement, and the vowels turn downward, almost a hushed pitch. Weird.

"Um, yeah. My office is over there." You nod, and so does she. There's awkward silence for a beat, and you extend your hand, giving her your name.

"Right, Sorry." She smiles sheepishly. She is really cute, you realize, looking her up and down quickly. She returns the favor, giving you her name, but follows up just as fast. "- but most people call me Cypher."

"It's nice to meet you."

"You too!" She chirps, and then something catches her eye. Sergeant MacTavish of the 141. You blanche, trying to you school your face into a neutral expression. "Ah well, that's my... my uh..." she's flustered, words jumbled, before just giving up. "It was nice to meet you."

"Likewise." You call to her retreating form, but she's already out of earshot.

Weird. Again.

"He's so fuckin' annoying!" Your friend half shouts over the raucous pub, and you giggle.

"You're the one who dated him." You spit back, jostling your shoulder against her where you're both crammed into a corner table, two others still at the bar, getting another round.

You're drunk. You haven't stumbled into unreasonable territory yet, but the blood in your veins is thinning, world starting to wobble at the edges. There's no caution in you now, common sense quickly slipping away, but you're not worried. With four of you here, there's safety in numbers, and you're just off base.

"Alright, four tequilas," shots filled to the rim with golden sweet liquor slosh across the table, small plate of salt and quartered limes following. "Bottoms up."

Some guy across the room by the pool table lifts his pint to you as you swallow down the citrus rich burn, and your cheeks warm. Your friend leans in. "He's checking you out."

"No he's not."

"Without a doubt. He's practically-" she burps, and you laugh. "practically undressing you with his eyes. You should go over there."

"And do what?" Your focus shifts, remembering the Lieutenant stroking your cheek in the dark, surprisingly gentle but still rough on the edges. You shove it away.

"Talk to him!" She nudges, shoves, you with her hip towards the edge of the booth, and you hiss.

"Knock it off."

"No. You need to get laid. It's been years." She makes it sound like you're an old maid. "I know for a fact you haven't slept with anyone since you moved here. Time to dip your toes in, or at least flirt a little." Drunk, you're having a hard time combatting her badgering, and the insistence is shifting the tide, convincing you it's a good idea.

A little flirting won't hurt, right?

The floor squeaks under your shoes, sticky already, and the guy lights up when he sees you coming his way.

"Hey." It's lame, but what else can you say?

"Hey, beautiful." Okay, a little thick there bud. "Haven't seen you around before." It's loud, but he manages to push his voice out over the noise.

"Oh I uh... I don't come here often." His mouth opens, but whatever he's going to say dies before it can break free, his eyes widening in panic. There's real fear in his expression, and he stumbles back a step.

You feel the Lieutenant before you see him. Instinctively, you take a step away, like he's going to materialize in front of you, tipping off balance to one side as an arm, a giant arm, an arm you know well, one you've studied while it's laid on your table, traced it's tattoos again and again, wraps around your waist and jerks.

Oh my god, ohmygodohmyg-

"Fuck off," he snarls, full of venom, and you've never seen someone scamper away so fast. Everything spins. "Let's go pet."

"Wh-what?" You protest, but he's steering you out of the bar with a hand on your shoulder, past your friends who watch with flabbergasted, stunned expressions dropping their mouths in perfect circles. "Lieutenant-" You dig your heels in, but you're no match for him, not even close. Where are we going?

You get your answer. Swiftly.

It's the bathroom.

The lock clicks at your back as he shepherds you inside, and twists you to face him by your hips.

Fear slithers through the air like a snake. The look on his face is starved. Feral as a wolf in a barren winter. It’s unbridled, raw.

And not rooted in any kind of sanity.

It only swells when he folds his paws over your shoulders and forces you to your knees on the dirty, disgusting bathroom floor.

"Lieutenant..." Your voice is wary, but he only shakes his head.

"Simon." You're not sure what you're expecting. You're frozen, watching a movie play out before you, trying to determine what the characters are going to do next, except the main character is you, and she's thoroughly confused-

Until the Lieutenant unzip his jeans and fishes the heaviest cock she's ever seen out from his pants.

Your mouth drops open, and because you're flailing in this moment, free falling through every emotion known to man, you bark out a laugh. It's obscene. Too long, too thick, swollen red tip drooling milky white spend. He's stroking it, jaw clenching when he squeezes the base.

He steps forward, you jerk back. His lips twist into a scowl.

"Not gon' hurt ya." You look up and down, trying to put the puzzle together, thought the answer is glaringly obvious and literally staring you in the face. You peer upward, and his gaze snaps to yours.

What you find in his eyes... steals your breath.

The foreboding, carnal hunger is still there, almost akin to rage, but beneath it, so far beneath you can hardly recognize it, lurks something else.

Vulnerability. There one moment, chased away the next, but it changes everything about this. He's hesitant, lost, studying you for something, a cue, an indication, like he's not sure how to proceed.

You wrap your fingers around his length and repeat his own motions, a stroke and a squeeze, his shoulders stiffening at first, and then slumping with relaxation. The peace last only so long before he steps forward, and you lean into it, into him, and as he smears the head of cock against your lips, you don't pull away. You just open your mouth like a good little girl. His.

You stretch your jaw wide, and you swear it clicks. He's in the back of your throat with still more to go, but you try as hard as you can to take him, take it all, sucking hard, encouraged by the warm palm at the back of your skull. He grunts.

"Hold still." He covers your ears with both hands, unintentionally, you think, palms on your cheeks, and flexes his hips, forcing himself as far as he can down your throat. You gag on it, holding onto to his thighs for dear life, and when he does it again, your throat tightening with the reflex, he groans. He likes it.

You're totally fucked. He's going to suffocate you.

"Gon' be fast," he pulls back, allowing you a gasp of air, before shoving back in, "breathe when y'can." You fist his pants, and cling to him. He's rough with it, shoving your nose into the curls of his pubic hair, thumbs rubbing through the tears streaming down your face.

It should feel wrong, to have someone take their pleasure from you so violently, but it doesn't. Your clit throbs, thighs pressing together instinctively, wet, desperate sounds echoing off the tile in the room. There's a rugged rush of words flowing from his mouth, things you're only catching bits and pieces of, but you've got the gist.

Needed this. Needed you.

Pretty thing. Takin’ it. Good girl.

You do. You take it through your tears, through the drool slipping over your chin to your neck, you take everything he gives you, even the rush of hot, salted come spilling down your throat.

He hauls you to your feet after, and you catch yourself in the mirror, horrified. Your makeup is everywhere but your eyes, mouth swollen, lips raw. "I should wash my-"

"No." He tucks you into his side. "Want you to stay like this 'til we get home." Home? We get home?

"Lieutenant, I'm not sure what's going on but-" He twists your shoulders back and tips your face up to his so fast your head spins.

"Simon. It's Simon, pet."

[scoops-aboy86]

Steve as a late night radio DJ, with Robin as his producer (because my partner has made me watch so much Frasier lol). He's got the sexy voice and Eddie, frontman of successful metal band Corroded Coffin, still remembers him from Hawkins and, ugh.

But, well, his manager set up the interview and it would cause more of a stir to no-show than it would to turn up and bicker with some washed up former high school bully. It's a different city, a different decade; maybe King Steve won't even remember him.

So Eddie turns up, and he actually beats Steve there. To the point of the show starting and it's just him in the booth, chatting awkwardly with Robin to fill the air. It gets less awkward the more they talk, idly catching up on old small town bullshit and what it's like to go from isolated baby queers ("I thought I was totally alone!" "Really? You didn't clock the black bandana hanging out of my pocket for five of my six years in high school?" "Sorry old timer, I was still in middle school for part of that." "Oh fuck off, Ms. 'I went to Sarah Lawrence and all I got was this awesome girlfriend.'" "Sorry Eddie, we can't all be super late bloomers like you.") to Actually Successful And Functioning Adults. (She's kind enough not to mention his single but unfortunately well known brush with rehab, other than to congratulate him on his seven year chip.)

And then Steve bursts in, huffing and puffing and diving for the headphones and mic to apologize to both them and the audience for being late. He doesn't even try to offer an excuse until Robin asks, "Uh, Steve? Want to share with us why your arm's in a sling and one of your eyebrows looks like it got flambéd right off your face?"

Which turns into a very put-upon but entertaining retelling of Dustin Henderson ("Oh damn, Henderson! I fell outta touch with him ages ago. How is that little shit?" "Married. He didn't end up converting to Mormonism, but they still have enough kids to make up half a basketball team." "Is that... a lot?" "Six, Munson. They have six kids." "Which is funny, because he made soooo much fun of Steve for wanting that many back in the day." "Yeah. Showed him." "Fuck, my condolences to his wife if they all inherited his big head. You gotta give me his number after this. Or—DUSTIN, if you're listening to your babysitter's show, come to my next concert and there'll be two backstage passes with your name on it! Or, well, that embarrassing nickname your radio girlfriend used to call you, since I think I've blurted out your full government name by now." "That girlfriend is actually his wife now." "No shit?! Wow, I can't believe one of my little lost sheepies has managed to keep the same girl for over a decade. Is she really hotter than Phoebe Cates?" "Oh, she is smokin." "Robin, don't make it weird." "Oh it's okay, she already knows. I told her.") ... A very put-upon but entertaining retelling of Dustin Henderson coming over to discuss plans for Ma Henderson's birthday, and bringing a cherries jubilee that Suzie had made so he could literally demonstrate the flambé presentation ("Listeners, I swear I did not know, when I asked Steve about his flambéd eyebrow, that it was a literal flambé accident. Eddie, can you confirm?" "I can confirm, Robin. We received no heads-up calls or messages from Steve before or during the show. It was serendipitous irony, 100% pure.") but poured waaaaay too much brandy on, and then Steve tripped in his mad dash for the fire extinguisher ("He was no help at all, just stopped dropped and rolled right there in the middle of the damn kitchen." "How are his eyebrows?" "Ugh, I have more of them than he does right now but at least his match. Don't worry everyone, he's fine. No nerds were injured in the course of this improv slapstick comedy routine that is my life. I swear to god, I need a girlfriend or a boyfriend or someone reasonable to hang out with besides all you weirdos." "Aw, you love us." "Yeah Stevie, what would you do without your loving nerd squad?" "Yeah, yeah... But don't try to leave yourself out of this Munson, as far as I'm concerned you're still the king of all nerds. And if you're reconnecting with Dustin, you're stuck with us too.") and had to stop by urgent care on the way to work.

Throughout all of this, Eddie is not twirling a lock of hair around one finger... but only because it's tied haphazardly back to keep it out of his face for the day. Steve is different from the guy he remembers strutting the halls of Hawkins High. Still all freckles and hair and charismatic grin, but he carries himself differently. More solidly built in his mid-thirties than his late teens, with a layer of softness that suits him. Calmer and settled, with the kind of confidence that comes with growing up. And the girlfriend or boyfriend thing? Holy shit. Holy shit. King Steve? Who knew? But, well, it explains why Steve and Robin are so close, Eddie guesses.

The Steve Harrington that Eddie had known back in the day hadn't exactly been the worst of the bullies, but he'd been friends with them, and they had spouted plenty of homophobic shit. And Steve had been looking right at him as he'd said it, like he's aware that Eddie is terminally single and maybe, just maybe, there was a flicker of a question in his eyes.

Eddie has been publicly out for a while now, and the thing is... Steve is definitely his type. So he leans into it a little, testing the waters. And Steve responds to it like a sunflower greeting the sunrise.

By the end of the show Robin is slapping post-its on the glass partition that read "Get his number dingus" and "Get a room" and Don't make that face at me, yes I do know that he can see these too and I don't care, GET IT or I will recruit Dusty-dun to my cause" and "To clarify, the cause is getting you laid. Eddie, take note, he's allergic to latex."

Permanent tag list (ask to be added, but since I have gotten an influx of new followers lately just know that I write a lot of weight gain kink so like... just be aware): @hotluncheddie @lawrencebshoggoth @sofadofax @tangerinesteve

[mugwot]

someone

[starry-bi-sky]

i need to get this out of my head before i continue clone^2 but danny being the first batkid. Like, standard procedure stuff: his parents and sister die, danny ends up with Vlad Masters. He drags him along to stereotypical galas and stuff; Danny is not having a good time.

He ends up going to one of the Wayne Galas being hosted ever since elusive Bruce Wayne has returned to Gotham. Vlad is crowing about having this opportunity as he's been wanting to sink his claws into the company for a long while now. Danny is too busy grieving to care what he wants.

And like most Galas, once Vlad is done showing him off to the other socialites and the like, he disappears. Off to a dark corner, or to one of the many balconies; doesn't matter. There he runs into said star of the show, Bruce who is still young, has been Batman for at least a year at this point, but still getting used to all these damn people and socializing. He's stepped off to hide for a few minutes before stepping back into the shark tank.

And he runs into a kid with circles under his eyes and a dull gleam in them. Familiar, like looking into a mirror.

Danny tries to excuse himself, he hasn't stopped crying since his parents died and it's been months. He rubs his eyes and stands up, and stumbles over a half-hearted apology to Mister Wayne. Some of Vlad's etiquette lessons kicking in.

Bruce is awkward, but he softens. "That's alright, lad," he says, pulling up some of that Brucie Wayne confidence, "I was just coming out here to get some fresh air."

There's a little pressing; Bruce asks who he's here with, Danny says, voice quiet and grief-stricken, that he's with his godfather Vlad Masters. Bruce asks him if he knows where he is, and Danny tells him he does. Bruce offers to leave, Danny tells him to do whatever he wants.

It ends with Bruce staying, standing off to the side with Danny in silence. Neither of them say a word, and Danny eventually leaves first in that same silence.

Bruce looks into Vlad Masters after everything is over, his interest piqued. He finds news about him taking in Danny Fenton: he looks into Danny Fenton. He finds news articles about his parents' deaths, their occupations, everything he can get his hands on.

At the next gala, he sees Danny again. And he looks the same as ever: quiet like a ghost, just as pale, and full of grief. Bruce sits in silence with him again for nearly ten minutes before he strikes a conversation.

"Do you like to do anything?"

Nothing. Just silence.

Bruce isn't quite sure what to do: comfort is not his forte, and Danny doesn't know him. He's smart enough to know that. So he starts talking about other things; anything he can think of that Brucie Wayne might say, that also wasn't inappropriate for a kid to hear.

Danny says nothing the entire time, and is again the first to leave.

Bruce watches from a distance as he intercts with Vlad Masters; how Vlad Masters interacts with him. He doesn't like what he sees: Vlad Masters keeps a hand on Danny's shoulder like one would hold onto the collar of a dog. He parades him around like a trophy he won.

And there are moments, when someone gets too close or when someone tries to shake Danny's hand, of deep possessiveness that flints over Vlad Masters' eyes. Like a dragon guarding a horde.

He plays the act of doting godfather well: but Bruce knows a liar when he sees one. Like recognizes like.

Danny is dull-eyed and blank faced the entire time; he looks miserable.

So Bruce tries to host more parties; if only so that he can talk to Danny alone. Vlad seems all too happy to attend, toting Danny along like a ribbon, and on the dot every hour, Danny slips away to somewhere to hide. Bruce appears twenty minutes later.

"I was looking into your godfather's company," he says one night, trying to think of more things to say. Some nights all they do is sit in silence. "Some of my shareholders were thinking of partnering up--"

"Don't."

He stops. Danny hardly says a word to him, he doesn't even look at him -- he's sitting on the ground, his head in his knees. Like he's trying to hide from the world. But he's looking, blue eyes piercing up at Bruce.

Bruce tilts his head, practiced puppy-like. "Pardon?"

"Don't." Danny says, strongly. "Don't make any deals with Vlad."

It's the most words Danny's spoken to him, and there's a look in his eyes like a candle finding its spark. Something hard. Bruce presses further, "And why is that?"

The spark flutters, and flushes out. Danny blinks like he's coming out of a trance, and slumps back into himself. "Just don't."

Bruce stares at him, thoughtful, before looking away. "Alright. I won't."

And they fall back into silence.

Danny, when he leaves, turns to look at Bruce, "I mean it." He says; soft like he's telling a secret, "Don't make any deals with him. Don't be alone with him. Don't work with him."

He's scampered away before Bruce can question him further.

(He never planned on working with Vlad Masters and his company; he's done his research. He's seen the misfortune. But nothing ever leads back to him. There's no evidence of anything. But Danny knows something.)

At their next meeting, Danny starts the conversation. It's new, and it's welcomed. He says, cutting through their five minute quiet, that he likes stars. And he doesn't like that he can't see them in Gotham.

Bruce hums in interest, and Danny continues talking. It's as if floodgates had been opened, and as Bruce takes a sip of his wine, it tastes like victory.

("Tucker told me once--") ("Tucker?") ("Oh-- uh, one of my best friends. He's a tech geek. We haven't talked in a while.")

(Danny shut down in his grief -- his friends are worried, but can't reach him. When he goes back to the manor with Vlad, he fishes out his phone and sends them a message.)

(They are ecstatic to hear from him.)

It all culminates until one day, when Danny is leaving to go back inside, that Bruce speaks up. "You know," He says, leaning against the railing. "The manor has many rooms; plenty of space for a guest."

The implication there, hidden between the lines. And Danny is smart, he looks at Bruce with a sharp glean in his eyes, and he nods. "Good to know."

The next time they see each other, Danny has something in his hands. "Can you hold onto something for me?" He asks.

When Bruce agrees, Danny places a pearl into his palm. or, at least, it's something that looks like a pearl. Because it's cold to the touch; sinking into Bruce's white silk gloves with ease and shimmering like an opal. It moves a little as it settles into his hand, and the moves like its full of liquid.

Bruce has never seen anything like it before, but he does know this; it's not human. "What is it?" He asks, and Danny looks uncomfortable.

"I can't tell you that." He says, shifting on his foot like he's scared of someone seeing it. "But please be careful with it. Treat it like it's extremely fragile."

When Bruce gets home, he puts it in an empty ring box and hides the box in the cave. He tries researching into what it is. he can't find anything concrete.

Everything comes to a head one day when Danny appears at the manor's doorstep one evening, soaking wet in the rain, and bleeding from the side.

[purpleminte]

Sparkly AND Soft™

[juicywizards]

modern day saint sebastian

[dreamofbecoming]

listen i know we all love steve “completely ignorant of queer culture to the point that bisexuality is a surprise” harrington being roasted and educated in turns by robin and eddie, yadda yadda, good stuff. i read “they made a horror version of rocky?” in a fic recently and cackled. also a big fan of “he knew he was bi from the start and just never talked about it” as a trope, love it excellent well done

but what about steve who realizes after starcourt that the most important person in his life now has this thing that’s a major part of her life that he knows nothing about, and what if he fucks it up? what if he says something ignorant or rude by accident, and hurts her? what if he loses her because he didn’t know the right thing to say? what if he can’t keep her safe because he doesn’t know what to look out for? absolutely fucking not, this steve says

and listen she’d never say anything, because she can tell that he can tell how much she likes teasing him and teaching him things, so he plays dumb, and she thinks it’s very sweet. but she notices when the zines she keeps under her bed that she buys at that one secret bookshop in indy when she can sneak away on family trips start going missing, always one at a time, and replaced in a few days with another disappearing. and she finds the new ones he must have gone to buy the weekend she was at her aunt’s house hidden in the back of his closet when she goes to steal one of his sweaters. and she notices when he slips more of her queerer movie recommendations into his personal take home pile rather than the movie night stack when he thinks she’s not looking.

she doesn’t notice when he drives to indianapolis after she tries to explain to him why she can’t just ask out a cute girl, tries to impress on him the fear attached to every moment of attraction that he simply has never had to feel, but later she finds a crumpled receipt from a diner in one of his jacket pockets when she’s looking for his keys, and the address is across the street from the bar the gorgeous woman at the bookstore told her about, the one she memorized the address of but hasn’t worked up the guts to think about visiting, and she knows he must have gone looking for a place like that, must have been trying to understand, must have been scoping it out to make sure it was somewhere she could feel safe, after she told him she never had.

so when eddie nearly pops a blood vessel when they clock each other and she mentions that steve is the only person she’s ever come out to before, her hackles come up. because she gets it, she does, he’s only known king steve until recently, so it makes sense that he would be afraid, be concerned for her safety.

but steve is her person, and no one- no one- has ever made her feel as protected or as cared for as he does. no one has ever tried as hard to understand her, no one has ever put so much work into making her feel safe and seen and loved. and she thinks maybe even if no one else ever does, that’s ok. because she has steve, and more importantly steve has her, and that means no one gets to question his ally credentials in her presence without a dressing down to remember, no matter how well they mean or how recently they helped save the world.

(and maybe she’s not as surprised as she could be when he figures out bisexuality all on his own, because she’s been reading all the same pamphlets he has, after all. and she’s seen the way he looks at eddie, i mean come on. maybe no one else has noticed, but then, nobody knows steve harrington like she does.)

[blanketforcas]

did you think i was over jensen singing angeles to misha? well think again

cause i know we all saw this but i need to really go over this again frame by frame

so you know when he's done singing and he looks down at misha and misha is looking up at him, totally enraptured. but then he realizes jensen's looking at him and he gives him this adorable smile:

which in turn makes jensen really flustered!!!! he can't contain a smile!!! the screen behind him is a tiny bit delayed and i need you to look at that cause it captures that smile perfectly:

dear lord he's so gone:

misha's so damn proud. did you see what my boyfriend just did

jensen's his sunshine it's nbd

he has to physically wipe off the smile on his face cause this is getting ridiculous

they're gonna write a song together!!! misha's ready to plant one on him right then and there but a song's alright too

okay okay time to pull my shit together i'm about to sing and i have no words in my head rn

end of the destiel song -> jensen: teehee i made it cockles - misha: omg he made it cockles

[katierosefun]

pyramid game is such a perfect little drama for the sapphics because you've got a whole demented psychological thriller going on about high school girls creating a whole fake social class system that results because one bored little princess bitch thought it'd be funny, and you've got all these dynamics that can only be boiled down to some kind of love story because like. ye lim and eun jeong's dynamic? the princess idol and her athlete bodyguard. soo ji and ja eun's dynamic? the cold mastermind and the compassionate heart. even whatever da yeon and seol ha have got going on? typical hitter and loyal dog dynamic. the list can go on.

[radio-tiger]

a chill escort mission for the copy ninja

[turtleblogatlast]

One of the absolute best things about the bros is that they just. Play. They play around like the teens they are, playing ball, or video games, or anything else. They just play and have fun together, genuinely enjoying each other’s company. I dunno, I just appreciate how easy it is for them to mess around and be kids.

[luxaofhesperides]

We Are Robins meeting to Signal apprehending Danny ; requested by @zylev-blog!

“Hey, Danny. How are you feeling?”

Danny gives Duke a tired smile, his head falling back against the wall. He’s sitting up today, which is good. It’s definitely an improvement from the many days Danny was unable to do much but lie down and grit his teeth through the pain as Duke checked on the gunshot wound. It’s a good thing Danny’s a meta with a healing factor, or nothing Duke could have done would have saved him.

As it is, the wound was severe enough to keep Danny vulnerable and unable to move on his own without making it worse. Though Duke has looked, he hasn’t had any luck in finding whoever did this to Danny. He hasn’t brought it up to the rest of the We Are Robin gang, but only because Danny only let him help if he kept it between the two of them.

What’s another secret? If it lets him stay close to Danny and make sure he’s healing well, then he’ll keep quiet and carry on the search by himself. He’s got plenty of practice in doing things on his own.

“Busy out there?” Danny asks as Duke sits down next to him, dropping his backpack onto the ground. 

“Yeah, it’s tough with the cops after us, but someone needs to help Gotham and with Batman gone…”

A pained expression crossed Danny’s face. Eyeing him carefully, Duke opened his backpack and pulled out a few protein bars and sports drinks for him. Once Danny takes them and began eating one, Duke takes out the first aid kit, always kept at the bottom of the backpack, and sets it in front of Danny.

The most he can do is offer supplies and company at this stage of Danny’s healing. He gets twitchy and tense when Duke tries to tend to his wound, and seems to have plenty of practice in patching himself up. 

He didn’t answer when Duke commented on it once, so Duke let the matter drop. 

Metas may have legal protection, but that doesn’t stop people from targeting them. Duke has no intention of pushing Danny into remembering unpleasant things while he’s already wounded, hiding out in the upper corner of an abandoned warehouse taken over by a group of homeless people. Most aren’t inside during the day, choosing instead to be out with the rest of the city, which leaves them alone. 

Duke keeps an eye on the ground floor of the warehouse, making sure no one comes in while Danny tends to his wound. When he peeks back, he can see that it’s much smaller than it was the night Duke found him, crawling down an alley with one hand clutching his side, tears slipping down his face. There had been so much blood that Duke was sure he had just stumbled upon someone dying and froze, horrified. 

And then a shout down the road prompted him to move, hauling Danny up and helping him into the warehouse to hide. 

For a normal person, if it didn’t kill them, the wound would still be raw and bleeding, larger than any gunshot wound he’s seen before. But Danny’s wound is closing up quickly, no longer bleeding, the edges a healing pink.

It doesn’t look like it’s going to scar, either. 

“Think it’ll be all healed up by the end of the week?”

Danny glances up, then continues covering it with new bandage, large enough to cover the entire wound. “Hopefully,” he says. “Then I’ll be out of your hair and can figure out a way to get home.”

“Your folks gonna look out for you?”

“Probably. I’m not planning on telling them, though, since they’ll get way too overprotective. The only reason they’re not tearing Gotham apart looking for me is because I came here with my godfather and he told them we’d be gone for two weeks. Can’t believe he tried to kill me on day one…”

“Your godfather tried to kill you?”

“Yeah. Not personally, or anything, but he definitely hired the guy who shot me. Though he also yelled at him for shooting me? Not sure what that’s about, but I never trusted the guy and he didn’t try to help me afterwards when I ran away, so. You know.”

Duke wants to have a conversation with Danny’s godfather. Maybe bring the other Robins along to make sure the message sinks in: Don’t touch Danny.

But Danny, acting so casual about his godfather trying to kill him, would be unhappy about it, and Duke would really rather be able to take care of him than be shut out for trying to take control of the situation.

“Shit, man, that sucks,” he offers, instead of prying for details so he can hunt down his godfather. “You want a hug or something? I can’t really do much else, but if it can make you feel better about all this…”

Danny brightens and shoves the first aid kit away, his shirt (one of Duke’s old ones he offered up to replace the bloodstained one) falling to cover the bandage. “Please. I would love a hug, dude, I don’t remember the last time I felt so lonely.”

Carefully, Duke wraps his arms around Danny, leaning back so Danny could relax fully and not worry about holding himself up. Danny sighs into the hug, going fully limp as he drops his forehead onto Duke’s shoulder.

“Thanks for this. And everything,” Danny says some time later. He doesn’t move to pull away, so Duke stays as he is, watching the weak sunlight slowly move across the warehouse as it spills in from dirty windows. 

“You don’t need to thank me. I mean, I’m a Robin.” He brings up a hand to tap a finger against the R embroidered into his jacket. “It’s what we’re here for.”

.

.

.

It’s been years since he saw Danny. After he was fully healed, Duke helped him get to city limits, watching as he boarded a bus and disappeared down the road, leaving his life just as suddenly as he entered it.

After spending so much time together, quiet hours of stillness just looking out for each other, his life feels emptier without Danny in it. He knew it wouldn’t last, that Danny would go home eventually, but it didn’t make the parting any easier.

Even now, as Signal, taking a break from going on missions with the Outsiders to spend some time with the Bats, his thoughts drift towards Danny, wondering if he’s alright. In his darker moments, he wonders if Danny’s godfather has tried to kill him again, if he’s succeeded. In calmer, happier moments, he remembers Danny’s quiet stories about his family, his town, all his dreams and hopes for the future, remembers the easy company and how Danny didn’t look at him with pity when talked about his parents, just quiet and contemplative. 

Sometimes, he can’t resist the urge to look him up, but there are so many Danny’s out there that he doesn’t know where to start. He never got Danny’s last name or learned when he came from.

It’s not like he can just ask the Bats for help finding a guy he knew for two weeks before he ever joined them. They’re all busy with their own missions, and definitely don’t have time for Duke’s reminiscing. 

“Just caught sight of the truck entering city limits,” Oracle says in his ear. “It’s heading towards the Coventry.”

“On it. Any movement from the mobs?”

“None yet. I expect this to change soon. Red Hood and Black Bat are patrolling nearby if you need backup.”

“Got it. Signal out.”

His comline shuts with a little click, and then he’s grappling over the roof tops, keeping an eye on the roads in search of the truck. He doesn’t have time to think of Danny anymore, not when a shipment of new, experimental weapons is passing through Gotham. Spoiler had heard a few whispers of it and Red Robin helped find more solid details; the mobs are all looking to take the shipment for themselves in an attempt to get the upper hand in the nonstop fight for control of Gotham’s streets. 

It’s passing through during the day, visible and a good move to keep from being ambushed at night, but it’s not enough to stop mobs hoping to take out their competition with new weapons. Duke enters the Coventry just as his comline beeps once and Oracle begins giving him specific directions, along with a brief description of what the truck looks like. 

Apparently, the weapons are being moved in a U-Haul rental truck. That is… certainly a Choice™ to make for moving weapons around the country.

He follows it from the rooftops, but nothing happens. The truck passes through the Coventry without incident and takes a turn that keeps it away from Crime Alley and the Bowery. It gets to the middle of East End then pulls to a stop in the parking lot of a diner. 

Two people get out and stretch, then head in to get something to eat.

It would be the perfect time for someone to break in. Duke pulls the light over himself, manipulating it to make him disappear from sight as he looks down from the edge of the rooftop, tense and prepared for anything.

He almost doesn’t see it at first. It’s just a flicker, a flash of color, a shift in the shadows across the street. But he does see it, even if he can’t find it again, and drops down from the roof, creeping towards the truck.

Duke waits, holding his breath, off to the side of the parking lot. 

A minute passes. And then a figure materializes out of thin air, floating right behind the truck. All Duke can see is white hair and a black body suit; they’re either a meta or an alien, but either way, Duke is ready to take them down.

The figure lifts their hands and a bolt of neon green energy hits the truck, melting the back and leaving a large hole that gives them direct access to the weapons. And then they shoot again, destroying the weapons.

“Phantom!” someone shouts, and the truck driver comes tearing out of the restaurant, a white gun in his hand. His companion follows, her gun also out, and the begin shooting. 

Phantom dodges the blasts, then vanishes from sight. He reappears behind them a moment later, tackling back of them into the side of the truck. 

“No you don’t!” Duke say, rushing forward as he pulls at the shadows around him then sends them racing towards Phantom, restraining them. The driver and his companion collapse onto the ground, groaning weakly, and Duke grits his teeth. “O, send someone to look after the people moving the weapons. Apprehending an attacker now.”

He doesn’t wait to hear a response, tightening the shadow’s grip on Phantom, who struggles fiercely.

“We can do this the hard way, or the easy way,” he says, pulling Phantom closer to him.

Phantom doesn’t answer. They just scream, the force of it making Duke fall back. His shadows dissipate, and Phantom flies up.

“Get back here!”

Duke gives chase, dropping in and out of shadows, throwing some at Phantom in the hopes of catching him again. But Phantom is fast and it takes all he has to keep up as they cross Gotham.

He thought Phantom was flying around blindly, but the way they move across the roofs and then through the streets are too confident, too focused to be anything other than someone with a destination in mind. But where? Where could they be going? If they’ve been in Gotham, then Duke would have heard of them.

A flying, powerful meta with a multitude of powers? Yeah, he would have known about them.

Phantom flies through a wall and Duke curses, going onto the roof and looking around, waiting to see them fly out. But they don’t and Duke finds a broken skylight to drop in from, landing on the support beams of the warehouse, well above the ground.

He knows the warehouse, he realizes suddenly. It’s the warehouse Danny hid in while he was healing. Duke hasn’t been back in years.

“Just listen to me, please,” a voice says behind him, and Duke tense, spinning around to face Phantom, floating just out of reaching distance. “Those weapons are dangerous. No one should have them, it’s why I had to destroy them. Please, you can’t let them get those weapons out.”

Duke stares. Something about Phantom is familiar. The shape of his face, maybe. His voice. Maybe it’s just because he’s in the warehouse again, with someone pleading for his help.

Maybe it’s all in his mind.

“Danny?”

Phantom flinches, floating back a few inches. “What— How—”

“What happened? Is it your godfather again?”

“My— Duke? Is that you?!”

He definitely shouldn’t be doing this, but Danny’s here. Danny’s here in front of him, needing help, and he doesn’t need the Signal. He needs Duke.

He pulls off his helmet and lifts his bare face to Danny.

“Oh,” Danny breathes. “Well. I guess I should have known you’d be a hero. Can you help me one last time?”

“Yeah, of course Danny. Tell me what you need.”

“Those weapons, they were first made to kill me and others like me. It’s a whole thing I don’t have time to explain. But they’ve been changed to affect humans, all types of people, as well. I can survive a few hits from those weapons, but for most people, it would kill them instantly. I need to destroy all of them and stop any further production before the rest of the world gets a hold of them.”

“That’s why you—”

“They have to be destroyed,” Danny says. “And the people making and selling them need to be stopped. I can’t do it on my own. I’ve tried, but…”

“I’ll help,” Duke says, “I’ll help. This is a big enough problem to bring the Outsiders into it. Or the Bats, but they like to stay in Gotham.”

Danny floats closer, looking painfully relieved. “Really? They’ll be able to put an end to this?”

Duke reaches for him. “Yeah. they can do it. I’ll make sure of it.”

Danny’s feet land on the support beam as his hand meets Duke’s. They balance above the rest of the warehouse, drinking in the sight of each other. Duke rubs his thumb over Danny’s knuckles in soothing circles and watches as the tension begins to fall away from Danny’s shoulders.

“Duke,” he whispers, “I’ve missed you—”

The door below is kicked open, and a gunshot rings out. 

Moving on instinct, Duke tackles Danny, wrapping him up in his arms as they fall off the support beam. They hit the ground hard, rolling a bit, and Duke tucks Danny into his chest, bodily protecting him.

“Narrows!” 

The Red Hood stands over him, menacing, a gun pointed at him. 

“Hood?” He loosens his grip on Danny. “What the hell was that for?” 

“Thought you needed back up. You chased after our guy and lost your helmet, I think I’m right to be a little worried about you. So, who’s this?” There’s a hard edge to his voice, and Duke realizes with a sinking heart that all anyone else sees is an aggressor, a meta who attacked a truck full of weapons, attacked two people, and had to be chased down by the Signal. Jason’s seeing a threat and acting accordingly, putting Duke’s safety first. 

And with his helmet off, identity clear, Danny’s even more dangerous now that he has this knowledge.

“I’m sorry,” Danny whispers to Duke. He doesn’t have time to ask for what? before Danny’s shooting another beam of green energy at Jason then taking off, flying through the roof and out of sight.

“Shit,” Jason mutters, straightening up from where he ducked to avoid being hit, then puts his gun away and kneels next to Duke. “You alright? Why’d you let him go? I thought you had him.”

“I’m fine. He’s not… He wasn’t going to hurt me. He just needed help.”

“Sure. And what are you not telling me?”

“I knew him. He’s a good person, but he’s been in danger for a long time. This was him trying to protect others from what he went through.”

Jason takes off the helmet and stares at him. Then he sighs and reaches a hand down to help Duke to his feet. “Alright,” he says, “Let’s head back to the truck. You have until then to convince me that they’re the problem, and if they are, then I’ll help you blow up more of their weapons.” He claps a hand on Duke’s shoulder, then pulls his helmet back on. “Grab your helmet. We’re wasting daylight, Narrows.”

There’s nothing else he can do, no way to search for Danny when there are other leads to chase, so Duke grapples up to the catwalk where his helmet landed and grabs it.

Just before he puts it on, he sees a flicker of white just outside the window he’s facing. He ducks his head to hide a smile. It’s almost like he’s stepped back in time; Danny’s here in Gotham, needing help and asking for it in the warehouse. 

And though so much has changed in those years, there’s still one thing that Duke will ensure never changes: he’s Danny’s hero. Above Robin, or Signal, or anything else, Duke is Danny’s hero.

This time, he has the power to actually help Danny. He’s going to make sure no one ever hurts Danny again.

“Let’s go,” he says, jumping back down to Jason, helmet on. “I’ll tell you everything you need to know.”