#torture him is so fun

[rvkiss]

hehe

[octoling-wearing-gauges]

will the real lars fans please stand up

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

YOU’RE AN ANGEL, I’M A DOG ; SATORU GOJO

synopsis; an upcoming exam has been stressing you out, and satoru’s pleas for you to take care of yourself fall on deaf ears. thus, he sets his sights on your professor.

word count; 4.3k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, yan!gojo, as far as yanderes go he’s very mild i think (im sensitive u can trust me!!), mentions of blood, implied murder (not depicted!!), he threatens your professor w a knife lol, surprisingly fluffy??, gojo is soooo lovesick & smitten, he just wants his baby to live a happy life :( is that so wrong :((, also your parents love him <33 and he calls you honey <333 ideal man.

a/n; i blacked out & when i woke up this was in my drafts… mysterious. @kissxcore here u go alexis <33 one very smitten morally gray yan!gojo just for u!! i completely lost the plot halfway through but i had a lot of fun writing this!! :33 i don’t dabble in yan content at all so it was a fun lil challenge hehe, i hope it ended up . Somewhat .. decent…

satoru thinks you deserve everything good.

”haah…”

— the sigh spills into the air, like a dot of ink on paper, dripping with exhaustion; a palpable fatigue that has his heart clenching beneath his ribs.

just as he feared, you’re here. again. seated on the couch, in the living room, legs crossed and framed by flimsy strings of moonlight; illuminated only by the dim light of the laptop in front of you. carding through your hair, blinking sluggishly.

another sigh. deep, exasperated, from satoru this time. he keeps a single hand on his hip, brows furrowed in soft disappointment. 

”honey… what do you think you’re doing?”

you jolt, the sudden sound breaking you out of whatever trance you were previously in. when your gaze flits to his, craning your head to see him rest against the wall leading up to your bedroom, he thinks you look a little like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

it makes him smile. despite his disapproval.

”ah — satoru! it’s… um.” a moment passes. he can practically see the gears of your mind turning, searching for a good excuse. ”… not what it looks like?”

he clicks his tongue. ”nice try.”

then he’s walking towards you, in long strides, gliding across the room like a butterfly in search of nectar. from the sweetest flower there ever was.

even when said flower is still awake, past midnight, pulling an all-nighter despite his frequent advice not to. his very frequent, very thoughtful advice not to strain yourself until you just about pass out.

but you just won’t listen.

”’m disappointed in you, baby,” he huffs, just playful enough to ward off any genuine feelings of distress. he could never truly be disappointed in his baby. ”what did we say about studying this late, hm?”

a sheepish chuckle slips past your lips. satoru is standing in front of you, hands on his hips, raising a questioning eyebrow as you squirm. lighthearted, yes, but genuine. it makes you feel a little guilty.

”… sorry,” you breathe, closing the lid of your laptop. knowing he won’t let you stay up any longer. with the loss of light, your face becomes shrouded in darkness. ”just can’t sleep when i’m so stressed.”

at that, satoru makes a tiny noise — something worried, a little sad, from the base of his throat. a soft frown finds its way onto his lips, and he blinks the sleep away from his senses. plopping down beside you.

”i know. i’m not trying to lecture you,” he croons, reaching out to cradle the apple of your cheek. you melt into him like molten honey, easy and sweet. ”just worried. know you’re stressed.”

and he does. he does know — it’s all he’s been able to think about, these past few weeks. to his dismay, he’s even begun to grow used to this sight, used to finding you in the midst of working yourself to exhaustion. fighting the urge to sleep, slumped over your desk, or cooped up on the couch. staring into your laptop like it holds the secrets of the universe.

time and time again, he’s told you to take care of yourself. tried to coax you into relaxing, rubbing your sore shoulders and kissing the puffy skin beneath your eyes. but this exam is important — you’ve told him as much, more times than he can count. he doesn’t doubt that you’re right. 

of course you’d be stressed. he gets it.

still, though.

”but you know it’s not good, yeah? that it’ll just burn you out?” his thumb goes to smooth over the dark crescents beneath your eyes, gentle as a feather. ”we don’t want that, do we?”

you bite your lip. trapping it between your teeth. he knows you know. ”… yeah,” you admit, a flimsy little sigh on your tongue. ”it just feels easier to do this at night. don’t know why.”

”my little night owl.”

that makes you smile, a little, but it’s not enough to satisfy him. he curls an arm around your waist, and drags you into his lap; gentle, always gentle, like all that exists under your skin is made of porcelain. like the lines of your face form a string of words, a label of fragile: handle with care. he always does.

with his heartbeat by your ear, his warmth melting into yours, it’s easier to speak. a pressure on your chest that fades away. ”i’ll try not to do it again,” you murmur, biting back a soft yawn. nuzzling into his neck. ”promise. don’t wanna worry you…”

satoru softens. 

(always so good to him.)

”it’s fine, honey. i understand.” he smiles, smoothing down your spine, counting the bumps of vertebra that slide along his palm. ”don’t worry that pretty little head of yours over me, alright?”

in return for his comfort, you wriggle away, lifting your head to give him a smile. one of your many smiles, each one fervently cherished by him; the one you’re wearing now is tired, a soft curl of your lips, the kind that makes him want to lull you to sleep. just the sight alone makes the anxiety in his veins feel like a worthy investment.

he doesn’t tell you anything that could cause that joy to diminish. doesn’t tell you that he can’t sleep without you, that he can barely breathe knowing you’re this stressed all time. doesn’t tell you that he jolted awake with a sinking feeling of dread, a gaping pit in his stomach when he didn’t immediately feel the warmth of your skin against his. doesn’t tell you that he always, always assumes the worst.

satoru doesn’t tell you these things. it’s a safety measure, an act of love. a bundle of unvoiced syllables, woven into white lies, silky and sweet. tailor-made to put your aching mind at ease. 

satoru thinks you deserve everything good.

it’s a theory, of sorts, a train of thought. a hypothesis made manifest. after many years of pondering, he’s arrived at the following conclusion; you are all that’s good. therefore, it only follows that you deserve everything that’s good, all of it and more. satoru believes you deserve every single thing your little heart desires — and he’s determined to give it to you.

so he’s been worried.

it’s not that he doesn’t trust you. he knows you’ll ace the exam, knows you’ll do your very best, knows you’ll make him proud. you always do. you aren’t the problem, no, never.

he just doesn’t trust your professor. 

that unfair, stuck-up, incompetent professor who’d fail his students just for being a couple minutes late, who curates his exams to be as convoluted as humanly possible. you and your friends are starting to suspect he just likes berating people for a living. satoru knows it all, he’s heard it all, of course he has. satoru pays attention to everything, when it comes to you. he knows all about your professor, the man who’s been making your studies pure hell for the past semester.

it makes his blood boil. steady, ruminating, hot and heavy in his veins. a rivulet of lava.

(it was only a matter of time.)

satoru is a teacher too; he knows that type. one that has no business being a teacher, in the first place, one no student deserves to be subjected to. he’s met more of them in his career than he could even begin to count. the thought of one of his own students being at the mercy of someone so incompetent makes his skin itch.

and the thought of you, seated on the couch, crying and sniffling when he comes home because none of the exam questions made enough sense for you to even try —

it makes satoru want to claw his skin off.

it makes that tiny, tiny cavern in his heart extend, widen, like a maw, swallowing up his liver and lungs and sense of morality. an emptiness begging to be filled. 

there’s only one way to satiate it.

so he plants a wet kiss on your forehead, ruffles your hair, tucks you into bed and waits until you fall asleep. deep and heavy, a slumber you won’t wake up from anytime soon. he presses his lips to your forehead one more time — for good measure.

then he grabs his coat and slips outside.

the moon is visible through the window.

a thin crescent, nailed next to the dim stars, leaking a dream-like fluorescent shine; illuminating the office, so quiet he can hear those erratic breaths spill out, one by one. a heavy, heavy silence, thick enough to spread like butter over toast. 

(ah, that’s right — he forgot to buy the butter you asked for this morning. no wonder he feels so out of sorts. he’ll have to grab it on his way back.)

”who… w — what are — ?”

satoru stays silent. lips pursed, eyes keen, burning into the back of the man in front of him. close, almost chest to back, enough to have him scowling in displeasure. 

just being in his presence makes satoru feel a little sick. 

he keeps the blade pressed right beneath his adam’s apple, a silver glimmer in an office painted blue and gray. not enough to sink into his skin, but enough to have his heartbeat hammering, enough that satoru can practically feel those rapid flutters of life. brushing against his gloved hand.

he gets straight to the point. voice muffled by the fabric covering his mouth, low enough that it’s barely even audible. he’s careful, about this kind of thing. there’s a delicacy to the ill intent, something he’d be a little enamored with if it weren’t for the compass stuffed into his ribs — the compass that tells him this is wrong.

he just can’t bring himself to care.

”the upcoming exam.” his voice sends a shiver down the man’s spine. satoru can feel it. ”don’t fail a single student.”

silence. pure silence, suffocating them, tangling itself into the air. satoru can practically taste it — fear, familiar, that pang of panic. a ticking time-bomb. the knife stays pressed against warm skin, pushing, sinking, just a little, a drop of red against his pale throat. 

it’s enough to get your professor to make a little noise, one that vaguely resembles a whine. like that of a small animal, rolling over on its belly, eager to play dead. no word is spoken in reply, but he nods, just barely, a nervous tremble of his head.

satoru hums, approving. ”good.” he doesn’t loosen his grip. ”there’s a particular student i’m worried about. marked them down in the catalogue... i’m counting on you.”

another noise. a grunt of affirmation, a silent plea — satoru allows that fear to seep into his own bones, just a little, just to get a taste of it. cold on his tongue. he wonders if this is what helplessness feels like.

then he takes a step back. slow, tentative, dragging the knife with him. not before parting his lips once more. ”don’t turn around,” he warns. ”i’ll be back if there are any complications. this’ll be our little secret, hm?”

the man in front of him doesn’t say a thing. frozen in fear, paralyzed, not moving an inch. a fly trapped in his web. it’s a relief.

before he exits the room, satoru puts the final nail in the coffin. just in case. ”i happen to know what school your daughter goes to.” he waits for a flinch, and it comes almost instantly. like clockwork. “remember that.”

it’s an empty threat. your professor doesn’t know that, though. he doesn’t know that satoru knows his daughter, that he walks past her preschool almost every morning on his way to work. that she waves to him whenever he passes by, and that he makes it a point to always wave back. a little troublemaker; the rowdiest of utahime’s preschoolers. she has a bubbly laugh, and just lost one of her milk teeth. she was giddy when she showed him, a bout of giggles spilling from her lips as he cooed and ruffled her hair. 

he wouldn’t lay a finger on her. 

but your professor doesn’t know that, hasn’t got a single clue, and satoru delights in the fear that must be running through his veins. down his spine, crawling into every narrow of his skeleton, making a home for itself that he’ll never quite be able to root out.

a gulp. satoru hears it, in the quiet of nightfall, just before he shuts the door behind him. good.

the rest of the evening is a blur. satoru gets home, relieved to find you still asleep, and tucks you into his chest. makes a mental reminder to order your favorite take out tomorrow; a little reward for your hard work.

finally, he can sleep easy. knowing you’ll get what you deserve. 

three weeks later, satoru places his hand on the familiar doorknob in front of him, dragging his weight behind him. blinking sluggishly. 

there’s a sinking feeling in his chest, weighing him down — like an anchor tied to his liver. a compass, tucked between his fourth and fifth rib, one that’ll always stay lodged right there. he’s learned to grow used to it, a natural consequence, a sign that his humanity is still intact. 

that doesn’t make it any less bothersome, though.

(ridding the world of a pest shouldn’t make him feel dirty. especially when he felt nothing but contempt for the pest in question, for the way he whistled as you walked by, the words he spewed before satoru met his eye. vile. putrid. why should he feel guilty for wiping a stain off the pavement?

it does make him feel dirty, though. a sinking feeling in his chest.)

there’s nothing to be done about it. satoru swallows the unpleasant taste on his tongue, and drags the door open, closing it behind him with a softness he reserves for you alone.

and there you are.

on the couch, farther away, already looking his way — lips instantly curling up into what he knows will be a smile. this time, it’s laced with excitement. one of his personal favorites. his gaze devours the joy in your features, the glimpse he gets of your teeth, that familiar crinkle of your eyes. 

you’re smiling. at him. you smile and his world wakes up, it’s dyed in different shades of blue, it’s brimming with life and love and something too good not to kill for. you smile and everything is right, good, worth it. you smile and it's as if the blood has been washed off his hands.

suddenly, all is well again. satoru exhales a blissful little breath.

“‘m home, honey,” he grins, a light pink dusting his cheeks, hanging his coat up before turning to face you. arms wide open. “did you miss me?”

his heartbeat stutters when you practically engulf him, all giddy giggles and that perfect smile, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. “mhm,” is what you chirp, pressing kisses down his collarbone, and he has to bite down on his lip to stop the shivers trailing down his spine. he tastes iron, but laps it up with a coo. sickly-sweet.

“missed you too, precious,” he purrs. “sorry i was gone for so long — had to take care of something.” 

he cups the back of your skull with his palm, large and crafted just to hold you, and marvels at how much you trust him. how you’re melting into his chest, fitting into every crevice of his heart. he wants to keep you there forever. forever and ever, always within reach, always close enough to touch. 

but he also wants you to be happy. he wants to see you run away, wherever the wind takes you, if only so he’ll get to feel you jump into his arms again, when you’ve had your fill of the world. when you come home to him, where you both belong.

satoru would never cage you. never, never, never. he wants you to enjoy your life — confining you wouldn’t do any good, would only stifle that pretty smile he loves so dearly. he wants your world to be large, brimming with life, blooming with fervor, wants the air to be clear enough for your beautiful lungs. he couldn’t build a world for you, here, in this apartment. no matter how big or luxurious. 

so his only option is to bend the world into a kinder shape — twist and mold until it forms a path good enough for you to follow.

(it’s worth it, he knows, he’ll always know. it’s worth it to see that smile.)

“is that a new coat?” you ask, naive and innocent, and it breaks him out of his thoughts, attention wired to the lilt of your voice.

“yeah.” it’s stylish, expensive, a nice shade of black. he had to throw the last one away. “looks nice, right? i’ll get you the same one, pretty.”

“you don’t have to, toru!” you hurriedly exclaim, knowing he’ll jump at the opportunity to spoil you. “i like the one i have now!”

satoru pouts. a soft huff, right by your ear. “you don’t wanna wear matching coats?” he feigns sadness, scratching softly at your scalp, drinking up the little purrs that bubble up in your throat. 

and you giggle. you giggle and all he can think is worth it, worth it, worth it. a stained coat or two means nothing. the blood on his hands is just insurance. 

“well, when you put it like that…” you shift a little, curling your arms around his neck, breathing him in. he wonders if you can smell the cleaning detergent. “i guess i wouldn’t mind a new coat.”

and he grins. “right? want me to buy you new shoes while i’m at it? some jewelry?” he peppers kisses down your neck, amusement laced in his voice. “the whole store?”

again, those giggles. again and again. he laps them up like fine wine. “okay, that’s too much.”

“but you deserve it!” he whines, sickeningly sweet. sick to his stomach with love. “been working so hard, my angel.”

and, suddenly — you light up. his little firefly. brightening, inhaling a giddy breath. pulling away, a little, and he does his best to bite back the frown on his face. you’re practically beaming, sunshine personified, eyes glittering with giddy joy.

“right! i almost forgot!” 

then you’re skipping away, happily, to retrieve your phone. and he knows what you’re going to show him, but still feigns surprise when he sees the score on your exam, that perfect 100 on the screen. still makes an expression of shock that he knows will get you to laugh, still picks you up and spins you around and tells you how proud he is.

he almost, almost feels bad, seeing you smile so wide; at what you assume to be the fruits of your own labour. almost feels ashamed, knowing that perfect 100 wouldn’t exist without the knife at your professor’s throat.

but, then again, this is how it should be. those numbers are the fruits of your own labour, because satoru is a part of you. and you deserve it, deserve it more than anyone — he knows you would have gotten it, even without his help, if your professor was competent enough to see your brilliance. 

satoru smiles. he is proud of you. and this is exactly how it should be. he’s just bending the world into its rightful shape, cutting strings from a wrongly woven web, righting the wrongs of the people around you.

you, you, you. the only thing that exists.

all of him is for you.

”i knew you could do it. never doubted you for a second, baby,” he smiles, so wide his cheeks hurt, and you return it with a kiss to his jaw. 

”thank you. i’m just so relieved,” you exhale a breath, heavy, and it’s like he can practically see the stress melting from your shoulders and eyes. worth it, worth it, worth it. ”gosh. i’m gonna sleep like the dead tonight.”

”as you should,” satoru chirps, pinching your side. softly, brimming with fondness. ”but before that, we’re gonna celebrate. all day. and tomorrow too!”

another smile coaxed from your lips; this time, it’s a little bit shy. bashful, at the praise, his endless excitement. so precious he wants to kiss you breathless. give you all the air in his lungs.

so precious that he forgets about everything else. 

this is what you always do to him; wrap him up in a blanket of your love, cloud his veins with a nectar so sweet he takes the leap into your arms without a second thought. a foolish, lovesick butterfly, sticking to a single rose; dripping with honey, overflowing. the butterfly is too drunk on love to care. 

you’re his flower, his joy, the most useful form of anesthesia. with you in his veins, on his mind, your lips on his jaw — satoru can pretend that his hands are clean. that they always have been.

it all slips from his mind. your professor, the creep who catcalled you yesterday, that one classmate you’ve been complaining about recently. he forgets that they even exists, and satoru thinks that must be what love is: something that narrows your world down until you can make a home out of it. 

(something worth holding onto, no matter the cost.)

as always, it’s your voice that snaps him out of the trance he’s in. turning around at the sound of your call, the orpheus to your eurydice, too in love to save you from himself. you’re both getting ready to head out, dressing up for a well-deserved date. 

satoru feels himself smile. he does the dirty work, and you get to reap the rewards. heaven on earth.

“oh, by the way! would you want to have dinner with my parents tomorrow?” you meet his absent gaze with a tilt of your head. “they’ve been asking about you again. it’s such a headache, seriously.”

satoru giggles, barely containing how delighted he is. raising a playful brow. “oh? grumpy that you aren’t the favorite child anymore, hm?”

“okay, first of all —“ you stifle a giggle, pulling a drawer open, rummaging through it. freshly washed clothes. he washes most of your things. “you aren’t their child. and second of all —“

“— yet.”

a pause. 

satoru watches your gaze flick over to him, then back to the drawer, collecting yourself. a cute flush to your cheeks. “… whatever.” you clear your throat. “second of all — i don’t like how much they like you. what kinda spell did you put them under? it’s always satoru this, satoru that!”

a huff fills the air, and you mutter something that sounds a little like mocking, an obnoxiously imitated where’s satoru? that makes him chuckle into his fist. 

he shrugs. “i’m just a natural charmer, y’know? and, for the record; i would love to have dinner with them.” he sends you a wink, playful, and you roll your eyes. “are you joining us?”

a bout of laughter pushes past your lips, and satoru thinks he could die happy — just soaking up the joy that spills from out your throat. he wishes he could live in it, paint your house in it, wear it. he wants your joy to be all he ever feels. he feels sick at the idea of ever being out of earshot for it.

“yes, i’m joining you.” your scoff is dripping with humour. ”i’d hate to be the fourth wheel, but it is what it is.”

satoru stifles a grin. ”lucky me. three beauties all to myself,” he drawls, a seductive lilt to his voice, just to hear that little noise you always make with the back of your throat. vaguely disgusted.

”you’re so gross.”

a coo. like the buzzing of a bee. ”don’t be jealous, honey. know you’re my favorite, don’t you?” satoru smiles — more sincere than you’ll ever know. ”could never love anyone else.”

”so my parents are in second place?” you quirk a brow, amusement lacing your words, and he clicks his tongue. 

”well, they made you. i’d have to be a fool not to worship artists of such caliber.” 

”charmer.”

”yours.” the word is a knife at his throat, a stain on his coat, a love so heavy it’ll burn him alive. ”only yours.”

and again, you smile. all he can think is that you deserve everything, everything he could ever give you. it’s all he can think as you go about your day, as he leads you outside, as he watches that flicker of joy dance inside your iris. as he watches you walk wherever your heart takes you.

the thought remains when you return home, when you wrap yourselves up in blankets and he throws a leg over your waist and you curl an arm around his ribcage. it’s all he can think. 

satoru was born to be of service — to someone, to the world, to something or another. he was born to carry a weight on his back, so why not bear the weight of your burdens?

all he wants is to protect you. all he’ll ever need is that smile on your face. he was always bound to be just this: a dog at your heels, a halo around your head, the watchful eye keeping you safe from everything rotten in this world. he’s the butterfly, the spider, the web itself. and he’ll never let you be tangled up in it.

he was born to be of service to you. so service you he will, until it all comes back to bite him.

“satoruuu — stop stealing the blanket!”

he prays it never will.

[rennelelorren]

Actually I still love Obito silly clown alter sona Tobi

(ft Kakashi in the third, bro thought he can sneak out without noticing)

And I wish there were more of Tobi with Deidara as partners and Akatsuki in general

Tho the unmasked Obito just hit differently and my fav of all times

Also I drew Pain and Tobi being dudes

And my honest attempt to make his ten tails form look fine & demonic & Tobi-like cruel yet childish. But I think I gonna give it another try later...

[somegrumpynerd]

Epic would try to make a good first impression with his best bros boss, but nightmare is a little distracted with the smell(?) of nightmares and sleep deprivation on him

Anon you are so right, he'd wanna make a great impression on Cross's weird employer/ adopter situation but there's no way he can hide the terrible state of his mental health

Cross thinks the meeting didn't go well because Nightmare couldn't understand a word Epic said. Nightmare thinks the meeting didn't go well because he was so distracted by how much repressed negativity this guy was putting out. Epic thinks the meeting went great 👍

Honestly Nightmare wouldn't care anyway, he doesn't think it's any of his business who Cross is friends with as long as he's happy. His boys are adults, they don't need his permission for anything* as far as he's concerned, but he probably will ask about Epic from time to time after this...

[backpackingspace]

Odysseus: demanding Athena take off whatever enchantment she put on him the second the situation ends.

Odysseus: who constantly reminds Athena that he has great plans to grow old and die with his wife so don't even think about getting any ideas.

Odysseus: side eye diomedes who has started fucking glowing he has so many enchantments on him: bro you should talk to Athena about getting those removed. You're going to end up immortal or some shit

Diomedes: who has been a solider since he was 5 who has intersting thoughts about his own personhood who has a much more traditional relationship with Athena and would rather literally stab his own eye out with a rusted sword than speak out of turn: I don't know what you're talking about

[betapopish]

hi i finished beast yeast. here are some guys . and purelily…..

[starry-bi-sky]

I'm in A Mood™ (stressed) so im going back to my roots of melting two character together into one person. So bruce wayne!danny fenton. Danny Fenton who, for eight years, grew up in a beautiful gothic manor with his mom and dad under the name "Bruce Wayne". Playing piano with his mother, running around the manor with his father.

Then when he's eight it's ripped away from him. There's blood on his hands and pearls pooling at his feet, and both his parents are dead in front of him.

And he gets shipped off to distant relatives "the Fentons" shortly after, Alfred close on his heels because someone needs to take care of him, someone that knows him. Bruce goes to the Fentons for the safety of anonymity. Gotham's press wants to sink its teeth into him.

Danny misses his city even if it took everything from him. There are shadows in his eyes and he's pale as a sheet even beside his distant cousins, and they change his name to "Danny Fenton' because nobody should know that their newest child was illustrious orphan Bruce Wayne.

They call him Bruce behind closed doors. Danny prefers it that way, he clings onto the name -- the one his parents gave him -- like a lifeline. He makes friends with Sam and Tucker. Tucker takes one look at the willowy, morbid little boy standing in the corner like a shade, ghosts in his eyes, and drags him out into the sunlight, and takes him over to Sam.

When Danny is twelve, he's still not over it -- and he's a little obsessed with the Fentons' research, with the morbid. He has books upon books on death, murder, detective work. Anything he can get his hands on. And stars. He loves stars.

Alfred owns the apartment next to them and comes over regularly. Danny clings to him.

When Danny is twelve, he's still quiet, meek, a shy little thing prone to being bullied. Freaky little Fenton with the night in his eyes and too-cold skin even before he put one foot in the grave. in a sleepover in his room with Sam and Tucker, he tells them the truth. They're his friends, he trusts them.

"My name is Bruce." he murmurs, voice quiet as the breeze, always quiet. he's staring at his star-covered sheets.

"Like Bruce Wayne?" Tucker asks, a joking tone in his voice.

Danny smiles a little, lamb-like with insecurity. "I am Bruce Wayne." And he takes them down to the lab, disrupting Maddie and Jack, to prove it. Sam tells them of her own wealth then shortly after. They start calling Danny "Bruce" in private too -- its trust. Thats what it is. It's trust.

Sam goes to media functions and comes back with aching feet and complaints on her tongue -- and Danny soaks it up all like a sponge, splayed across a beanbag chair with Tucker in her room. He's not envious of her, he used to go to events with his parents and they kept him safe from the ugly of Gotham's Elite. For the most part. He's had comments made at him, he doesn't miss them.

Alfred returns to the manor semi-regularly, Danny goes with him. he wanders the hallways and helps Alfred clean, the last thing either of them want is for their home to fall into disrepair. He brings Jazz with him next time, then Tucker, then Sam. They all help him clean, and he shows them his room. The one across from his parents', it feels strange.

When Danny dies when he's fourteen, the first adult he tells is Alfred. He and Jazz go over to his house more often than they stay in the Fentonworks building. At least at Alfred's, the food doesn't come to life. Alfred sits at the kitchen table and weeps when Danny tells him, Jazz is upstairs, and its just the two of them.

Danny's ghost form wears pearls around his wrist and the gloves look stained with some kind of black substance. He looks like a child who died in a lab accident, but he also looks like a child who has shadows dripping off his shoulders, curling at his feet, hanging from his eyes.

because amorphous blob batman has my heart always and danny/bruce will not escape it even in death even if that IS the only reason im giving him Mild BatBlob Vibes...so far

when they go to the manor, alfred helps danny make a pile of stones between Martha and Thomas' graves, nobody but the two of them (and sam and tucker) will know what it means. (not even bruce's children later down the line, not for a long, long time)

danny dives into ghost fighting on shaky feet and not half as witty as he once was in one world. he's skittish, skittering between blasts from shadow to shadow and clumsily making his way through each battle. but helping people lights a fire in him. he still has shadows dripping off his feet but there's a purpose in his eyes.

and god help him, he's going to help people.

[waitineedaname]

I've decided to finally compile all my daemon au thoughts into one post instead of just flooding my friends' dms with them! I doubt I'll ever managed to actually write a fic for it because there's no way I can pull together a coherent enough plot so it would just be a series of vaguely connected vignettes, BUT. it's on my brain always.

Shen Qingqiu has a red-crowned crane. She felt Shen Jiu die when Shen Yuan transmigrated, and she was NOT PLEASED, which definitely puts a damper on their relationship at first, though she begrudgingly plays along with Shen Yuan assuming the role of Shen Qingqiu because the alternative is death and she will NOT let this fool's incompetence kill her. She eventually comes around to him, but she generally has Shen Jiu's rather acerbic and distrustful personality

Luo Binghe's daemon is unsettled at the beginning because he's still a kid. He usually chooses smaller, easier to hide forms when they're out in public, only choosing bigger forms when they're alone. Eventually, as he becomes more comfortable with Shen Qingqiu, he starts coming out of his shell more and exploring more forms around him -- a lamb bleating at his heels, a little lion cub tumbling around the Bamboo House's private training grounds. On one notable occasion he took on a crane form as an attempt to get in SQQ's daemon's good graces. She did not appreciate it.

He doesn't settle until the Endless Abyss. In PIDW, Bingge's daemon settled as a chow chow, a dog that looks soft and fluffy but is prone to, uh. aggression issues. In SVSSS, Bingmei's daemon settles as a Tibetan mastiff, an absolute unit of a dog that LOOKS intimidating, but is really just very protective

Shang Qinghua has a yellow-throated marten daemon! This is, notably, not the daemon the original goods had. Since he transmigrated as a baby, the original goods' daemon hadn't settled and was Also a baby, so he didn't end up with a grown adult's fully settled daemon like Shen Yuan did. Martens look very cute and nonthreatening, but they are fierce predators and will take down animals much larger than them! He usually keeps her hidden in his robes, but she wiggled out to screech at him to GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE when things started going wrong at the Immortal Alliance Conference, and her having a different form is what clued SQQ in that SQH might also be a transmigrator

Liu Qingge has a snow leopard and Yue Qingyuan has an Asian black bear. These daemons were chosen because Tibetan mastiffs were kept to protect monks from snow leopards and bears lol

Plot stuff under the cut!

SQQ's daemon is aware of the System, and therefore gets to learn things about SQQ's fate in the original novel. she is Not Pleased.

She remains reserved and guarded for a while, but it's hard to resist Shen Yuan's persistent charm, so she does warm up to him eventually. She's not wild about being touched, but she'll occasionally allow him to pet her feathers. She's also not wild about letting That Little Beast live in the Bamboo House, but she quickly learns Shen Yuan is just as stubborn as her A-Jiu was, so she allows it if only as a chance to keep a closer (suspicious) eye on Binghe

They definitely get much closer after the Immortal Alliance Conference, because she can tell just how much SQQ is grieving, and it pains her too. At this point, she's started seeing him as Her Person and not just a bodysnatcher

When they run into Binghe and his daemon again at Jinlan City, they both get to enjoy remembering the graphic descriptions of how in PIDW, Binghe's daemon had ripped SQQ's daemon's wings off as part of his torture. And oh fuck, his daemon settled as something even BIGGER this time?? Look at those jaws!!! Clearly the thump thump thump of his tail wagging against the floor at the sight of them is because he's excited to get his revenge. Definitely not because he's excited to see them again

On rare occasions, daemons of powerful cultivators can survive beyond the death of their person, usually only if the daemon is particularly strongwilled. She survived Shen Jiu's death once already. She's certain she could survive until SQQ gets into the back-up mushroom body. They thought it would only be a few minutes. They didn't expect it to take five years.

She is absolutely catatonic with grief during those five years. Binghe takes her survival as proof that Shizun's soul must have survived, certainly he will be able to bring him back if his daemon is still alive. He treats her with the utmost respect, the same way he treats SQQ's corpse. He never touches her directly since he knows she hates being touched. She never spoke much to him before, but now she doesn't even speak at all. She just curls up on the bed where he keeps the body, resting her head on Shen Qingqiu's chest

When Plantzun does finally show up and chaos ensues with the corpse hot potato, she confirms any of Binghe's suspicions about Shen Qingqiu's identity by swooping into the fray to peck angrily at the familiar stranger, some life and vitality finally returned to her and she scolds him for taking FIVE YEARS?? SHE NEVER WOULD HAVE AGREED TO THIS IF SHE'D KNOWN IT WOULD TAKE FIVE YEARS, HOW DARE HE. Shen Qingqiu is first so relieved to see her, and then terrified because she immediately broke his cover

After everything settles and the plot concludes and bingqiu get their happy ended, Binghe's daemon becomes SUCH a lapdog. Clingy rescue dog made of velcro type of vibe. They have to get a big enough bed to fit two grown men and a 150 pound dog. He LOVES Shizun headpats. SQQ's daemon does not ever join these cuddle sessions, but she always keeps an eye on them from her nest of pillows across the room because like hell is she ever letting Shen Qingqiu out of her sight again

[toppamplemousse]

fairytalestappen part 1: beauty and the beast

a series of headcanons for fics that will never be written but exist fully fleshed out in our minds

for months now, we have had vague ideas of a series of lestappen fics all based on popular disney princess movies. alas it seems they are consigned to the fic graveyard and will never be written but that doesn't mean that people don't deserve to hear about them

so without further ado.........

part 1 of 5: beauty and the beast

starring charles as the beauty (obviously) and max as the beast (sorry max). and also all of the animated objects like lumiere, cogsworth, mrs. potts, etc are max’s ex-teammates (checo is mrs. potts thats the only one i've assigned for sure). charles is still an f1 driver but max is NOT (sorry max again)

basically jos pissed off a witch at some point and got a curse placed on him which was inherited by max when jos died. max is cursed to be beastly and also for reasons i can't remember he wasn't able to leave his abandoned villa that he lives in in the hills above monaco. the curse will only be lifted when jos, now max, has someone who loves him enough to do something truly selfless for him.

the beast is a well known myth in monaco, like whenever things go wrong in monaco (storms, designer clothing boutiques closing, etc) the monegasques blame the beast and say the beast is responsible

so charles, of course, thinks that his monaco curse, which has kept him from winning the monaco grand prix for so many years, is caused by the beast, and this year in the weeks before monaco, he decides to visit the beast and see if he can get the curse lifted (we conceived of this idea before charles had won monaco so there was going to be a lot of angst about never having won monaco. monaco 2024 you'll always be famous) charles makes the journey up to max's villa. there’s a storm and charles gets lost, so max comes out to rescue him, but charles thinks he’s kidnapping him. they get off on the wrong foot immediately and hate each other

charles tries to get max to talk about the curse but max clams up and wont tell him anything. charles meets all the ex-teammates and they explain the curse being passed down and that max isn’t a bad person. maybe they do it in song? who could say. alex albon sings be our guest. okay moving on.

charles tells max about his monaco curse, but max swears he has nothing to do with it. however, he takes charles to a room in his house filled with F1 memorabilia and says they can look through it together to see if there’s any mention of a monaco curse. charles is charmed and as they look through the objects together, they begin joking and flirting and start to See Each Other In A Different Light.

daniel/pierre/alex/checo organize a very romantic moment where charles and max watch the sunset over monaco and share a dance (checo is singing beauty and the beast in the background but that's unimportant. charles is somehow wearing a giallo modena ballgown and that is very important To Me). they have A Moment where they Look Into Each Other's Eyes and charles is about to lean in to kiss max when max breaks away and flees (bc he thinks he's unlovable bc he's a beast and because of the curse. poor max. it's going to get worse buddy).

oh no! it’s imola weekend. charles has to leave but promises max he’ll come back immediately. max doesn’t believe him bc he’s cursed and no one ever keeps their promises. LOTS OF ANGST. then charles DNFs in imola and ferrari are worried about his mental state going into monaco so they put him on lockdown. charles is ANGUISHED bc max is going to think he abandoned him. but there's nothing he can do about it until after monaco.

charles DOMINATES the FPs in monaco and he’s all-but-guaranteed to get pole. there’s a lot of unrest in monaco bc the monegasque people are worried that this year is going to be like previous years, and charles is going to be robbed of the win he so clearly deserves. so a mob forms to march up to max’s house in the hills above monaco and kill him, so that charles will not be cursed anymore. damn these monegasques are kinda dramatic.

charles faces an agonizing decision. he needs to stay for quali to get pole and have any hope of winning. but they’re threatening the love of his life’s life. it's not really a choice at all. charles leaves the paddock and races up the hills to max’s house. its raining. it’s very dramatic. charles saves max from the mob, gives a big speech about how he loves max, how he knows now he isn’t cursed, how he can win the race without anyone interfering for him.

charles has given up any hope of winning his home race in order to protect max. SELFLESS ACT. max’s curse is broken. he and charles kiss and declare their love, max is like “i can’t believe you gave up your home race for me” charles says “there’s always next year”

but wait! the rain was so severe that quali was delayed! charles makes it back in time and puts it on pole. he wins the race, and max is there in parc ferme and under the podium.

then they go to jimmy’z afterwards and live happily ever after.

i know that in the movie the whole curse is also affecting lumiere and cogsworth etc and at the end when the curse is broken they become people again but in this story all the ex-teammates stay as objects forever and live in max and charles' house. maybe liam lawson joins them as a little teacup one day, who can say for sure

next up: cinderella!!!

[maddymoreau]

Mark Alaister and I commission by @unusualmuffin-art

[valkugo]

lord, they are not for the weak...

[thechy-fychannel]

thinking about wilson getting all soft and cuddly when he's sharing the morphine with house and how house would let him cuddle up to him bc he knows wilson could very well die in his arms that night so fuck it

[zylphiacrowley]

Heavensward Era

(spoilers for one of the worst-kept secrets in all of XIV below as well as some personal lore for this catboy)

I've been playing around with more of X'vahl's lore between the start of ARR and Endwalker and my brain will not let go of this so allow me to spill some more lore I've been kicking around for him.

So in X'vahl's canon Haurchefant did indeed have romantic feelings for him. It was an open secret and pretty much everyone in Ishgard who knew Haurchefant knew about it. Unfortunately X'vahl did not feel the same way. He counted him as a very close friend but he was still very much in his "I'm not ready for a relationship" mindset as well as some additional "I am not worthy of love" thoughts that had crept their way into his mind. So when Haurchefant confessed these feelings to him, X'vahl, thinking that he could not give Haurchefant the feelings and relationship he deserved in return, gently turned him down. Being the kind of person he was, Haurchefant accepted X'vahl's decision with grace and vowed that he would be happy to simply stand beside him as a valued friend and ally.

Then of course, The Vault happened. Watching Haurchefant die and knowing the feelings he had for him compounded the guilt that X'vahl already would've been feeling at the time. He blames himself for what happened and when he finally gets time alone with his own thoughts, all he can think about was the many different ways that things could've been different and how he could've prevented his death (this is what prompts him to run to the Astrologicum and rush his way through learning how to use healing magic, despite Alphinaud insisting that even had X'vahl been an expert healer there would've been nothing he could've done and magic of any kind is not something one should rush into).

Everyone knowing how Haurchefant felt made them treat X'vahl with an uncomfortable kind of pity that really just made things even worse for him because now everyone is feeling bad for him, meanwhile he's thinking that he's literally the last person anyone should be feeling bad for since he's one of the primary causes of his death in the first place. Like X'vahl just wants to scream every time someone sees him and gets that look in their eyes like they're silently apologizing to him for his loss. Like "NO! STOP! It's my fault that he's dead! I'm the reason Ishgard lost one of it's kindest and most loyal souls! You should be furious with me! You should be screaming at me! Pray The Fury strike me dead where I stand! I don't deserve kindness! Just... give me your pain and rage."

—

Fast forward to pre-DT and he's in a much better place but then being asked to help with what he sees as another delicate political situation by someone that he's struggling to allow himself to admit that he's developed feelings for and he can't help but have these flashbacks to what happened in Ishgard. He's finally considering allowing himself to be happy again but he's downright terrified of what might happen because he knows if he loses Erenville he might never be able to recover (at the time he's thinking these thoughts, it's already too late for him though because his heart is already in too deep to back out now).

It also makes Estinien noticing that there's something more between X'vahl and Erenville a bit more layered since he definitely knew about Haurchefant's feelings (albeit he was a bit preoccupied with his own situations during HW, that didn't stop him from learning about how Haurchefant felt). I think if he didn't think it would be wildly inappropriate to bring it up, he'd probably tell X'vahl that it would please Haurchefant to know that he had forgiven himself and found some measure of happiness.

[serenashido]

i have to get over the need for my fic to be as accurate & in character as possible bc its literally impossible to know everything until season 3 comes out. but jesus i wish i could just unscrew inhos brain and sift through the folds myself so i knew how to write him accurately

[clumsiestgiantess]

Put the little figure guy in a bird cage and threaten to drop it with him in it

Unfortunately I couldn’t find a birdcage, but perhaps this bug cage will work :)

Now to just take the little thing…

And in you go!

Oh! Can’t forget to close this!

Oh don’t complain; you’ll be fine!

Seriously, stop yelling. It’s rather distracting, honestly.

I wouldn’t want to drop your little cage. It’s such a long fall for something like you…