#so I'm dropping this and running

[edorazzi]

Page 57 of my Miraculous Mentor AU comic A Matter of Trust! In which Ladybug faces her own leap of faith... and Richard might just have proven himself worthy! 🐞🦋

Index | Start | Prev | Next

Weekly updates each Sunday! You can also read ahead early on Patreon, and/or buy me a Ko-fi if you'd like to support my work! 💖

[lixenn]

At sea

Several references were used

*collapses*

Finally...

I have finally drawn Pirate!Squalo. I had this idea for so long and now it's out there. My work here is done (not really I have too many other ideas lmao).

Comissions open

[solomams]

"Que yo me voy pa' allá, me voy pa' allá

Me dices: "Ven pa' acá, vente pa' acá"

Y ahí te voy pa' allá, me voy pa' allá

Bien desvelado, pero le caigo"

Paula and Mammon blasting music while cooking dinner together - it's inevitable that they end up dancing because they're having fun. They've only burned dinner once because they got so distracted... No one will let them live that down

[crushribbons]

thanks, peg J

summary: Dr. Michael Robinavitch needs help building a shelf.

cw: 2.7k words, fluff, my actual husband is an actual doctor i should probably know more/anything about how hospitals work, vague age gap (reader/oc is in her 30's), vague to graphic depictions of injury/illness, fem!OC/reader.

a/n: paging dr. daddy :) <3

(gif cred)

She pulled her stethoscope off her neck. “Oof. Sounds like a ball of a Friday night. Is it from Ikea?”

“The Ivar,” Robby specified with a nod and shrug. He looked back down at the patient list from their shift, which couldn’t have been ending at a more merciful time. The last man she had examined had spat on her. And what else should she expect?; she’d diagnosed his pain as a small kidney stone passing through his urethra and written a prescription that would all but eliminate the discomfort. If that wasn’t deserving of a loogie to the face, she didn’t know what else would be. Robby let out a sigh that sounded exactly like the exhaustion tugging her eyelids down. 

Nurse Dana swept by them, her fleece jacket already three-quarters of the way on. “Don’t take too long on those autographs, kids, or night shift will just let you keep right on rolling.” 

A raspy little laugh slipped past Dr. Robby’s lips and the corners of his eyes crinkled the way they always did on the rare occasions someone could tug a genuine smile out of him. Suddenly, she wasn’t sure if the lack of breakfast and the bag of Ritz crackers she’d scarfed down for lunch were the only things making her light-headed. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he called after Dana. The charge nurse raised her hand without turning around and wiggled her fingers at them while darting out the double doors that led to the waiting room and exit before anyone could stop her. Robby turned back to the doctor next to him and handed her the clipboard he’d just finished signing about two hundred times. 

Her hand grazed his, and the level of attention she paid to how warm and rough his fingers felt made her grit her jaw in frustration. It was her first year as an attending, how could she be letting something as ridiculous as a workplace crush get to her? She realized it had been a while since she’d spoken, and that Robby was pulling his own coat and backpack from underneath his desk. 

“Need any help chasing down the million nuts and bolts that are guaranteed to burst out of the little bag when you open it?” she offered jokingly. Robby’s eyes flicked to her too fast. She felt her hairline heat up, worried she’d overstepped. 

None of the attendings did anything outside of work together; the work hours were long enough to get their fill of each other without feeling the need to add alcohol or food to the mix. Some of the students and residents would occasionally hit bars after their shifts, and though she had no desire to join them, it made her miss the relative lack of responsibility of med school. Dr. Robinavitch, in particular, never broached the topic of his personal life at work, so she tried to do the same. There were too many patients to see and too much to accomplish to bother checking if the attractive ER chief with the puppy-dog eyes had plans for the weekend. No matter how much she wanted to.

He let out another chuckle, though this one was without humor. "Don't tell me you got nothing better to do than that," he said. "On a Friday night."

"I'm, uh, still finding my way around Pittsburgh." It was true. Her residency in California had spoiled her, and she found the stark greyness of Pennsylvania off-putting. She rarely ventured from her apartment for anything other than work and necessary grocery shopping.

He regarded her for a few seconds. His gaze felt heavier than it should have, as if she had some symptom that didn't line up with her lab results. She remembered what Dr. Santos had muttered to her on her first day at the Pitt when she'd caught the new doctor staring a little too long at Robby typing his notes.

"I know. He's crazy hot, right?" Trinity had pinched her elbow and embarrassment had made her stutter nonsensically. Then, to top off the humiliation, Trinity had started swaying her shoulders side to side and singing under her breath, "I will be your father figure, put your tiny hand in mine..." The younger woman was known for being abrasive, but, shit, she was a perceptive little fucker, too.

"I'd be a fool to turn down help wrangling Ivar. Ikea furniture is my Achilles heel," Robby was saying when she snapped back to the present. He seemed hesitant. He couldn't tell whether she'd been joking or not, and, frankly, she couldn't either. "But I couldn't ask you to–"

"You'd be doing me a favor," she cut in quickly. He would, in more ways than one. "If I sit on my couch with my cat for one more weekend, I think they're gonna start letting me collect Social Security."

A genuine laugh! Her stomach flipped upside down at the sight and the sound. Both were warm and inviting and made her want to kiss each of the individual lines on his weathered face. "Then by all means, please."

Oh, wait. Was this happening? Was it, actually? Nerves gnawed at her while she finished handing off the patient list to the night shift. What was it? A date? A friend helping another friend put a shelf together? A coworker helping another, older and more senior coworker who intimidated the hell out of her put a shelf together?

As Robby departed through the same double doors Dana had dashed through, he turned and pointed significantly at his phone, and she pulled hers from her pocket to see that he had texted her his address. Nothing else, just the address, dashed out in Robby’s usual efficient and minimalistic tone. He hadn’t even included the city and zip, but he didn’t need to. Living further than 15 minutes away from the hospital seemed like something a less dedicated physician might consider, but she knew that Robby didn’t really live at the address he’d sent her, anyway. He lived in all the exam rooms and hallways surrounding her, their sanitized scent pricking at her nose one last time before she stepped into the waiting room and the few remaining rays of sunlight waiting to greet her outside.

The door opened on her second knock, or, more accurately, before she could even finish it. Goddammit. She should have taken more time to consider what an off-duty Dr. Robby might look like. 

“Hey,” he said, a genial smile lighting up his tired face.

“H–mm, hi,” she replied. She tried to hide a swallow.

Robby stood aside and let her pass through the front door of the aged but charming brownstone. The long hallway was lined with dark wooden panels that creaked when she walked over them. She tried not to feel him following behind her, the scent of some musky shampoo or body wash drifting off him. She also showered directly after a shift. Too much hospital.

A line of hooks held various jackets and sling bags, and a haphazard pile of worn sneakers sat beneath them. “I gotta get a rack for those, or something,” Robby muttered from behind her, noticing her sightline.

“You should see mine. The floor of my closet is a nightmare.”

She walked into the living room and couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face. It was sparsely but cozily finished, an overstuffed couch and matching loveseat positioned atop a plush rug that hugged her feet taking up most of the space. And, of course, a veritable disaster of boards, planks, plastic bags, and ripped cardboard in the middle of all of it.

“Yikes.”

“Thank you, again, for helping me with this,” he said, and came to stand beside her. “Why is it that I can perform a trach in my sleep, but the assembly of Swedish furniture is my downfall?” He scratched the back of his neck, the white t-shirt he was wearing showing off far too much of what was usually hidden beneath a few layers of thermals, scrubs, and hoodies. Her hairline started to feel hot again. 

She cleared her throat and made her way over to the pile of shelf. “For what med school costs, they really should be teaching us the essentials like this stuff, too!” He didn’t respond, making her look up at him. He was watching her again, with that sort-of-absent-but-always-thoughtful x-ray vision. She wished he’d stop.

“You really got none of the cynicism and all of the optimism out of your residency, didn’t you?”

She flushed and looked back down at the ground, unsure if he was making fun of her. “It being basically on the ocean didn’t hurt. Lots to be optimistic about in northern Cali, it’s so beautiful.”

Robby shook his Midwest-born-and-bred head. “Damn hippy.” His voice was gruff, but his dark eyes were sparkling and she felt some of the tension in her shoulders dissipate in a giggle. He crossed the room and through an arch that led to the kitchen. “I ordered some Chinese for dinner, hope that’s alright,” he called back to her.

The tension returned tenfold and her heart began doing somersaults in her chest. Dinner? This included dinner now? Sure, it was time for dinner, but she hadn’t wanted to be so presumptuous as to suggest adding food to this friendly favor she was performing. Robby returned laden with white paper takeout boxes and a handful of napkins and chopsticks. “Like lo mein?” he asked. She nodded.

“Yes, but you really didn’t have to get anything for me! That’s so nice,” she gushed, trying to reign in the attraction to this man and behave as if he was just any other rugged, kind, intelligent guy she might come in contact with. She was so screwed. 

He pressed the box of lo mein into her hand with a pair of chopsticks. “It’s the least I can do to thank you for helping with this,” he shrugged. “Hopefully, you still have an appetite after that bike accident from this morning.” The memory of the young man’s torso torn open and spilling out onto the operating table sent a nauseous wave from her head to her stomach, but she quickly compartmentalized it, as she’d learned to do long ago.

“Why do people even buy motorcycles,” she muttered rhetorically.

“Uh, because they love visiting you so very much,” he returned with a wink that made her miss her mouth with the chopsticks.

Two hours later, the shelf was only two-feet tall and missing three of the nine screws it had required so far.

“Peg L, peg L, peg L,” Robby said through gritted teeth, “where the fuck is peg L?”

She held the instructions centimeters away from her face, hoping the proximity would illuminate its solutions somehow. “Peg L goes into plank K. We just placed plank H.” He stopped running his hands along the carpet to search for the missing peg L and looked up at her with a speck of encroaching insanity peeking through. 

“I’m out of order?”

“Miiiike,” she laugh-groaned. “Did you already use peg G? We need J right now!” When he didn’t answer, she glanced up from the “simple” instruction packet. A sleepy kind of flush appeared on his face, and he pulled the reading glasses off to massage the bridge of his nose and–hide it? Then, he sighed.

“God, no one’s called me just…Mike in forever.” It was a complete sentence, a complete statement, a complete story, and he was done talking about it, but it made a million questions bubble up in the back of her throat. She ignored them.

“You’re at work too much,” she almost whispered. Why she was no longer scared of stepping over some professional, coworker boundary, she wasn’t sure. Maybe it was the way he had accepted her help with such a domestic task, or the fact that they were seeing each other in something other than scrubs for the first time (the loose, perfectly worn-in jeans he was wearing would surely be appearing in her dreams that night), or maybe it was because their legs had been pressed together for the last half hour as they tried to decipher the mysteries of Ivar. Whatever it was, Robby–Mike, felt it, too. He stared into her eyes before averting them to the floor and mumbling,

“Yeah. I know.” He put the glasses back on. “So, peg J.”

“C’mere, ya little Swedish asshole,” she agreed, and they resumed pawing around the rug to try and find the screws that, as predicted, had spilled from the package as soon as Robby had ripped it. She tried to avoid brushing against his hand as well as she could, until her fingers bumped into a tiny piece of metal, and she snatched the screw from the ground. Carefully consulting the instructions, she looked from the page, to the screw, to the page, before shouting, “Oh my God, I found it!” 

His hands were cradling either side of her face in a second, and then he was kissing her. The part of her brain that handled compartmentalization clocked in at lightning speed and swept all her confusion into the bin so she could focus on nothing except his beard scratching her, his warm hands cupping her jaw. Well, well before she had gotten her fill of him, he pulled back and blurted, “Awesome! Good job, let’s put it in.” He plucked the screw out of her hand like the conversation had just been on pause, scooting over on his knees to the feeble half-shelf.

She sat in complete shock until Robby, without turning to face her, said, “I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry.”

“Mike.”

“You just looked–and I, it’s been…I’m really sorry.”

“Mike.”

He was attempting to twist the screw into place with his fingers so he didn’t have to come get the screwdriver from beside her. “I overstepped. It won’t happen again. If you want to take it to HR…”

That was enough to jumpstart her brain again, and she burst into laughter, forcing him to finally spin around.

“HR? Really?” She made a phone out of her pinky, fist, and thumb and held it to her ear. “Hello, Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center Department of Human Resources? Yes, I’d like to file a report against one of your doctors.” She was having a hard time stifling her laughter. “Dr. Michael Robinavitch. Yes, the hottie from the ER, that’s correct. He really laid one on me—"

It was Robby's turn to cut her off, and he did so by rolling his eyes and snatching the instructions out of her other hand. "Hey!" She dove after them but decided instead to drag him in by the collar of his shirt for another kiss. They both held each other tightly, Robby's hands wandering, respectfully, under the hem of her shirt. When she tugged a handful of his hair, he grunted in annoyance.

"Watch it. Don't have much of that left."

"You've got a lot for an old man." She regretted it as soon as she said it, even though he had already alluded to it. His head dropped and apologies bubbled up and out of her lips, assurances that that's not how she'd meant it, that he was the most attractive man she'd met at the Pitt, but he waved them off.

His glasses were sliding down his nose again. He cleared his throat and pushed them back up. "Are you okay with it, then? I mean, I know I'm not..." Her heart ached when he trailed off, nervously scratching the back of his neck again.

"Very ok," she whispered. She reached for his hand and took it. He was fiddling with a screw that she plucked out and tossed to the side. "I'm 31, you know, Senior Elder Doctor Robinavitch."

Robby smiled, clearly in spite of himself. He tucked a piece of hair that had fallen into her eyes behind her ear. For a minute, they just sat and looked at each other, matching each other's lazy smiles. "That's it. Didn't want to have to do this, but you're fired."

"Okay now I want to take this to HR."

masterlist

[fantastic-nonsense]

godddddd Zdarsky writes such a good Tim, it's so unfair to me personally that he wrote a bad Batman run instead of writing one of the most phenomenal Robin runs ever put on paper

[jasmineoolongtea]

whenever someone asks boxer!eren what motivates him, he gives them two answers.

the first answer, of course, is his mum. at the end of the day, he's a mama's boy through and through and that's something he's fully unabashed about by naming her as his number 1 supporter.

the second reason is you. he knows that he can always look to the side and see you, his pretty pretty girlfriend, standing right there in the crowd, cheering him on like his very own personal cheerleader. the moment the bell rings to signal that the match is over and they announce his victory, he's already making his way over to where you are because having you in his arms is a better reward than any trophy or championship title he could win.

and if his opponents even so happen to glance at you in the wrong way (and that's a very broad definition according to eren), then you can guarantee that they'll be knocked out cold on the floor within the span of less than a minute.

don't even bother asking him about what just happened because all he'll do is give you a wry smile and innocently ask for a kiss to congratulate him on his victory.

what he doesn't tell them is the third answer on that list of his. he keeps quiet about the handful of polaroids he keeps hidden away in his locker. before he heads into the ring, eren finds himself looking at them not only for good luck (because when has a bit of good luck ever hurt anyone) but also to remind him what he's fighting for.

the first polaroid is a picture of you, him and his family standing on the porch of his childhood house from a few summers ago. the second one is a drunken photo of you, him and his friends at your housewarming party. he likes to joke that his whole world is in those two photos to which you always respond by rolling your eyes affectionately at him.

the third and fourth polaroids are very different compared to the previous ones. he has his hands wrapped around your waist in the third one, his face messily littered with smudged lipstick marks as he grins against your lips. you're wearing a shirt that's way too big for you as the collar has slid off to one side to reveal a collection of freshly made hickies blooming on your skin with more trailing down underneath the fabric and ending at god knows where.

the fourth polaroid, which is hidden safely under all the others, is his favourite out of all of them. it's a photo of you, wrapped up in nothing but his bedsheets, as you lie underneath him. you're staring straight up at the camera, more specifically at eren who's behind said camera, with kiss-swollen lips and an expression of fucked-out bliss. almost every inch of your skin is covered in marks and your hair is splayed out messily behind you like some kind of halo.

to eren, the best part about the photo is the silver 'e' initial necklace that sits perfectly in the middle of your chest as a constant reminder that you're his.

[pink-n-greennneerg-n-knip]

cookie art dump :3

[johnnyshrine]

★ 119 // “Gummies”

[buttercupshands]

the ray of sunshine and his turned evil nerds

a little doodle while sketching this thingy

my love for those three is overwhelminggggg

[scarapanna]

New AU just dropped folks!!

First things first, this is a different one compared to what I teased back around september (Wanted to try and finish up the main designs/polish up some of the lore before revealing it). It's nothing that big but I have a few concepts to polish up more back there shsfsjdbj

Putting that stuff aside, here's what I got for y'all today!!

Just as a small rundown as to what's going on here: all the ancients and beasts embody their assigned virtue, not being guided by their corresponding lights but instead being said lights and guiding the cookies of earthbread.

This is a role they were baked for by the Witches, whom initially planned to have one cookie per virtue; after some trial and error, they eventually settled on it being two instead, since otherwhise there was the risk of corruption and/or a balance loss in cookie society.

The initial virtue the witches worked on was Knowledge, with it's corresponding heralds being alongside the first to have been baked.

These two are known by cookie kind as the "Heralds of knowledge", respectively being the "Representative of Truth" and "Representative of Deceit"

Starting off with Deception, and thus Shadow Milk:

Being the "bad" half of Knowledge, his purpose consists into tricking cookies trough manipulating the seemingly endless supply of information he's given trough his core (aka. the souljam), often playing into half-truths and making even the most false facts seem true. He near-constantly bears a mask, under which he's more prone to the latter.

As all heralds do, he leaves his target once the job is done.

This quality of his does not make him any malicious however, being something engrained in his being and nature, but instead an incredibly neutral being.

He decieves anyone he's encountered/consulted by, regarthless of their true intention. Thus meaning that, anyone with ill or genuine intent will be tricked by him.

Outside of his role, he can be a tiny bit mischievious at times and kind of a trouble maker, especially when it comes to cookies who believe they've become "his friend". The guy finds those types to be pretty funny.

These ""pranks"" are, once again, not inherently malicious, instead serving as a slightly annoying form of entertainment for a bored Virtue every once in a while. He views it as nothing more than innocent pestering.

But putting deception aside, it's time to discuss the "good" part of the virtue known as Truth

Unlike the other half of Knowledge, Pure Vanilla is the one (most) cookies aim to consult. As he instead shares the very same information both him and Shadow Milk hold with cookie kind, often finding himself answering questions or un-doing the work of Deceit.

He takes his role to heart, and will resort to fighting against what does not align with Truth if necessary..though he sometimes gets caught up fighting for causes that would otherwhise not involve his duty (A prominent one being the fight for Freedom, after it's herald fell from grace.)

Purpose aside, he's not as "expressive" as his counterpart, instead outwardly appearing rather unphased by most of the things he encounters. With such an exterior, he still deeply cares for those he's consulted by, and overtime grows more and more genuine with those he takes a liking to.

When this is the case, he tends to smile much more often and ask questions himself. All the information he (and Shadow Milk) know about their interlocutors is only at face value, they might know life experience but certainly don't the personality and interests of that cookie.

Deep down truth is endlessly curious, and satisfying those he encounters brings him great joy.

They do actively make eachother's jobs more difficult, but still respect one another. It IS what they were baked to do after all.

[kettlefire]

A Panic in Time (DP x DC)

This is all thanks to the awesome @tkiesai for basically being the foundation of this idea! This is probably going to be long, and probably won't delve that deep into my ideas about this idea. Largely so it's not insanely long. But here I go!

°•°•°•°

Bruce's head felt like it had been shoved through a straw and spit out on the other side. The throbbing was annoying, but it wasn't anything the man couldn't handle.

His mind was muddled, memories of what happened prior to him awaking was blurry and unsure. Bruce knew it wasn't something good.

He vaguely remembered a league meeting, a threat, something looming. It wasn't world ending, or at least that's what Bruce remembered. It should have been something they could handle.

But now, here was Bruce. Waking up in the grass of some random park. He was dressed in casual attire, something he'd wear in public as Bruce. Although last he remembered he was in the Batsuit.

The sun felt too bright in the sky. The sound of families filled the air and children's laughter. No one seemed to blink twice at Bruce as he pulled himself together.

It took a moment to steel himself, to gain composer again. It took a few sweet lines, and a charming smile for a nice mother to slide him a few painkillers. The lies rolling off his tongue like second nature.

To his luck there was a newspaper at the top of the trashcan. He was in some town called Amity Park, and the year... the year was the problem.

It was 1996. Whatever had happened had sent Bruce back in time. There was a few suspects Bruce can think were the cause of this. But something in his gut kept drawing his train of thought to the Flash.

It seemed like each time the League had any time related problems, Barry was in the center of it. Which also leaves Bruce with the question if he was the only one sent back in time.

God, he could only imagine the nightmare if the others were sent back in time. Yes, they can be professional. They understand the risk of changing things in the past.

But Bruce also understands that his team can be less than... intelligent at times.

Despite that, Bruce needed to find a way to get back to Gotham. He might not know for sure where everyone was right now, but he knew Alfred was the safest bet.

A plan laid out in Bruce's mind, a list of people he knew wouldn't be a risk to approach. He just needed to find a way to get to them. He had barely made it to the gates of the park before a shrill cry pierced the air.

There was just one loud outcry, before it quieted down. Bruce glance around the space, spotting a young boy curled on the ground. Tears streamed down the boy's chubby cheeks.

And no one even moved to the boy's aid. Not a single mother spared more than one glance in the kid's directions. No parents came rushing over to the boy's side.

Bruce almost walked away, he really did. This wasn't his time, anything he does can cause immense damage to the timeline. But when Bruce caught sight of blood bubbling from a scrape on the boy's knee, Bruce couldn't ignore him.

Maybe it's just the father in him, but Bruce barely even notices when he's crossing the small distance. His mind zeroing in on a hurt child that needed help. Kneeling before the small boy with a gentle smile, and pulling his handkerchief free from his pocket.

"You're alright there, buddy. It looks like you took a bit of a tumble there." Bruce slipped into the same tone he used to use when his kids were young. Gentle and understanding, as he pressed the handkerchief to the small scrape.

The boy sniffled, tears slipping from his eyes. Bruce was more focused on the way the kid was looking at him. Like he couldn't fathom someone coming to his aid.

That look had Bruce's heart breaking slightly. He's seen a similar look before. The few times he's come to the aid of a hurt child that wasn't used to getting help.

Something no child should ever feel or experience.

"Where's your parents, kiddo?" Bruce asked after a moment of silence from the boy. He had waited until the kid's breathing settled down when the boy's chest stopped pumping so quickly.

Except his question only seemed to bring a new wave of tears to the boy's eyes. The small child just seemed to curl into himself further, ducking his gaze away from Bruce.

And as much as Bruce didn't want it to be true, it was clear the kid didn't have the support he needed. It might not as be as far as some of Bruce's kids have had in the past.

But it was clearly not good.

"That's okay, it's alright. What's your name?" Bruce tried again. The boy's silence was leaving an uncomfortable pit in Bruce's stomach.

"D-Danny..." The boy spoke out his name between sniffles, and Bruce felt a wave of relief hearing the boy speak.

In hindsight, Bruce can see how strange the scene might look. A slightly disheveled man comforting a lone young boy in a park. It wasn't exactly perfect.

But with the lack of reactions from the parents around, Bruce had a feeling the town had an idea who this boy was. The whole situation just didn't feel that right for him.

It took a few more comments before Bruce managed to get the boy to crack a smile. A laugh had felt like breaking a massive wall.

Before long, Bruce had Danny actually like any other boy he's known. Carefree and happy, just like a child should be.

"You didn't tell me your name, mister." Danny had suddenly cut down the relaxed moment they were in. A pout laced the boy's lips as he looked up at Bruce, almost accusatory.

"I'm Bruce. Bruce Wayne." Bruce responded without missing a beat. He knew this might cause problems in the future. He wasn't supposed to be here.

But when his gut is telling him something, he can't just ignore it. He checked his pockets, finding no business cards anywhere. So, Bruce fell back in plan B.

"No matter how long it's been from now, you can come to me for help. Just look for Bruce Wayne in Gotham City, and when you find me... just say Fairbanks sent you."

Bruce wasn't sure if he'll ever see Danny again when he goes back to his own time. Wasn't even sure if this was the same universe as his own. But he couldn't walk away without at least offering the boy help in some way.

When Danny's eyes filled up with tears again, Bruce thought he said something wrong at first. That was until the boy was suddenly clinging to his shoulders in a tight embrace, muttering 'thank you' over and over again.

Bruce felt himself almost close to tears just from that alone. His heart was aching for the small boy. Even if Bruce couldn't help Danny anymore than this, he was hoping the boy would have a better life.

One where he wasn't clinging to a stranger for comfort that family should be providing him.

THWAMP

It didn't hurt, but it did cut their hug short as Bruce suddenly pulled away. Turning his head to see a young girl wielding a wiffle bat, and another young boy standing behind her.

Her purple eyes glared at Bruce like he had done the worst thing in the world. Her grip on the bat was threatening and ready to swing again. Her knuckles white from the tight grip alone.

Maybe leaving this time era might not be as easy as Bruce thought as the young girl probbed him with angry and scolding questions. Not that Bruce could blame her.

He just hoped this hiccup didn't get back to the league. They'd have a field day hearing about how Batman got scolded by a child with a wiffle bat.

°•°•°•°•°•°

Danny wasn't sure if this was the best idea. It's been years since he met Bruce Wayne. So many years. Danny had just been a kid, not even ten, when Bruce had introduced himself.

When he had an adult, actually check in on him. Yet, it was a memory Danny couldn't forget. Maybe it was just the kindness that Bruce radiated.

Or maybe it was when Sam came to his "rescue" near the end. Regardless, it was cemented in his mind. A core memory that Danny cared with him through the years.

Now, here he was, roughly seven years later. Standing in front of a manor that put even Sam's place to shame.

It took a lot of courage for Danny to knock. Barely a second later, an old man answered the door, an accent Danny was certain Bruce hadn't had.

A stuttered explaination of being here to see Bruce Wayne, that the man knew him, barely left Danny's mouth before the old man ushered him inside.

The man, Alfred, told Danny to wait by the door before vanishing further into the manor. It took a lot for Danny to not just vanish.

Being half ghost nowadays had its quirks, Danny could just vanish, and no one but Alfred would know. But he couldn't.

It had taken a lot for Danny to make the journey to Gotham City. He hadn't even thought to look up a current picture of Bruce either. Which was probably a big mistake on his end.

Danny didn't even know if Bruce was offering this kind of help. But Danny didn't have many allies to turn to. He needed help.

Not just for himself but for his family. For Amity Park. He couldn't be afforded the ability to run away. Not now.

Danny felt all the air leave his lungs when Bruce entered the area. The man didn't look a day older than what Danny remembered. Bruce looked a bit more put together, not like he had just jumped out of a moving car, but it was Bruce.

"Uhm... I don't know if you remember me. But my name's Danny... we met when I was a kid." Danny started trying to explain himself before Bruce could speak. He recognized that confused look anywhere, and Danny didn't have the guts to go through with this if Bruce asked any questions.

"You told me if I ever needed help, to come find you. Bruce Wayne in Gotham City... you, uh, told me to tell you Fairbanks sent me?"

That came out more like a question than Danny would have liked. But it did ease his nerves a bit as he watched Bruce's slightly confused expression turn to alarm and surprise.

Danny wasn't sure what this would do. If Bruce could truly help him. But he was out of options. Just seeing Bruce recognize something he said was enough to calm the teen's anxiety slightly.

"I'm sorry, Danny... I don't remember you. But I believe you and I want to help you. Come inside, have a seat, and tell me what's going on."

That response was enough to have Danny's eyes fill with tears. His chest filling with a sense of hope he hadn't felt in weeks now.

Maybe, just maybe, everything would be okay.

[spacedace]

Had a thought about the Reluctant War and made myself a bit sad and I have no idea if it'll make it into the story proper so I'm going to inflict it upon all you guys:

Dick Grayson on the streets of Gotham trying to do everything he can to help as everyone join the ghosts in fighting the GIW, suddenly has a version of the GAV barreling down towards him and for some reason he can't get out of the way in time.

He thinks he's about to join the army of the dead in a whole new way, when the tank fo a vehicle is suddenly sent flying as something massive charged it from the side. He hears a familiar bellowing and then realizes that it's Zitka, a ghost after passing away peacefully a few years before.

She wasn't apart of the army of the ghosts, wasn't brought in to fight. She's just been following her tiny human child around all these years and now that there's enough ecto in the air to do so, she's going to protect him with all her might.

Dick is emotional, so thankful to have his old friend back, but the city is still in a state of chaos. He gets onto Zitka's back and they get to work, running - flying - around helping to grab the injured and whisk them away to safety or take out other GAVs and the like.

It's absurd and freeing and wonderful all at once to be literally flying through the skies of Gotham on the ghost of his elephant best friend, and if Dick wasn't already on the side of King Phantom he is *now* and -

He gets shot off Zitka's back.

A GIW agent was aiming for the Ghost elephant but somehow *missed* and hit Dick instead. Not enough to injure him too badly, but enough to send him flying off Zitka's back and plummeting to the ground. His grapple is broken, and Zitka is diving for him but she's being shot at and she's not going to make it in time and -

A hand, reaching out to him in midair, familiar with its callouses and strong grip as he reaches out and grasps it, body suddenly swinging in a different direction and muscles acting on memory as he falls into the old, achingly familiar routine of his childhood. His mother, ethereal and bright as she smiles down at him, hanging upside down from a bar suspended from nothing but open sky as they swing and he is let go, flipping on instinct and caught by the steady strong hands of his father.

The Flying Graysons reunited in the skies above Gotham, Dick's ghostly parents determined to ensure their little bird never falls the way they did.

[traumawhomst]

The Songbird

Yandere Adoptive Fae King Dad & Child Reader

Part One

King Solaris was in a foul mood, today marked three years since his youngest daughter left to go study with the Northern Sea Witch and he missed her terribly. While three years is not much long to a fae, for a father it seemed an eternity. His court was as it always was, laughter and screams, dancing and bleeding, the same faces, the same smells and he was bored of it all.

“Father,” said his eldest son, watching his father’s tail lash back and forth as he sat on his throne, “might I suggest that you might go for a walk? How long has it been since you’ve been in the crossroads? Surely better to patrol them then stay to stew in your restlessness?”

The King sighed heavily, his flame orange cape draped over the left side of the throne. “Your sister hasn’t written yet,” he said, eyes still on the writhing mass of his court in front of him. His hand moved from propping up his chin to covering his heart, “I should go and see her.”

“Father,” said the eldest son, struggling not to implore the sky herself, “She has not missed a single day of letters, we both know that it will come. Stop sitting like a house cat and find something to take your mind off it until it comes.”

The King sighed even more loudly because he knew his son was right, with a flick of his wrist his cape turned into an emerald green hunter’s jacket standing up. He turned to face his son, seeing the crowd in the reflection of his eyes. His son was taller than him now and it brought a great pride to him. “I leave you to watch til I return my son,” he said with a slight head bow.

His son fully bowed his head, laurel green curls falling past sharp black horns, his hand over his heart, “Thank you for the honor father,” he said.

Solaris couldn’t stop a soft smile thinking of the same boy he brought home all those years ago. He reached out ruffling his sons hair, laughing at the slightly annoyed look his son gave as he stood up height again.

“See you soon father,” said Callan, a touch more dry than before. The King laughed again, turning and completely disappearing from the court.

It had been a while since he’d been in the cross-lands where human and fae territory overlapped. The human area changed from time to time, no one knew where the crossroads would be, and when that would change. When he reached the other side, he found it to be in he same place it had been about fifty years, he counted the years in a tree nearby. It was an early summer day where all the birds and insects were singing together but they knew well enough that the King was not in a fair mood and so went silent in respect.

The King stalked forward hands in his pockets as his mind wandered over the state of the forest, feeling how much closer the humans had settled nearby. He could smell them, even this far away and it irked him more with each passing second. It was odd for the boarder to stay for so long, usually half the time it had been here. He hadn’t cursed a town in quite a while. It might be a good way to bring back respect the humans seemed prone to do.

He was brought out of his thoughts by the sound of a thin reedy but full hearted singing. He clicked his tongue out loud, listening closer to realize it was a human whelp that was singing.

A child should know better than to be loud when the forest is silent. Where is it’s guardian to keep it safe? Or do the humans think we so weak to not show our teeth?

It was an easy task, show himself and play with them a bit, see if they were smarter than their parents. Maybe he’d turn them to a songbird since they seemed to love their voice. A lesson to neglectful parents about teaching your child to walk around the forest alone, as if they owned it.

He did admit that the child did have a rather sweet voice, and he had thoughts of shaping them something into more than just a simple songbird, maybe one that could also speak and mimic. Something he could put in a glass birdcage and listen to when he was bored.

The child was bent over in the dirt, singing some old folk song, hair loosely back dirty and sweaty. Who knows when they last had a bath, the King scoffed internally. Their clothes not much better much too big, covered in a thick layer of dirt. It all only strengthened his resolve to turn them to a songbird they would be treated much better than they were currently.

He stepped into the forest clearing, the air around them both growing thick and wild, a smell of hot summer grass hung like a cloud. The King watched motionless with a smile as the hunched figure froze in place, smart child to know when they were outmatched, no grand heroics or disrespect. The child lifted their face, and the King was oddly pleased, it was cleaner than their hair and he could that the child had spent most of their life facing towards the sun. Their eyes looked the same as a fawn caught in the sight line of a wolf, but their mouth was turned into a hesitant smile.

The King cocked his head to the side at the child’s smile, before he could say a word the child spoke.

“Hello,” they said, their voice soft with a slight tremor but a distinct note of hope, “what’s your name?”

With those simple four words, the Solaris knew that this was to be his third child. A neglected songbird, but with a quick wit and curiosity that spoke of greater things than their tiny village. He wanted to scoop them up, and tell of all the great things they would see and do. But this was not his first time bringing a child of his own. So he smiled as he knelt to be closer to the eye-line. of the child.

“You, songbird, may call me, Solaris, may I know what you to call you songbird?”

When the child’s face brightened, any hesitation was gone, this child was his and he couldn’t wait to bring them home.

[burningcheese-merchant]

A Thought About Eternal Sugar Cookie

Third installment in my Beast analysis series! Previous ones were on Shadow Milk and Burning Spice. In all honesty, I find it more fun seeing if the character I constructed inside of my head prior to the real one's debut is at all accurate than just waiting for the debut and saying something about them afterwards (which is what I did for Burning Spice, admittedly). I just like seeing if I can guess the story before it's told haha

What is happiness, really? Such a coveted state of mind, belated state of being, emotion treasured and championed by all everywhere. Happiness is the be-all end-all of life. But as famous and sought after it is, can anyone actually describe it?

Eternal Sugar could, once. Happiness is the twinkle in one's eye, the smile that graces one's lips, the laughter that bubbles in one's throat. Happiness is the sun shining through the window and waking you at the break of dawn. Happiness is the summer breeze caressing your face and carding through your hair. Happiness is birdsong, happiness is a delicious meal, happiness is the company of your friends. Happiness is everywhere. Happiness is eternal. It SHALL be eternal, as long as she is there. Such is her lot in life.

So Eternal Sugar did what she could to achieve just that. She strummed songs on her lyre and chanted tunes of love and joy and peace. She dutifully tended to beautiful flowers that she eventually gave away to anyone who asked. She danced, she hugged, she laughed with anyone who would indulge her, as she would gladly indulge anyone herself. She did everything she ever could to make everyone she possibly could happy. What she thought was "happy".

But as time passed, things changed. People seemed to struggle more, struggle harder; either their problems became more numerous, or more difficult to overcome. People came to her running from increasingly more dire and painful things. She did what she could, she did what she always did, for it always worked before. But as time passed, it worked less and less. Her songs began to fall on deaf ears. People began to shun her flowers. No one wanted to dance anymore. Or be hugged. Or to laugh.

But she was Eternal Sugar, charged with bringing eternal happiness, so she persisted in spite of it all. She sang and danced and smiled and laughed not for herself, but for others. But it stopped working. Those others all seemed to stop caring eventually. And she just couldn't understand why.

Some people's happiness was easily attained, but fleeting. One was thirsty, so Eternal Sugar brought him something to drink. And they were happy... for a moment. Just a moment. And that moment ended sooner rather than later, and they were back to asking for something to drink again. She brought them another. And another. And another. In the end, they always fell back into being unhappy - in fact, their unhappiness seemed to only grow bigger, stronger, and those little windows of happiness smaller and smaller. As though, paradoxically, making them happy for a moment only made them even more miserable in the long run.

Other people's happiness came at an unfortunate cost. Once, someone came to Eternal Sugar asking for specific flowers, and she granted them - only for her to discover sometime later that they had used the flowers to create a poison with which to kill their family and inherit their wealth. They were happy, yeah, but... Another time, a young woman came to Eternal Sugar crying that she loved someone that was already taken. Eternal Sugar tried to comfort her. Sometime later, the same woman came back, crying again - she had convinced the man to leave his partner for her, but now she's bored and so she left him. In truth, she cared more about achieving the suffering of the abandoned partner than achieving love with someone she claimed to care for. Some people are only happy when others are miserable. What was Eternal Sugar supposed to do with them?

And some people simply couldn't be happy, no matter what she or anyone else did. Always, a rain cloud loomed above them, showering pain and melancholy upon them on even the brightest day. Some of those people suffered under very unpleasant circumstances, and had every right to be unhappy; some of them had everything you could ever want, money and power and fame and love, and they were unhappy anyway. Some unshakable anhedonia, numb to even a goddess's touch.

A time eventually came where even Eternal Sugar's friends began to turn her away. Once, she was the light of the group, always making them all smile. Now... as their responsibilities grew tougher and the weights on their shoulders grew heavier, in those few moments they had together, they weren't as interested in her antics anymore. And their unhappiness was the worst, for it came from those she cherished most. And none of them even seemed to want to tell her why, or let her help. So few people wanted her help anymore.

But she kept trying. She kept trying to make everyone happy, even if it didn't work. She didn't know what else to do. How else to exist. If she couldn't make people happy, then who was she?

... Who was she? What was she? Though she was the Virtue of Happiness, with happiness slipping away from all around her, with all of her interventions unsuccessful, could she even say that she deserved that title? Does she even know what happiness is? Did she ever truly know in the first place?

Was SHE ever happy?

The truth underneath it all, the one Eternal Sugar could never bring herself to understand or accept, was that happiness is not such an easy guarantee. No matter how wonderful, it simply cannot last forever. Happiness is hard work, something that requires constant action to maintain, and even then it isn't always enough. Happiness is often fleeting. Happiness is often undeserved. Sometimes, happiness isn't what someone needs most, or isn't what's best for them. But such things were antithetical to Eternal Sugar's mindset, to her personhood. And so she denied these things, ignored them, fled from them, telling herself that she was only running in pursuit of so-called happiness, not because she was afraid or confused of what it cost or of its opposite.

It was all so tiresome. All of it. Everyone. Happiness itself. Such a strange, fickle thing it turned out to be.

... It was common for people to seek her comfort after having nightmares. Dreams and nightmares were always easiest to tend to, easiest to siphon some sort of happiness from. Whether through good dreams where everything someone ever wanted becomes reality, or through banishing terrible nightmares and bringing back peace of mind. Yes, happiness was a guarantee there. The only one there ever was.

So she started to put people to sleep. In their dreams, they could be happy. In their dreams, they could be free. In their dreams, they could stop caring. Like she now wished to.

And in those same dreams, she could mold reality as she saw fit. She could fulfill her "duty" as much or as little as she liked. She could keep all of these poor, unfortunate souls warm without setting herself on fire to do so. She could even punish them for having wasted her time in the past. For spurning her efforts to help them, to save them. As the Virtue of Happiness, it is she that has the right to dictate what happiness is, no? So they will all be happy. They MUST be happy. They will sleep, and leave that bleak world behind, and come to a place of her design and live and breathe and feel how she chooses. They will sleep. They will be happy. Forever.

It's what they deserve.

[bixels]

While I do think anon was rude, I do think it's pretty shitty to set up all this stuff you were going to add the au and then just drop it. It's disappointing. Definitely unfollowing.

Bye.

[1vylili3s]

I saw this on my recommended :0

Anyways, if White Lily is literally right there, then where’s silent salt?

waiting pt. 24