#it was originally supposed to be longer

[auxiliarydetective]

Due to @cody-helix02 and I rambling about Scott Grimes, I was prompted to finish another ship song edit

Song: Summerthing by Scott Grimes

Characters:

Gordon Malloy (The Orville; The Orville New Horizons)

Raevyn Maumahara (OC; FC: Alexandra Daddadrio)

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@enterprise-come-in

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 271

“Grandmother is visiting,” Damian suddenly said with no warning and with his usual not-quite demanding tone. 

“Who?” Tim wasn’t the only one to startle, seeing as Bruce had practically froze, a downturn to his lips in a silent show of confusion. 

Damian scowled. “Are you deaf Drake? Grandmother is coming to Gotham to, quote, make sure I am being properly cared for.” None of them had known that Ras was with anyone actually. At least Tim was pretty sure that would have been in the files. 

“Oh?” Dick didn’t quite crouch to Damian’s height but it was a near thing. “She-” “He,” Damian corrected, interrupting him. They all exchanged a glance before Dick continued. 

“Is he coming to the Manor or…” 

Damian scoffed again, a tiny bit of a flush against his face. “No, Grandmother will most likely be staying with Akhi-”

Now wait one moment-

“YOU HAVE ANOTHER BROTHER?!” 

[phantom-shell]

A Vampworld Finn and Bonnie Comic (Peppermint tank is also here, of course)

Context

[its-emimi]

There will be justice.

[queruloustea]

some goobers of mine i've never posted before :] everyone say hello to the goobers

edit: named (goofily)

[gokuisahimbo]

forehead kiss

[muirmarie]

tos mcspirk pre-relationship - thinking about mccoy having to beam down to go help save kirk's life, and he's informed right before he leaves that the planet kirk's currently bleeding out on (that is only allowing one doctor to beam down to) doesn't allow any adornments, so right before mccoy steps onto the transporter pad he takes his ring off (for the first time spock's ever seen) and he grabs spock's hand, and slides it onto his finger, and says, "hold onto this for me, will you?"

and spock doesn't generally fidget, but the entire time mccoy and kirk are gone he finds his fingers returning to the ring, and spinning it around his finger, and it's almost like a talisman, because mccoy never takes it off, so it's almost like it's a part of mccoy, and as long as spock can touch it then mccoy must be all right, and if mccoy is all right then spock knows - knows - that the good doctor will keep kirk alive, too.

and eventually the original landing party + bonus mccoy beam back up, and mccoy rushes kirk into surgery, and spock stays on the bridge handling the diplomatic fallout, twisting the ring around his finger again and again and again

and it's not until mccoy calls spock down to sickbay in time to see kirk's eyes slowly blink back open, alive and safe and out of danger, that spock realizes that mccoy still hasn't asked for the ring back. it's not, in fact, until kirk's eyes almost immediately are drawn to the ring, his eyebrows slightly raised, that spock realizes at all.

spock's finger feels surprisingly bare when he tugs the ring off - the metal warm from his skin - and presses it into the palm of mccoy's hand.

"thanks for keeping it safe," mccoy says, folding his fingers around it, his fingertips brushing spock's fingertips as spock slowly pulls his hand away.

spock raises an eyebrow, tilts his head towards the captain.

"i was about to say the same," he says.

"something you two want to tell me?" kirk asks, reaching out and tapping mccoy's fist, and the moment kirk touches it, mccoy's hand falls back open, like a flower uncurling.

"no rings planetside," mccoy says easily.

kirk's eyes are dark as he looks at him.

"you look naked without it," kirk says, his hand closing around mccoy's hand, ring and all, and tugging him a step closer to the hospital bed. "mind if i do the honors?"

and it's not until spock's gaze is locked on kirk's fingers deftly sliding the ring back where it belongs that spock finally understands the tightness that's been inhabiting his chest, this tightness that's been suffocating his lungs.

"looks good, doesn't it, spock?" kirk asks, something knowing in his eyes.

spock could stop himself from reaching out, if he wanted. he could stop himself from touching the ring, touching the hand, touching kirk's hand, too, where it's still holding mccoy's. he could stop himself, if he wanted.

he finds, as is so often the case with these two men, that he doesn't want to stop himself.

this time, he doesn't even try.

[charliesvarietyhour]

Preston has a terrible stick and poke tat of the Minutemen coat of arms. You agree.

Bummer under the cut!

(He got it from a fellow Minuteman when he was about nineteen. It was right before General Becker died. The kid was one of the newer recruits in Hollis' regiment, and he swore up and down that he could "do lightning bolts real good." To his credit, he did! He was just shit at everything else. But it was good fun and most of the regiment got one. Preston recalls this as one of his happier memories before it all hit the fan. Everyone else involved in this memory is dead.)

[pdq88bkisser]

is it obvious i prefer drawing robots over humans

[anantaru]

cw. prone bone, fem! reader, dom! pantalone, rough!!!!!

prone bone with pantalone, and, oh, who would‘ve thought? he has you where he wants you to be, without lifting a single finger. face shoved into the pillows and your pretty cunt apart, so you could take him— fragile below his entire weight, your poor pussy jammed and crowded, dripping with arousal— he mouths a line over your dewy neck while exploring the premonition of your body under his hot lips, coaxing out a shrill cry and his cock stirs at the vibrations of your sobs.

but— the shallow, guttural noises stumbling over his lips kept you drawn to him, spasming strong on his erection as another low groan eases right into your ears. pantalone tumbles into you with another rough push forward, his velvety tip nudging over your spongy walls way too perfect— way too, calculated.

"hmm, so that‘s where you want it?" pantalone cocks a brow, licking over your neck and shoulder until pushing himself off you, eyes glued to where you‘re constricting around him— drizzling wet and filled up, the sheer amount of your arousal that had been smeared and dried on the insides of your thighs and around your folds only indicated the evident— that the insatiable harbinger had been having so much fun with you, for an incalculable amount of time.

"a-ah, yeah," you fervently nod into the dampened pillow, mind foggy with lust, eyes criss crossed and lashes soused with tears, "right there, h—hah!" and stammer your fists into the mattress as you felt a sudden heavy weight forcefully push down on the back of your neck, closing his fingers around with just the right amount of strength to drive you into the bed.

"what a shame, it appears like you’re getting way ahead of yourself again."

pantalone clicks his tongue and you listen to him, ears pricked up, but he feels how you're nervously guzzling down the large globe of saliva in your mouth— eyes pressed together and your ass obediently perked up, "— because i didn‘t give you permission to speak." his roughened voice had made it impossibly more difficult— because it turned you on, so fucking much and you're shimmying your hips into his groin— impatient — squeezing him, walls hugging him, so he could please please please fuck you still.

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[necrotic-nephilim]

Nightwing: Brothers In Blood is such a fucking hilarious comic for DickJay content, given the bulk of the plot is Jason deciding to dress up as Nightwing and kill people which, Dick predictably is not fond of, as a concept.

There's so much in that arc that makes me unwell. Dick straight up saying he wishes Jason had died. The way they instantly banter when they run into each other before Dick gets mad at Jason for dressing up as Nightwing, then Jason begs Dick to work with him.

But what I think gets me the most is the outright confirmation of how even now, Jason still has a serious case of hero worship for Dick and just wants to be like him and get his approval.

nightwing (1996) #120

There's such a complex Jason has over Dick and it makes me Unwell. Jason identifying with Dick, wanting his attention, his approval. His love, even. I mean, later on when Jason gets kidnapped, in his mind he hallucinates Dick talking to him and it outright confirms he wants Dick to save him and Jason has a doomsday spiral about Dick not saving him, through his mental image of Dick.

nightwing (1996) #121

Jason wants Dick in his life, there's so much unrequited love and weirdness between them. They're so not normal about each other. Later on he sends Dick a note saying he just wishes they could be family again and I think it's so unhinged of Jason. Dressing up as Dick, just because of how much he loves and respects Dick. So much potential in that.

Also aside from all of that complex this comic is also hilarious for the bit it has where Dick accidentally takes a job as a model and has to dress up as Nightwing, specifically Jason!Nightwing because of the sex appeal Cheyenne (the woman Dick is seeing) thinks it has. And when he's on the runway and sees Jason in the audience he just jumps at Jason, in front of everyone, to beat the shit out of him, while dressed as Nightwing. Which the public thinks is a planned stunt to bank on the weird Sexy Rivalry between the two Nightwings currently running around. It's the most unhinged thing and I think it's so funny. Dick's sort-of-girlfriend makes him dress up as Nightwing!Jason because she thinks it's hot and it'll sell, then Dick beats Jason up in front of everyone, still dressed as Nightwing (specifically Jason), and it reads as a sexy performance modeling piece.

nightwing (1996) #120

Imagine being so weirdly homoerotic about your sort of kind of brother figure that you can't hesitate fighting him when you're supposed to be modeling and everyone thinks the tension is so good it's a part of the show. These two cannot leave each other alone with their weird tangled feelings for each other. I love it dearly.

[sparkle-fiend]

Here is my entry for the Spicy Six Winter Fic Challenge hosted by @thefreakandthehair (thanks so much to you and @unclewaynemunson for the awesome events this month!) My prompt was “kiss in the snow”.

Eddie is ladling a mixture of brown sugar, cinnamon, and mashed sweet potatoes into a baking dish when the phone rings. He nearly drops the bowl, hastily wiping the sticky orange mixture off his fingers before answering.

“Munson’s House of Holiday Horrors, Eddie speaking,” he intones cheerfully. Steve snorts with laughter on the other end of the line.

“What if it hadn’t been me calling?”

“It’s Christmas Eve Stevie, and everyone we know is out of town. Who else would be calling?” He knows the exact expression that will be on Steve’s face right now. He’ll be trying not to smile, which will twist his lips into a crooked little smirk instead. It’s one of Eddie’s favorite expressions. “How was work today?”

“Awful. Remind me never to agree to a holiday shift again. The Christmas movies were out of stock by 9, so I’ve had people screaming at me all day. Like I’m personally responsible for the fact that they waited till the last minute to try and rent the Grinch that Stole Christmas.”

“Mmm,” Eddie hums sympathetically. “Poor baby. What time are you coming over?”

“The pie needs to cool another 30 minutes, then I’m leaving.”

They’d argued about the pie for days. Eddie insisted that he had enough dishes planned to feed a small army, while Steve insisted that he just had to bring a pecan pie (which, coincidentally, is Wayne’s favorite).

“You know – you don’t have to work so hard to impress him. Wayne already likes you.”

“Shut up,” Steve says. “I’ll see you at 5:30.”

“See ya.”

They’re not quite to the point of exchanging I love you’s yet, even though it sits on the edge of his tongue every time they say goodbye.

Eddie hangs up the phone and turns to survey the chaos strewn across the kitchen. He’s got half an hour – 45 minutes with driving time. The sweet potato casserole has to be baked, and he still needs to finish two more dishes after that.

“Shit,” he mutters.

***

When Wayne ventures into the kitchen twenty minutes later to check on him, Eddie is frantically stirring sour cream and shredded cheese into the mashed potatoes.

“Christ almighty it’s hot in here. You’re sweatin’ like a hog.”

Eddie scowls and swipes at the hair sticking to his forehead. “Thanks Uncle Wayne.”

Unfortunately, his uncle’s not wrong. The kitchen is sweltering – not surprising, considering the stove and oven have been going all day – and Eddie’s shirt is soaked through. He desperately needs a shower, but he’s running way behind.

“Alright… what can I do to help?”

Eddie pauses long enough to fix his uncle with a skeptical look. “Are you forgetting the famous incident of the frozen turkey? Your cooking privileges have been permanently revoked.”

Wayne looks unimpressed. “Don’t you sass me. I can pull a goddamn casserole out of the oven.”

Eddie snickers and allows himself to be chased out of the kitchen. “I’ll be back in ten minutes. Don’t let that casserole burn!”

He takes the stairs up two at a time. It’s still a novelty, living in a house with a second floor – even after half a year. The water pressure is pretty awesome too, although he doesn’t take the time to enjoy it today. He rushes through a lukewarm shower, just enough to cool down and rinse the sweat off; throwing a clean shirt on when he gets out.

With hair still dripping, he thunders back down the stairs in time to see Wayne pull the casserole out, marshmallows browned to a perfect crust on top. His uncle watches in bemusement as Eddie covers the dish with aluminum foil and then hastens to dump frozen rolls onto a pan.

“What time is Steve supposed to get here?” Wayne asks.

Eddie doesn’t even dare look at the clock. “Any minute,” he says distractedly. He adjusts the oven temperature and shoves the pan in. He had a checklist, which is buried somewhere in the pile of used dishes and discarded packaging on the counter. He starts searching for it, shoving things aside in frustration, until he feels his uncle’s hands land heavy on his shoulders.

“Calm down, okay? Everything looks amazing. You’ve done a real good job Ed.”

The old man’s expression is unbearably soft when he turns around. Wayne looks at him like that all the time these days – ever since March, and that tense week in the hospital, when they weren’t sure if infection would finish the job the demobats had started.

It makes Eddie feel warm and awkward at the same time. He darts forward for a quick hug, pressing his face into the smoky flannel of his uncle’s shoulder, before stepping back and shoving the old man toward the door.

“Go on. Let me know when Steve gets here. And turn on the lights!”

***

Eddie loses track of time as he scrambles to finish – last minute tasks keep popping up every time he turns around. When he’s finally ready to call it done, he heads for the living room, expecting to find Steve and Wayne watching something on tv while they wait.

But it’s six o’clock, and there’s no sign of Steve. Wayne is standing against the big picture window, curtains shoved aside so he can look out.

“Hate to break it to ya Ed, but I’m not sure your boy is gonna make it. Snow’s really coming down out there.”

Eddie takes his uncle's place against the window, pressing his nose against the cold glass as he cups his hands to shield the glare. It's dark out, and the only thing illuminated by the porch light is a swirling wall of snowflakes. Judging by the snow already piled on the railing, it's collecting thick and fast.

"Shit," he mutters.

Concern immediately churns his stomach. If Steve left the house when he planned to, he should have arrived over half an hour ago.

Eddie goes to the phone on the end table by Wayne’s recliner, dialing the familiar number, hoping Steve decided to wait out the weather. The Christmas tree twinkles merrily in the corner; red, green, blue, and yellow lights reflecting off the silver tinsel while Eddie listens to the phone ring and ring - until the click of the answering machine picks up.

He hits the switch hook to end the call, re-dialing immediately. Ring, ring, ring and the click of the answering machine again.

He stays on the line long enough to hear the recorded voice of Steve’s father announce: “You’ve reached the Harrington residence. Leave a name, number, and brief message…” Eddie hangs up again with a frustrated growl.

Wayne watches with a worried frown. “You don’t think he would try to drive in this mess, do you? Not in that fancy car of his.”

Only someone who didn’t know Steve very well would ask that question. If Robin or Dustin were here, they’d already be suiting up for a search party.

Apparently, the expression on Eddie’s face is answer enough, because Wayne’s lips press into a thin line before he nods. “Right then. We’ll put the snow chains on the truck – as long as you go slow, you should be okay.”

They throw on coats and boots and a hat for Wayne, before trooping out into the whirling snow. Working in tandem, it only takes a few minutes to get the chains wrapped around the front tires of Wayne’s truck, latched and tensioned tight.

They agree that Wayne should stay behind in case Steve ends up calling after all, and then Eddie is off, pulling slowly down the drive.

The little house (part of a generous government settlement in exchange for their silence) is on the outskirts of town, surrounded by trees and cornfields – and no neighbors for at least ten miles. Which means the only light comes from the feeble beam of the truck’s headlights, struggling to penetrate the wall of snow. It’s like driving into a tunnel.

Eddie holds his foot tense above the gas pedal, giving it just enough juice to keep the old truck bumping along at a snail’s pace, listening to the chained tires grip and grind over the snow.

I never said ,‘I love you’, he thinks. I never said it. Steve could be dead or dying somewhere along the road, and the last thing Eddie ever said to him was, “See ya.”

It’s unbearable.

After a nerve-wracking 15 minutes, scanning and straining his eyes nearly to tears – Eddie finally spots a faint shape in the distance. Just the silhouette of a person, no car in sight.

It’s Steve. It’s gotta be.

He slams on the brakes – too hard. Even with the chains on, the old truck slides a few terrifying feet farther than intended. Heart pounding, Eddie throws it into park and wrenches the door open.

He hits the ground ready to run and nearly busts his ass as he sinks into snow over his ankles; staggering like a drunk toward the huddled figure of his boyfriend.

Eddie grips the other boy by the shoulders, eyes raking over him head to toe, searching for injuries. It’s hard to see – the headlights cast everything in sharp relief, full of shadow.

“Shit Steve… are you okay? I was so fucking worried, Jesus Christ.”

Steve pats his chest and laughs through the audible chattering of his teeth. “I’m f-fine Ed, I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to make you worry.”

“What happened?”

“Deer ran out in front of me. T-tried to miss it and the Beemer spun off the road. Car’s fine, but it’s stuck in a ditch.”

Eddie huffs out a relieved laugh and squeezes his boyfriend tight. Just stuck in a ditch – thank god. They’re so lucky the accident wasn’t serious; and lucky that Eddie came looking before Steve froze to death trying to make the long, cold walk to the house.

He pulls back to gaze into those beloved brown eyes, brushing aside a swoop of hair stiff with ice.

“I love you,” Eddie says abruptly. His breath hangs like dragon-smoke between them. It’s not how he intended this moment to go, but he can’t keep it in any longer. “I was afraid to say it, but then… when I thought something might have happened to you, all I could I think was that I never told you how I felt.”

“Eddie,” Steve whispers. “Eddie, I love you too.”

He laughs, giddy with relief, and cradles Steve’s jaw as he leans into a kiss. The world falls away - there’s nothing but Steve’s slightly chapped lips, warming slowly against his own, and the soft whisper of the snowflakes.

It’s perfect - until Steve shifts awkwardly and winces in pain.

“What the hell Steve, I thought you said you weren’t hurt?”

Steve grins sheepishly and leans against Eddie, trying to take the weight off his left leg. “I said the car was fine. I twisted my knee trying to climb out of that damn ditch.”

“Goddamnit… is there anything else I should know?”

His boyfriend unzips his jacket, revealing a towel-wrapped disc tucked securely against his chest. “I saved the pie,” he says proudly.

“Jesus Christ.” Overwhelmed by affection, Eddie kisses Steve again; it’s either that or shake the mad bastard. “Come on… let’s get you and your stupid pie home before you both freeze.”

[blueberry-blast]

The piece I made for the anniversary collab going on in the fr discussion forum! Spent way too long on this just for it to be a compressed pixel-y blob in the final piece, plus I like how they turned out

[lynzishell]

Prev // Next

Transcript:

Over the next couple of days, their suspicions were confirmed. A blood test showed that, yes, Dawn was pregnant.

But she couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. Phoenix hoped she was wrong, that she was just scared. Even as her migraines and nausea began to subside, Dawn became more fearful than relieved.

Given her risk factors, her doctor recommended an early ultrasound.

Though Dawn had tried to prepare herself for what she believed to be inevitable, nothing could prepare them for the moment the doctor looked up at them, with sympathy in her eyes, and told them she was unable to detect a heartbeat.

When they arrive home, it doesn’t feel like the same place they left. It feels emptier in a way they can’t quite explain.

Phoenix: Can I get you anything? Dawn: No, I just want to lie down.

Once in the bedroom, Dawn sits on the end of the bed and begins to cry. Dawn: Do you think it’s my fault? Phoenix: What? No, of course not. Dawn: Climbing Mt. Komorebi, what if it was too much? What if I…?

Phoenix: No. Dawn, there’s no way we could’ve known. And there’s no way to know if turning back would’ve made a difference. It’s not your fault. It just wasn’t meant to be this time. Dawn: Since when do you believe in “meant to be”? Phoenix: Since now.

And something about the look in his eyes told her that he wasn’t just saying it, he really meant it. Meanwhile, she didn’t know what she believed in anymore.  

[sealrock]

outfit progression of the trio I wanted to share.

[sisterdivinium]

Now is the time to place your bets on whether or not this hyper self-indulgent doctor superion Vampire the Masquerade AU fic will or won't get to 100 handwritten pages...