#yelling about writing
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I love Russell's writing style so much!!!
#truly a huge inspiration#god! having good doctor who on makes my writing brain go brrrr#doctor who#doctor who spoilers#behind the scenes#russel t davies#rtd#yelling about writing
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A writer and His number one fan hater
#svsss#shen qingqiu#shang qinghua#platonic cumplane???#Shen Yuan#scum villian self saving system#scum villains self saving system#scum villain's self saving system#scum villain#I actually have a lot of thoughts about them that i wasnt able to articulate right with words or drawings#i just think#That Shen Yuan really did like the story#like he was upset on behalf of a good character#he was upset about its potential#he absolutely wanted more for him and was upset that it was thrown away to please the masses#he had no idea what Shang Qinghua was going through#absolutely just ranked on him and YEAH IT WASNT THE BEST WORK BUT clearly it still was good enough to make Shen Yuan care#like ah#I would love to read more dynamics about them about a struggling writer and his most trusted hater to yell at him to write his heart out#also Shen Qingqiu going through svsss and seeing how much thought Shang Qinghua actually put into the story#and how much effort he actually had in it before he had to settle and scrap#like AAAAHH Im not the analysis type and my thoughts about them really are all other the place but really I think nothing is stronger then#an author and a reader#cause my man read to the very end the ABSOLUTE END#hE CARED HE CARED HE REALLY CARED NO MATTER HOWWWW MUCH HE CRIED ABOUT IT#alright dont look at me they make me go crazy#my art#nibbelraz
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as we know i have a starkly different take on tatooine era obi-wan to ~canon. because now the canon is in the hands of cowards. he is NOT experiencing hope he is laying facedown on the floor for nineteen years waiting for someone else to do something because demonstrably he cannot be trusted with action.
the point of the hell cody fic is not to diverge from the correct timeline of events (the republic falls > obi-wan spends 19 years wallowing in despair > leia tells him about the death star > he kills himself to avoid actually training luke) but to. have cody be there. in no better shape.
and like i don't want the end note to be depressing but the hopeful element is the fall of the empire. circumstances will improve, for everyone else, offscreen. fic postscript: okay now go watch the return of the jedi
trying to articulate to myself the tone i want the back half of the hell cody fic to have. why does caring about the art mean making it is so difficult
#yelling at clouds#yelling about writing#one problem of deciding fox is there is i think fox IS doing fix-it adjacent shit#like fox has quinlan and quinlan did not just wallow in despair#so this fic is like. the background window dressing for a much happier story the camera will not be focusing on at any point#over there people's lives are being improved. we're not looking at them we're looking at the depression pit
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“So,” Buck says, blinking up at Tommy. He still hasn’t gotten over how good that feels– looking up at his partner. Being with someone whose warm, protective hand settles on the small of his back and nearly spans the distance between his hips. Someone whose big, strong arms envelop him when they hug, someone who can tuck Buck into his chest almost effortlessly. Someone who makes him feel grounded, protected, safe. In more ways than one.
“So,” Tommy returns the word, accompanying it with a warm smile, the kind that reaches all the way to his eyes and makes them sparkle as he looks down at Buck.
“You met my parents,” Buck says with a laugh, because really– how could he not? It’s a little ridiculous, now that he’s saying it out loud. “On our third date.”
Tommy nods, leaning against the wall outside of Buck’s front door. “Mhmmm,” he hums, watching Buck with a fond smile as he fumbles for his keys. “Sure did.”
It takes a minute, but Buck finally manages to get his keys out of his pocket and into the lock. Tommy is nothing but patience and fondness, watching him with a sparkle in his eye that makes Buck feel warm all over. When he finally gets the door open, Buck’s chest swells as Tommy’s big hand comes out to hold the door open for him, nodding for him to head inside first.
That’s a first. Buck’s stomach flips, a warm, pleasant feeling skating across his skin as he pulls his key from the lock and steps inside. It’s the same feeling he had on their first date when Tommy pulled out his chair before he sat down. The same one he had the first time Tommy texted him Be safe at the start of a shift.
A smile tugs at his lips as Tommy follows him into his apartment and the door clicks shut behind him. There’s something so simple about it, something so mundane and normal and domestic that it makes Buck’s head spin and his heart pound against his ribcage in the very best way. He wants this again. And again, and again, and again. Wants to come home with Tommy. Come home to Tommy. Wants the door to close behind them, wants to leave the world outside and exist only in this world here, in the one with the warm glow of the kitchen lights casting shadows on Tommy’s face as he toes his shoes off beneath the bike that hangs on Buck’s wall. The one where he pulls two beers out of the fridge and sets them on the counter, and Tommy opens them wordlessly, the silence comfortable as it stretches between them. The one where the necks of their bottles clink and their knuckles brush and Buck’s skin hums and his heart sings from just one small taste of Tommy’s skin against his.
Buck’s the one to break the easy, comfortable silence. He does it with a small laugh, just shy of a giggle, as he thinks back to the look on his mother’s face when he walked into Chim’s hospital room with Tommy by his side and she connected the dots. “You were covered in soot.”
“Wasn’t the only one,” Tommy points out, grinning against the lip of his beer bottle as he takes another sip.
keep reading on ao3
#my writing#7x06 coda#911 spoilers#bucktommy#evan buckley#tommy kinard#buck x tommy#tevan#kinley#kinkley#bucktommy fic#listen#i would like five (5) minutes in the writer's room#just long enough that i can push my hunky 6ft tall barbies together and yell “KISS!"#and then make them talk about it and hold each other like they're precious little things#and then i will be gone like a thief in the night i promise#ryan and tim pls consider tysm
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Okay but the Justice League finds out their new baby hero teammate Phantom is the Ghost King by virtue of the Fright Night showing up while they're in the middle of a meeting, looking terrifying and such and scaring the shit out of everyone- even more so when Constantine starts freaking out over the fact that the sworn night of the King of the Infinite Realms is in the Watchtower what the fuck that's apocalyptically bad Pariah Dark is supposed to be locked the fuck up forever - but instead of trying to smite them all or yeet them into the nightmare dimension he just pulls out a space themed packed lunch??? And gives it to Phantom??
And the mildly eldritch giant murder ghost is talking about how "The Queen Mother commanded me to ensure you ate my Lord, she says you missed your morning meal."
And Phantom is just grumbling about over protective sisters and "there's a cafeteria i would have been fine" what the fuck is happening right now?
What do you mean "oops you forgot" Phantom I thought the ghost thing was just a theme!
#dc x dp#dp x dc#justice league#danny phantom#danny fenton#jazz fenton#fright knight#ghost king danny#fanfic writing prompts#danny at lunch later: aw shit she packed from home now i gotta fight it#justice league watching in horror as his left overs try to kill him: what the fuck what the fuck what the fu-#john constantine#Constantine thinks danny as the ghost king is gonna yell at him about all the soul selling#Danny just thinks it's hilarious and has no intention of interfering#he doesn’t have to deal with that paperwork and thise demons are assholes anyway#danny does get a long lecture after fright knight shows up about sharing need to know information#he gets another one after that about not missing meals#JL member: I don’t *care* if you're the Ghost King you're still growing and need to make sure you're eating enough!#Danny desperately trying to keep them from meeting Jazz because it's all over for his days of eating junk food if that happens
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I HEARD Y’ALL LIKE SHARKS
Well I ALSO have a big pretty shark book, and it’s 50% on Amazon as of this posting.
#I don’t usually yell BUY MY BOOOOK#but I want to write one about the history of reptiles so#buy my book please?#science#sharks#prehistoric art#paleontology#marine biology#art#prehistory
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SOOO TIRED OF EMOTIONLESS MAD SCIENTIST LIKE MOTHERFUCKER SCIENCE AINT FUCKING LIKE THAT OK
OK HEAR ME OUT
SCIENCE REQUIRES A STUBBORN LEVEL OF CURIOSITY AND PASSION.
IF YOU'RE GONNA DO A MAD SCIENTIST,MADE THEM COMPLETELY HYSTERICAL ABOUT IT. MANIAC. LET THEM GO ACTUALLY CRAZY AND SQUEAKY AND EXCITED CUZ IF YOU LOVE SCIENCE YOU DON'T WANT TO KNOW,YOU NEED TO KNOW
GIMME A MAD SCIENTIST WHO EVERYONE IS NOT ONLY SCARED OF BUT ASLO CONCERNED. BECAUSE THATS AN UNHEALTHY OBSSESION BABY.
GIMME A MAD SCIENTIST THAT GAVE UP PROFESIONALISM FOR SHEER ENJOYMENT. WHO'S GONNA JUDGE THEM FOR THAT IF THEY'RE EXPERIMENTS AINT EVEN LEGAL
GIMME HYSTERICAL,PASSIONATE,MANIATIC AND OBSSESED MAD SCIENTIST. BECAUSE SCIENCE IS MESSY AND CONFUSING. SCIENCE IS FUCKING AROUND AND FIDING OUT AND IF YOU'RE MAD YOU CANNOT DO THAT AS CAREFULLY AS IT NEEDS TO BE
AND MORE IMPORTANTLY,
MAKE THEM SO UNPREDICTABLE THEY'RE SCARIER THAN WHATEVER COLD PSYCHO YOU'VE SEEN WITH A LAB COAT
#Cat says stuff#<-WRONG. CAT RANTS AND YELLS AND SCREAMS ABOUT STUFF#Mad scientist#science#as someone who is obssesed with biology im PERSONALLY OFFENDED with how mad scientist are repressented#rant#tw rant#rageposting?#mad science#writing#horror#horror genre#writing trope
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reader and hotch in the enemies to lovers fic btw
#i need to write this FAST so i can post it#i NEED people to yell about it with#aaron hotchner#criminal minds#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner x fem!reader
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You wanna hear a good story? Listen to this one.
Mobius + comfort
#owen wilson#mobius#mcuedit#lokiedit#marveledit#loki#marvel#owenwilsonedit#dianagifs#CHARACTER OF ALL TIME FOREVER BELOVED#thank god this is my own post and i'm not about to write a tag essay under some pour soul's set bc here we go lmao#imagine MAKING comfort at a place like the tva!!#where we know what happened when he hesitated#and also explains the general antagonistic attitude towards him by most of the other hunters in s1 bc why would they respect him afterwards#but he never stops believing things will get better because if he can change so can anyone else#when d-90 essentially apologizes for KILLING him how could mobius do anything but offer forgiveness#when he himself had followed the guise of those same orders to kill and understands what it feels like to realize that#for all the reassurance and support he gives everyone else the most he ever allowed himself was a dream#which led to the same rapt attention and focus from a god no less in order to finally be seen for the first time and appreciated bc of it#then as always owen showed this in a million ways from microexpressions to line delivery so guess i'll just yell about it for eternity#(or at least some more in my mind since tumblr is cutting this off in search unless i trim the tags but y'all feel me ✌️😅)
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Random human: "Why are you sitting in a circle of salt?"
Mc: "Oh because my partners are demons and I am mad at them."
Demon Brothers: "YOU CANT STAY IN THAT CIRCLE FOREVER!!!"
Mc: "YOU LET ME HAVE A CHILL DAY WHERE MY LIFE ISNT IN DANGER AND THEN WE WILL TALK!"
(Not exact) Quote from Chikn Nugget and idea to use from @h0ney-mushroom
#obey me#obey me shall we date#obey me nightbringer#obey me!#obey me mc#obey me x reader#obey me brothers#obey me demons#Obey me salt times pt.2#I can't really pick a fav of the brothers#So it's harem time boys#Pretty sure I'll rarely write without it being so#But there are the rare occasions which I'll write about a single brother being with mc#Anyways they all be yelling cause they've been deprived from Mc time for to long#Aka like 5 minutes#obey me lucifer#obey me leviathan#obey me asmodeus#obey me mammon#obey me satan#obey me beelzebub#obey me belphie#obey me brothers x mc#obey me lucifer x mc#obey me mammon x mc#obey me levi x mc#obey me satan x mc#obey me asmo x mc#obey me beel x mc#obey me belphie x mc
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ok this could be so nothingburger and maybe im complaining over nothing but ive been thinkin abt this lately like a lot but is anyone else a lil bothered when ppl blatantly ship shilo bathory with like. anyone. bizly said shilo's aroace and the only other aro rep i have in fictional characters are lilith from toh and that fuckin radio demon ass from hazbin hotel and lilith is literally the only one i ever see that's Not shipped with anyone ever. there r other characters to make yaoi of. guys please
#im not maintagging this idk if i'll get jumped or something for this#but please. PLEASE.#y'all r so pushy about diversity the rest of the time and then you turn around and start drawing/writing shilo dating grefgor or someone#completely erasing his canon identity for. idk. some reason???#and it genuinely drives me up the wall like Guys He's Aro. Please. PLEASE. i'm TIRED of this.#whiskey yelling into the void#sorry. havinjg a Moment
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doodling and i start cooking so i say "i might color and post this actually" and then i made it a full render god damnit
#toontown#toontown corporate clash#ttcc#firestarter#flint bonpyre#pacesetter#graham ness payser#firesetter#two firesetter drawings in the span of like a few days what?!??!?#yelling in these tags rq cus houhhghhhghhh#i am so not fucking normal about them hhhholy shit#LITERALLY SHAKING AS IM WRITING THIS POST. IMAGE IN MY PINNED REMAINS TRUE I AM THE TARGET AUDIENCE FOR MY ART#GODDDDDDD#something about this drawing in particular makes me want to eat bricks /pos#someone sedate me#stupid made this
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Blood Blossom Au: before the nightingale sings
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for my batdad blood blossom au, the one where Vlad poisoned Danny with blood blossom extract and Danny ran away from him and ended up tumbling into the care of one Pre-Robin Battinson Batman :). A quick oneshot telling the tale of the tragic deaths of the Fentons
TW: Major Character Death Warning
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Not all deaths are created equal.
That is a valuable lesson in life to learn. One that Danny learns when he is eleven years old, standing in the pit of his parents’ creation; the culmination of their life’s work. The portal to the other side, the realm of the dead. To the infinite.
He learns that when he’s eleven years old, in a hazmat suit that sags on him, and boots that clunk when he walks because the only ones that fit are his mom’s, and even those are too big. In gloves that he has to clench his fists in because otherwise they fall off. In goggles that slide down his nose even when he’s tightened them the farthest they can go.
He learns that when he’s eleven years old, choking on giggles that harmonize with the laughter of his friends’ who stand at the mouth of the tunnel. Sam’s holding a polaroid in her hand. They’re just being kids.
They’re not laughing when Danny’s hand hits the safety lock — the one with faulty wiring, the only one in the tunnel. The only one he could possibly hit. They’re not laughing when the portal buzzes to life, and the lights inside switch on row by row as the generator begins to rumble and hum.
They’re not laughing when Danny dies. They’re screaming. They’re not screaming when he comes back.
Not all deaths are created equal.
Some are poetic, beautiful. The satisfying close of a book as it comes to an end, of the hardback thumping soft against the pages like the sound of a door closing. A train run its course.
Some are violent; unsatisfying; unfair. The unexpected shattering of an egg as it rolls off the countertop when nobody is looking, the unmistakable crack as it falls to the floor. It is abrupt and messy.
But most are just… unremarkable. Unintentional. Clumsy.
Danny’s family dies one night in late January. He is thirteen years old, barely a month away from fourteen. It is unforeseen. It is preventable. It happens.
It happens like this:
Their water heater breaks one Monday in January. It’s old, sitting in the garage, and has dealt with nearly sixteen years of Fenton-grade chaos and shenanigans. Of parents tossing scraps and junk into the garage as brief storage to come back to later. Of illegal tune-ups on their vehicles that result in something exploding. Of little children running around and knocking things over, playing with poles and sticks they find on the ground, on the shelves. Of being lived and used.
Something had to give.
Jack Fenton notices it immediately when he comes upstairs that very afternoon — his children at school, his wife downstairs — to grab something from the garage. The very same scrap and used material they store like squirrels to use later.
He stops what he’s doing to fix it.
It wasn’t supposed to be permanent.
Despite what many believe, Jack Fenton is not the idiot people make him out to be. He knows what he’s good at, he knows what he’s not. He knows he can be passionate and obsessive and single-minded about things. He knows that he is a scientist, an inventor; an engineer.
He knows that he is not a plumber. That fixing water heaters is not something he knows how to do, not safely. And he loves his family. What he does is only meant to be temporary — a fix meant to only last a few days until they can call someone in who can fix it for them.
So Jack Fenton futzes with the water heater, gives it a temporary stitch to last a short while, and reminds himself to call a plumber later that day to come in and fix it. He turns and leaves the garage with the part he came for — a sheet of metal for his wife to melt down — and disappears back downstairs.
He does not make that call; it slips from his mind.
It is not his fault.
One day passes, then two, then suddenly it is Thursday. The water heater has still not been fixed, the water heater has been forgotten. It is nobody’s fault.
Danny asks his parents at breakfast if he can stay over at Tucker’s house for the night. Just one night. They’re going to study for their math test and then play video games until midnight, but he only tells his parents that first half.
He’s been doing well in school. Really well — better than he has in a while. There’s been a delightful lull in ghost appearances for the last few weeks. The living don’t know why, but Danny does. The Winter Truce always calms the dead down for a while, something about how the Zone cleanses itself twice a mortal year and that fresh wave of ecto clears out the old and brings in the new.
This year Danny got to participate. He’s feeling the effects of it too, and he’s been sleeping consistently well for the first time since the accident.
It’ll never happen again.
His parents agree under the condition that he doesn’t stay up late, and Danny harmlessly lies through his teeth and agrees. He goes and throws overnight clothes into his school backpack, and when he leaves for school with Jazz his parents are already departed into the lab.
The last conversation he has with his sister is in her car on the drive to school. Inane, mindless conversation to fill the air and pass the time. Jazz comments on how relaxed he’s been lately; Danny tells her about the Winter Truce. She listens in rapt attention.
She tells him that she’s glad to see him so well-rested. She thinks her little brother’s been growing up too fast these days. She thinks he’s been too tense. Too caught up with the spinning of the world around him that he forgets about himself sometimes.
When they reach school, before Danny can get out of the car, Jazz looks to her little brother and says; “I love you.”
Her little brother’s cheeks turn an embarrassed shade of red. He makes a scrunched up, grossed-out face, but can’t hide the smile pulling across it. “Don’t be a sap, Jazz. I’ll see you later.” He tells her, yanking his hood up over his head. She hears the bashful, ‘love you too’ before he walks away.
That is the last conversation she ever has with her brother.
Thursday is unremarkable, passing by in its normality as it always does. There’s one, maybe two ghost sightings; shades lurking around in curious infancy that are easily spooked away by the presence of a greater being. Danny doesn’t even have to go ghost.
Thursday evening is even less so. Danny goes to Tucker’s house — Sam has a prior arrangement with her slam poetry club — and the two of them study for an hour before they toss their textbooks aside and reach for the game console.
Danny sleeps in Tucker’s room with one of the extra blankets on his bed, curled across the room in one of the bean bag chairs. It shouldn’t be comfortable, but to Danny it is. He sleeps throughout the night, the portal shut down by his parents before they’d gone to bed.
Early Friday morning, before the sun has even risen yet, before it’s even so much as a concept to grace the horizon, the water heater breaks again. It was supposed to be fixed.
Carbon monoxide is a silent killer. Odorless and scentless, it kills within minutes. It fills the house like a shadow casting over the ground, creeping into the rooms.
Danny’s family die in their sleep; painless and unaware.
It’s not Jack Fenton’s fault. He didn’t mean to.
Nobody wakes up with their alarms.
Danny wakes up to Tucker Foley’s alarm on Friday morning, and he turns his head intangible and shoves it into the beanbag chair like an ostrich hiding its head in the sand. Tucker gets up before him, and throws a pillow at him as he reaches for the alarm.
There’s laughter, messing around. The both of them get dressed, and Danny has breakfast with the Foleys that morning. He takes the bus to school with Tucker, and they meet Sam by their lockers.
To him, everything is as normal as it should be. There are no ghosts for him to fight right now, school is as school does, and he’s on top of all his schoolwork.
He does not see Jazz at all that morning, he doesn’t notice. Their schedules are so different, their routes on different paths, that it’s not uncommon for Danny to not see Jazz until he gets home some days. That’s if there’s no ghost attacks.
At lunch, he gets approached by her friends. Worried creases between their brows, they ask him if he’s seen Jazz. She hasn’t shown up to any of her classes. She’s not answering their texts. It’s unprecedented of her; unheard of.
Danny doesn’t admit to the concern that swells in his gut when they tell him this. He shrugs at them, and says he hasn’t seen her either. But it was probably nothing to worry about; she might just be sick and sleeping it off.
He offers to text her and let them know if he gets a response, and that seems to ease her friends enough that they shuffle away in uncertainty. He keeps his word, and does exactly that. He pulls out his phone and opens her contact, and shoots her a message.
‘Where are you?’
He doesn’t get a response back, Danny is left on sent. He puts his phone in his pocket, and with a sense of unease creeping in the back of his mind, goes on with his day. He gets no response by the time the final bell rings; and he tries not to be worried.
The house is quiet when he opens the door. Unusually quiet. He drops his backpack to the floor, it lands with a hearty thunk, and begins to take off his jacket. “Mom! Dad!” He yells. He hangs it up, and slips his shoes from his feet. “Jazz skipped school today!”
A laughable untruth that would get his sister all riled up normally; she should be able to hear him from the front door if she was in her room. The house just stays dead silent.
He can’t even hear the usual banging and crashing from the lab. His unease returns. He reaches for the intercom that leads directly down to the basement, and presses the button to turn it on. A burst of static, and then he speaks;
“Mom? Dad?”
Danny lets go, and waits for a response. He gets none back. That never happens, not when the house is this quiet. Not when he knows they should’ve heard him.
Something sickly and fearful borns in the pit of his stomach, and begins to snake upward. He heads for the lab. The cool metal of the door is familiar in the grooves of his hand, and he doesn’t even need to think about the code as he punches it in; he simply lets muscle memory guide him. It’s been the same since he was little.
The door hisses as the pressure is released, and he swings the door open. He takes the stairs down two at a time. Something is wrong. His parents aren’t answering him. His feet pound against the metal.
“Mom? Dad?” He calls again, more worried, more frantic. More scared. His voice echoes down the stairwell, and he reaches the bottom before it’s fully faded. The lab is empty. The portal is still shut down.
It was four in the afternoon, they should still be down here.
Danny races back upstairs, fear-raised nausea coiling in his throat. “This isn’t funny you guys!” He yells when he reaches the top, shoving open the door with more force than necessary. His head swims, his voice cracked.
He checks the garage, the car is still there.
“Mom!? Dad!” His voice bellows out throughout the first floor, loud enough that it bounces back at him and rings against his ears. He’s never raised his voice this much — mom would scold him if she heard him. But she doesn’t show up. “Jazmine!”
Finally, he goes upstairs, and he can’t tell if what he’s feeling is anger or terror. Something is very, very wrong.
He swings the door of his parents’ rooms open first, and there they are, with the lights still off and the curtains still drawn. As if they hadn’t left their bed all day. Some of Danny’s fear lifts from his shoulders just by the sight of them, but he’s still trembling. Something is still wrong — the room smells… off. Not good, not bad. Just… off.
He swallows dryly, his throat still thick, and steps into the room. “Mom, dad?” They do not stir. “Didn’t you guys hear me yelling?”
There is only room static. Danny’s heart shrivels in his chest with a tenfold return of terror, he feels ill. He remembers, just now, that they’re not heavy sleepers, and his dad should be snoring like a freight house.
Danny reaches their bedside in seconds, hand outstretching for the covers, “Momma? Dad?”
Not all deaths are created equal.
But many of them are accidental. Unmeditated. Shocking.
Danny Fenton finds his family dead in his childhood home. He runs to his neighbors in hysterics, inconsolable, in tears. Nine-one-one is called, but there is nothing that can be done. They were dead for hours by the time Daniel Fenton returned home.
He sits on the front steps of the neighbor’s house beside FentonWorks, his jeans slowly becoming wet from the snow that was unable to be scraped off, and watches the paramedics cart out his family beneath white sheets. There are police cars blocking off the street, yellow tape blocking off his house, red-blue lights lighting up the block, an ambulance on the scene. He is wrapped in a shock blanket, and he is missing his jacket and his shoes. His tears are freezing onto his face, he can’t feel the chill.
Not all deaths are created equal
But all of them are unforgettable.
#dpxdc#danny fenton is not the ghost king#dp x dc#dpxdc crossover#dp x dc crossover#dpxdc au#dpxdc fic#blood blossom au#dpxdc ficlet#starry's writing#tw character death#cw death#angst#hurt no comfort#carbon monoxide poisoning almost sounds like a plain way to go when compared to the other batkids. but then you think about it for more#than a second and then the inherent horror of it all creeps in. danny found his family dead. he found their corpses.#i didnt feel comfortable writing it - just a little bit too heavy even for me yet - but just know that danny shook his parents as if he was#trying to wake them up when he realized they were dead. he went into emotional shock and kinda mentally shutdown.#he yelled and screamed and tried to wake them. and then rushed to his sister's room only to find the same thing. rinse and repeat#more time passed between danny finding them and him going to his neighbor's than what i showed#no more than an hour because the house was still full of carbon monoxide but longer than five minutes. long enough that when he finally wen#over - in hysterics and missing his shoes and jacket - he was completely inconsolable. he was having a breakdown.#when i was writing the ending scene with the paramedics and police and stuff i was very much calling on how i imagine Bruce's own experienc#might have gone. different but similar. with a thousand yard stare and water in their ears#two boys wrapped in shock blankets surrounded by police lights and having just seen their families dead. teehee
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Buddie + “Who did this?”
“Who did this?” Eddie’s voice is hard and icy in a way that's almost foreign to Buck. Almost, but not entirely. His eyes drop to where Eddie’s lips are pressed into a line, his jaw set, and memories of derailed trains and risky rescues and Abby flash in his mind.
Buck doesn’t have time to focus too much on that, though, because Eddie's closing the distance between them and taking Buck's chin in his hands. Everything else fades away until there’s nothing but the familiar warmth of Eddie’s gentle touch and the pleasant ache in Buck’s chest, the same one that blooms behind his ribs each time Eddie’s nearby.
Eddie touches him like he's something sacred, holds him like he's something precious.
“I–” Buck hesitates. It’s not that he wants to hide anything from Eddie, he just… he doesn’t want to worry him, is all.
It’s bad enough he has a fresh bruise blooming across his jaw, blues and purples swimming beneath swollen skin. Swollen skin that’s split in one spot, held together with a butterfly bandage that Hen insisted he actually needed, despite his protests and attempts at bargaining. Of course Eddie’s going to worry when he sees that.
And see that, he did. About three seconds after Buck walked through the door of Eddie’s house– no, not Eddie’s house. Their house. His lease on the loft had officially ended two weeks ago, but he’d been living at the Diaz house for the better part of the last four months, since the morning he woke up sleepy and cranky, grumbling about having to stop by the loft before their shift to get more clothes and Eddie had kissed the spot behind his ear and murmured, “What if you bring them all over?”
Buck had turned over in Eddie’s arms, suddenly wide awake. “E-Eddie.”
“Bring them all,” Eddie had said, bringing a hand up and tracing Buck’s birthmark with gentle, reverent touches. “And all your shoes, too. And the frying pan Bobby got you for Christmas two years ago that you said you want to be buried with. And the books on your coffee table and that plant you keep killing and honestly? Your mattress. It’s better than this one.”
“Eddie,” Buck had breathed, unable to get anything else out past the lump that had suddenly appeared in his throat.
“Buck,” Eddie said simply. Buck would never tire of hearing his name on Eddie’s lips. “Stay.”
And Buck did.
This isn’t just Eddie’s house anymore, it’s their house. And a few minutes ago, when Buck got home, Eddie had come to the front door to greet him, just as he always did when he heard Buck’s key in the lock. He rounded the corner with a warm, easy smile, one that instantly fell the second his eyes landed on Buck. He had stepped forward, closing the distance between them and reaching for Buck’s bruised face with a gentle insistence that was still fond, even when laced in desperation.
Buck didn’t want to worry him any more than he already had. Plus, really, there’s nothing to worry about. Their last call of the shift had been to an overturned vehicle, and the driver was more than twice the legal limit and just as combative as he was plastered. Buck had tried to stop the guy from crawling out his window– Chim and Hen had wanted to get him on a backboard– but it was no use. The guy was out of the car and stumbling towards Buck with a fury in his eyes, accusing him of being the one to call the police. Buck was halfway through denying that claim when a fist flew at his face, pain exploding from his jaw as he reeled back, stumbling to the side as his hand flew to his face.
There’s a fire burning in Eddie’s eyes, dark and protective. But more than that, there’s a softness there, a gentleness hidden in the way Eddie’s eyebrows lift just slightly, his eyes wide and searching as he waits Buck out.
“Buck,” Eddie says finally, barely above a whisper. It’s a plea more than anything.
Six years of knowing Eddie and six months of dating him and Buck still folds like a cheap suit when Eddie looks at him like that. “It's nothing. Just a drunk idiot on our last call.”
Eddie makes a dissatisfied sound under his breath, running his fingers over the bruised skin with a touch so light and careful, it sets Buck’s heart on fire. “And this person was dealt with.” It’s not a question so much as it is a statement, one that speaks to his trust in the rest of the 118. His faith in them to have Buck's back, especially when he can't be the one to do it himself.
Buck nods the best he can with his chin still in Eddie’s hands. “Bobby,” he says, and it’s explanation enough. “And then Athena.”
Eddie hums, and Buck can tell that while the answer satisfies him, it’s not enough to chase away all of the concern that’s needling at him. Buck brings his hands up, curling his fingers around the warm skin of Eddie’s wrists. The steady beat of Eddie’s pulse beneath his fingertips is instantly grounding. And maybe just as much for Eddie, too, if the small sigh that falls from his lips is any indication.
“Baby,” Buck says softly. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”
Eddie’s voice is small when he answers, quiet and resigned in a way that splits Buck open just as much as Eddie’s words do. “I wasn’t there.”
Through no fault of his own. Christopher was running a fever the night before their shift started, and with Pepa out of town and Carla at Morongo again, Eddie had called out to stay home with him. Which he feels guilty about, if the resignation in his voice and the regret in his eyes are anything to go off of.
“You were exactly where you needed to be,” Buck reminds him.
Eddie lets out a small sigh. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Doesn’t mean I hate it any less, though.”
Buck shrugs. “Never expected you would.” A small smile tugs at his lips, and he ignores the way that even the slight motion sends a fresh wave of pain radiating across his jaw. “Chim says we’re ‘sickeningly codependent.’”
“Maybe,” Eddie admits, his thumb ghosting over Buck’s bottom lip. His gaze skates from Buck’s eyes to his lips, then back up again. Buck can see the moment Eddie hesitates, can see the flash of trepidation in his eye.
“You’re not going to hurt me,” Buck assures him. “In fact,” he says, almost conspiratorially. “It could be what heals me.”
Eddie hums, a smile playing on his face. “Better give it a try, then.”
“Guess so.”
Eddie finally, finally kisses him, and it may not patch Buck’s skin back together or undo the broken blood vessels, but it chases away every last bit of the pain. It ebbs away until there’s nothing but Eddie. Nothing but the feel of Eddie’s fingers in his hair and Eddie’s lips on his, nothing but the way Eddie grins against Buck’s mouth and Buck feels good and right and whole. He feels like an unmoored ship who’s anchor’s just hit the sand, no longer adrift. Steady. Grounded. Safe.
He feels like he’s home.
After all, he is.
prompt game
#prompt game#my writing#once again five sentences turned into over a thousand words#whoops#buddie#evan buckley#eddie diaz#buck and eddie#buck x eddie#buddie fic#protective eddie diaz#i am still sitting on so many of these prompts so if i didn't get to yours yet just bear with me!!#i want to say sorry about it but i'm not going to because SOMEONE#*pointed stare at princessfbi*#will yell at me if i do
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stan twins the canon cptsd brothers i will always think about all your unaddressed issues that would make perfect plot fuel for your spinoff
and also the whole 'stan getting that poem by bill via a website which contrasts with bill getting one from the axolotl via a website' foreshadowing thing
like idk i would love something like su future but like more optimistic, aka not an accumulated breakdown that has to be mostly resolved off screen at the end :/// but something thats being kinda addressed throughout? (although would love to see one of them turn into a monster thats always fun lol)
stan having severe issues from his dad and those years of being homeless that we keep on getting more info on but never really getting confronted on (the drifter catalogue and tijuana incident...), him being completely alone for like twenty years when running the shack before soos comes along to the point that 1998 is noted as his low point, and him not really learning about bill+what he did to ford until ages after he killed him if he ever did get the full context
while i think amnesia and everyone seeing him as a hero actually helped with stan's 'i'm a worse version of my brother' thing its still a lingering issue too and we now got him being insecure over his own hands
ford being immediately thrown from 'being tortured by bill' to 'being stuck in the multiverse and being chased by bounty hunters constantly', him fully expecting himself to die when destroying bill, and him only now being safe for the first time in 30 years ....relatively safe, he's still in constant danger because of course he is
idk in the end the series wants them to be happy and they deserve it, its why i wasn't too worried about the book being like 'ooh bill is back!! and the book is haunting ford' thing cos i knew they'll be ok
#stan pines#ford pines#stanley pines#stanford pines#gravity falls#stan twins#as for the 'still on your mind' thing to me its stan literally thinking about bill despite ford resolving to move past it#or alternatively me on my same coin theory obsession lmao#me yelling and screaming at ouroboros being used to link to the axolotl and bill and how ford didn't actually keep it#which brings up even more questions about it reappearing in the shack when stan takes over#of course even if him realising about reincarnation being a thing i think its still way less to deal with than his actual issues#something something a same soul doesnt mean much when he already proved himself a better person a million times over#idk my thoughts on reincarnation as a concept is like eh??? anyway#also completely unrelated but stan writing fanfic means he knows what soos meant when he was talking about stan fics#soos seems like a gen fic writer especially with the ones we got as those promos#the train one where he comes up with a giant backstory for the setting that has nothing to do with the fic bros is super funny#but meanwhile we have stan the canonical smut writer who had to be writing it that summer#would he be a self insert shipper? would he projecting on the duchess instead? is he both???#i have many questions#then again judging from hows theres a wedding scene that he got super emotional over he might just be a shipper????#this has nothing to do with my original post#...or does it cos the axolotl last appears reacting to stan freaking out about count li--#anyway if you think this post is longer than my usual its cos i physically made myself delete most tags and put it in the actual post
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right now i'm very torn between "taking critique is important as an artist and it's not an attack on me personally" and "people commenting about my same face syndrome under my posts upsets me an unreasonable amount and i wish they would stop doing it"
#ramble#sorry i am not having a good art day today#i'm TRYING i promise#this is 100% a me problem and i hate it#i think it's because when i have a Problem with my art. i need to fix it INSTANTLY#and that's not how art improvement works#idk why it gets to me so much i can't explain it#even if it's polite and means well it makes me feel weird and i don't know why#maybe because i thought i was way better about it than i used to be but right now i'm getting it way more#yes i know posting art means you have to take people's opinions#but how do i say 'please do not leave lengthy critique under my art that i make for fun when i didn't ask for it' w/o sounding like an ass#i just feel like. i would never go to a fic and point out all the writing mistakes in the comments if the author didn't ask for it. idk#i'm fighting really hard not to yell 'IT'S MY ART STYLE' bc that's not an excuse obvs
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