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l4long-winded · 27 days

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Would you ever write about Carmy and cum play? I just feel like he would be sooooo into it

no, no, no, this has been haunting me for so, so long! like, he would be more than into it. you have no idea the monster you let out in me while i was writing this!!! i hope you like it, love~

o.s. it's more like a fascination

summary: getting a glimpse into one of carmen's obsessive infatuations passionate fascinations (carmen berzatto x afab!reader)

reflection: this one... this one had me blushing. it kind of gave me brain rot. would be completing a task, and boom, thinking about carmy and his stupid oral fixation. this has to be one of my raunchiest fics yet. thank you, anon, for inspiring such an intense writing experience for me. i fear i will never be the same again. as always, feedback is appreciated! please enjoy!

warnings: no condoms (wrap it, tap it, you get it), cumplay (it's everywhere), marking, pussydrunk!carmen (he's obsessed, basically), fingering, cunnilingus, implied blowjob, somewhat dom!carmen, begging, dirty talk, cursing, p in v sex, longwinded descriptions, body worship, carmen's pov, spit, filth, cum eating (carmy is doing the most), multiple orgasms, lots of licking, no use of pronouns, (please let me know if there are other warnings i need to add)

word count: 1,989

( this work has been cross-posted to ao3 )

Carmen hates condoms. It’s not in the typical, cliche type of hatred that most men have. If you’re uncomfortable, he won’t insist. However, you’re more likely to encourage it. He prefers to be as closely bonded to you as possible, no rubber in his way, able to feel the squelch of every glide and the crushing pressure of your walls wrapped around his pulsing cock. The fever you stew him in. A condom doesn’t do that for him. Not in the same way. You’re far more sensitive without it, clenching your eyes shut, heaving pleasured breaths up against his shoulder you previously gnawed into for composure. That, or the depletion of his, he could never tell with how you flip between being all passive and docile to motivating his rough manhandling, ultimately placing you in charge and in control while he follows instinctual need.

He cherishes the moments where he pulls out and his cum spurts from his tip over your lower stomach, the milky and pearly substance just under your navel, seeping towards your pelvis. It’s lewd. A waterfall waiting to happen. His eyes blink hard as if they’re taking a mental snapshot. You’re delectable like this, chest rising and falling as your open legs tremble. Sometimes, there’s so much of his load to bear that it slides down your inner thighs, liquid opal skimming the cute button he’s teased with his digits and tongue earlier (as if it couldn’t get any fucking prettier), and into whomever’s bedsheets you’re both using for the time being. You look debauched, dazed, and proud to be marked as his.

Your tits make for just-a-great-a canvas, he’s found. If he props himself above your abdomen, one knee at the side of you, his foot drawing up at the other until his leg is at a right angle, his tip always lines itself at the inception of the valley between your breasts. He cautiously focuses his aim to paint your cleavage while resisting the urge to stripe your neck and chin, earnestly observing slack-jawed as some dribbles over your nipples. Would you judge him if he sucked his cum off while tonguing around your areola as a dual effort of cleaning his mess and pebbling your nipple to frenetic attention? The uncontrollable sounds of pleasure petting his eardrums don’t signify negative judgment, but Carmen wouldn’t be Carmen without believing in his self-doubt. And you, you fucking angel, you wouldn’t be you if you didn’t chase and stomp that out until its light dimmed. Sometimes that comes through words of reassurance and patience and other times it’s as simple as your howl of his name or your digits tugging his unkempt hair further into its tumultuous state.

It’s not uncommon for Carmen to see his cum pooling in your mouth, either. He likes the way it rests on your tongue when you stick it out to show him, the challenge he issues being in maintaining a drop doesn’t fall in your performance. But, although his habits are organized and pristine and he has concerning tendencies relating to an undiagnosed compulsive disorder, he particularly enjoys watching when it’s too much for you, when it’s sliding down your usually swollen (the result of sucking him off) lips and rounding down your chin. That’s more rare since you seldom let anything escape, the tip of your tongue catching him and drinking him back in.

“Get it all? Let me help you,” he says gruffly, applying the pad of his thumb to your face to scoop the rebelling stream into your mouth where it came from. The plus is the feeling of your approving humming vibrating on his flesh and your spongy taste buds licking along the indents of his thumb after.

His real favorite spot to finish is inside of you. Now, now, it’s risky for obvious reasons, but you’ve discussed birth control and there are rounds where you’re fucking begging him to and he’s not going to deny you, being the generous lover that he is who selfishly wants to pipe your cunt until it’s leaking. No, he’s unresisting to the way your legs wind around him and pull him in deeper, sloppily humping up into you and rutting and grinding until he’s gasping and flooding and drowning you both in stickiness. He rocks until the end, stilling above you as he’s throbbing and trying to regain a grip on himself. What have you done to him?

That’s how Carmen has you at the moment. Your legs unwrap from his waist and flop into the bed, and eventually, he retracts inch by inch, his ridges catching. He likes to extend his time inside of you, likes to live in the present instead of his head when you’re folded up like this. It’s a shame you’ve made him so sensitive. He wants to fuck his cum right back into you, but he requires a recovery period male anatomy failed him in. Your eyes flutter open in sensation as he finally slips out, closing after as you take the time to calm yourself and your body down from the high he’s propelled you into. He notices the way your face scrunches in discomfort, legs presumably sore from being corralled around his hips for too long. Carmen’s hands massage your thighs, promoting the feeling back within them by kneading the supple flesh there and lifting them into peaking mountains, heels on the mattress. It gives him the best view of his bidding, of the extra cream beading out of you, down to the crevice of your cheeks.

“Carmen,” your fucked out voice breaks him of the hypnosis he fell into. This can’t be all that pleasant for you, the seed of him drooling out of you while he holds up your thighs you’re not holding up on your own for a good reason. He’s aware of what you’re thinking. He’s aware of how you’re wondering how the hell he has more to give when you’ve got close to nothing left.

“I know, I know, I know,” his lips graze over your kneecap, toned stomach flexing while he shifts himself onto it. The next time you look into Carmen’s eyes, your thighs are framing either side of his head. His arms curl around them, and they end up over his shoulders, fingers drumming along your skin unprompted. It’s because he likes it when you lose yourself and wind up hugging his ears with your thighs. The downside is listening to the tune of those moans swathed up, but the upside is the heightened sense of touch it accords him. The noises you release vibrate all over your body, reverberating like the walls of a temple undergoing an earthquake while a beautiful harp dazzles it in devastating harmonic trills of its column strings. Or… in other words.

Your clit ripples with it on his tongue. What good is hearing you moan when he can feel it in his mouth through your pussy? What the fuck were those toothbrushes that played the music called? Whatever, it’s similar to that and it’s a pleasurable perk of living the human experience with you, if he had to name one off the top of his head. A nice dinner with you with some trashy television is another, but he’ll compile a list later. He’s busy staring at your sodden hole, intending to create more of a capacious mess than he already has. He means both of that gift between your legs and of you entirely.

Carmen laps beneath your twitching hole, capturing the glissading cum before it can fall further into the crevice where your ass begins. He tongues that sensitive area to make sure he gets it all, gliding the flat of the organ upwards and gulping its catch into his mouth. You’re trembling, and there you go, moaning out into the air. Carmen repeats the action until you’re no longer leaking, until the only cum left on you is still inside. He sinks his middle finger knuckle deep into you, checking to make sure of that fact, as if his cock didn’t guarantee it when he drove in deep to saturate and caulk you up, and yes, you’re tender and fucking heated and dewy around his finger as you grasp him tight and moan in a mix of surprise and overwhelming pleasure. He pumps and coils his middle finger, fucking that cum back up into you where it belongs, doing his best to locate that spongey spot you love so much to lubricate it with him, further claiming you from the inside out, all while he simultaneously peppers kisses around your outer lips.

“More, Carmy, more, please,” you say, and fuck, it’s like you know you’re going to get anything and everything from him in the entire world if he’s able. He ends the loneliness of his middle finger by adding in a second, his index joining into the fray. His middle finger is longer, but clumsier, doesn’t create as good a rhythm as his index does. It’s a true sentiment, further proven by how you arch suddenly and your thighs attach to his ears like magnets. Yeah, he found the spot, almost the very second his index finger navigated into your warmth. It’s a homing beacon.

He leans his head up. He didn’t swallow the cum he licked off you yet. He’s let the heat of his mouth warm it up, saliva pool in his cheeks with it, and abruptly, his lips part, spitting the combination over your clit in a glob that causes your hips to raise off the mattress, pelvic bone dangerously close to breaking his nose. The one hand on your thigh brings you back to earth for him, his fingers continuing the rubbing motion that’s got you whimpering sounds he selfishly wants louder. It’s not as pearly as it once was dribbling out of your slit, but it’s still a gratifying sight for him, and the lamp at bedside catches the remnants of the viscous substance splitting apart from his saliva. It’s like oil and water. Cum and spit. All lovingly blanketing your clit and seeping down where his fingers are taking care of you. And fuck, he can’t resist it, he knows what the fuck it’s gonna make him look like, but if you don’t judge him for splashing your tits and stomach with his seed, or kissing you deeply on the mouth to share it when you’ve just given him the crassest head, then he’s not going to hesitate any longer.

Carmen drops his mouth, licking it all back up. He prioritizes stimulating your clit with his tongue, but he’s not going to lie, he’s drinking it all back in. His cum, his spit, your wet arousal slick over his fingers and knuckles. He’s got you where he needs you, withdrawing yet another orgasm from your body that rocks you. He allows the gentle humping of your hips as you ride out that high, never slowing his fingers, bathing your clit with his lips and tongue for as long as you need it, and for as long as it tastes good. So… you have to brush a hand over the side of his face because to him, it never stops tasting good.

“Fuck, sorry. Too much?” He breathes. He kisses your inner thighs while you nod, dazed out and breathing heavily. Your chest falls and rises, breasts jostling in the action. Carmen continues to kiss your skin, slipping his fingers out slowly. You shiver, and your legs fall once more now that they’re not in his stronghold.

This is the other side. You’re spent. You can barely move. All you can do right now at this moment is watch Carmen sit back on his knees above you, observe as he drags his tongue over his digits, licking them unsullied. Because, sure, he’s got a huge thing for cumplay, but he’s also addicted to how yours tastes.

#l4l.writes #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #the bear fic #carmy x reader #carmen berzatto #it's more like a fascination #l4l.oneshot #phewwww

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starry-bi-sky · 5 months

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fast food is the best course of action after causing a scene. ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀɴʏᴀʟ ᴀʟ ɢʜᴜʟ ᴀᴜ

(First Post Here and Second Post Here

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Danny finds Sam easily.

She's right where she said she was over the phone: standing outside on a balcony, in Gotham, at Father's many charity functions.

("Would you still be willing to fly over to Gotham, Danny?" She asks, her voice ringing clear through the speakers. Danny is already climbing out his window before she even finishes her sentence. He was just about to settle down for the night, his ghosts would know better by now than to disturb him at this time. The Box Ghost not included.)

("Of course." He says, sounding more confident than he feels. Sam was one of his best— closest friends, he would do anything she or Tucker asked. Even if it means stepping foot into his Father's city. He drops down silently, and walks through the house's ghost shield. "Would you like me to bring you anything?")

(Sam sighs through the phone, relief leaking through. "One of the veggie burgers from Nasty Burgers would be great, with their new ecto-fries. Extra salt. I'm sick of all this rich people food.")

(A small smile pulls across Danny's face, tilting at the corner as his living form falls away to his ghost self. "Alright," he says, and kicks himself off the ground, "I'll be there in a few minutes.")

("Thanks, Danny.")

He had the bag of food with him, stored in a container he had to run back to the house to get that would prevent the food from cooling during his flight over. Clutching it in hand, he floats down behind Sam and sheds his invisibility.

Being visible and being invisible always felt different, but in a way Danny can never describe, no matter how many times he tries to think about it. It's like a gut-feeling, a sixth sense, he always knows when he's visible and when he is not.

His ghost form burns away like steel wool being lit, and Danny drops the last foot to the ground silently. In his other hand lies his thermos, but filled with plain ectoplasm — lazarus water. "I have your food."

(He brought the thermos for himself — his side was still healing from his last fight with Technus. The ghost impaled him with a broken pipe, and Danny returned the favor by wedging his sword into his chest. Technus had been quite offended by him ruining his favorite coat.)

Sam jumps a foot into the air, and her hand slams across her mouth to muffle the shriek she lets out as she whirls around. "Danny!" She hisses, her voice rising in pitch, and her eyes narrow at him into a glare. "Freaking-- Tucker's right, we seriously need to put a bell on you."

"You have been saying that for years," Danny grins, sharp-toothed and jack-knifed, and passes the container over to her. "And yet I've yet to see any kind of bell." He was going to start getting disappointed at this rate.

As Sam takes the container, Danny hops up onto the railing and looks around. He hadn't seen any of Father's other children lurking around the building before he revealed himself, but that doesn't mean they aren't there. He wasn't going to fool himself into thinking that their stealth skills were poor.

He wasn't that arrogant.

...Anymore.

"Oh you will." Sam threatens, unzipping the container and grabbing the takeout bag. "I'll get you a collar and everything, we can start calling you Catwoman." When she pulls out her fries, Danny snaps forward and steals one from the box, ignoring her indignant yell as he pops it into his mouth.

"I spent my own money on these fries, Sam." He sniffs, leaning away from her with a stifled huff of laughter as she swats at him. "So they are technically my fries. And also, Catwoman would be a poor thief if she wore a bell."

Sam grumbles at him, and takes a bite out of a handful of fries. "I'll venmo you money." She says past a mouthful of food, Danny would have been disgusted in the past, when he was still new. But he's gotten used to this... normality. So he makes no reaction to it. "How does three hundred bucks sound?"

Danny immediately frowns.

"Did you have a fight with your parents?" He asks, eyes glancing to the doors. Doors that are covered heavily by curtains and blurred heavily, decadent music passing through in muffled sounds. He shifts himself away from the light. "You only spend that much money when they've pissed you off."

Sam's chewing stops, and her annoyed expression falters into one Danny knows well -- hurt, furrowed brows, a small frown, disappointment -- and she turns her head away from him. She swallows. "Yeah." she says, quiet.

Oh.

Danny knows that tone too.

Guilt settles like a rock in his chest. He leans forward, "Was it about me again?" He wasn't blind to the disdain Sam's parents had for him, far from it. This wasn't the first time Sam had gotten into a fight with them over her friendship with him and Tucker. But especially him. He unsettled people, even after years of observing his age-mates and trying to mimic their behavior, and anyone who knew him in middle school knew it was an act.

Sam's silence gives him all the confirmation he needs, and the guilt heavies itself with the weight of the sky. Danny's never much cared about others' opinions of him -- he is (was?) an Al Ghul, they never heed to mind what the weight of a simpleton's thoughts.

But.. he cares a little a lot when it hurts his friends like this. He presses his lips together into a thin line, and forces the words out through his teeth. It sounds robotic. Al Ghul's do not apologize. "I... am sorry." But this one does. It doesn’t come easy.

Sam sighs through her nose, and turns to roll her eyes at him. "Don't apologize on their behalf when you won't even apologize for your own; their assholes." She says, and goes reaching for more fries.

It's a sign, a signal. A silent word for the conversation to move on, to change. A distraction. Danny grasps it with both hands, and makes an offended noise in the back of his throat. And like he has learned, puts a hand to his chest like a scandalized American southern lady. "I apologize! I apologize plenty."

She snorts. "Only when you think it matters." And pokes him in the ribs sharply with her fry. He withholds a wince and snatches it out of her hands. "You're about as unapologetic as they come, Danny J. Fenton. I've seen you look more sincere when you're trying to drive your sword between Vlad's ribs."

"Stabbing Masters is a very important task for me, Sam." Danny says in only partially faux-seriousness. Masters has yet to realize that Danny had no interest in becoming his son, but he had to (reluctantly) admire his persistence. "Of course I will apply myself to it as best as I can."

He grins triumphantly when Sam laughs, and she reaches over to shove him square in the chest. He barks out a laugh of his own as he grips onto the balcony railing and catches himself at an angle.

"Quit with your method actor talk," Sam retorts, grinning sharply while Danny twists himself back up elegantly. "I know you can talk like a normal person, I've literally seen you do it."

Danny sniffs, and snatches more fries from the carton as revenge. "I'm not entirely sure what you mean, Miss Sam." He says, grin-twisting when Sam rolls her eyes. "My speech has always been this way. This 'normal' you speak of, I do not know it."

She waves her hand dismissively at him. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. But if you keep talking like that, I'm pushing you off the balcony."

"Such violence, Sam."

He gets a laugh again, full of disbelief without any of the annoyance. "I'm gonna be the one that stabs you, oh my god. Pot meet kettle." She looks at him again, smiling.

Danny smiles back, and with a flick of his wrist pulls out a kunai from his sleeve. It was one of the few weapons Mother was able to pass on to him whenever she made her scarce visits. He cherishes it well, along with anything else she was capable of giving him.

He holds the handle out to her, and watches her face shift from disbelief to shock, then back to disbelief. "Then you're gonna need a weapon to do that."

"Of course you have a pointy object on you." She mutters, and takes the kunai and puts it in her purse. Danny makes a pleased hum, it resonates low in his core, and drops his hand. "When do you not have a pointy object on you?"

As if to make her point, Danny's hands twist near his side, and he holds his palms up to her, revealing the shobo he had also hidden on him. He gives her a shit-eating grin. "Never." He lowers his hand, and pockets the small weapon once again.

Sam huffs, "Of course," she repeats, "thanks. I was gonna bring a knife but..."

Danny finishes the sentence for her, kicking his feet idly and knowingly. "The security at the door?" He'd seen them on his flight over the building. It wouldn't do much in the face of the Rogues, but at least they were good at keeping appearances and keeping out the smaller threats.

He rolls his eyes and turns his head away, looking up to the ugly, smog-covered skies. There was no bat signal in the air, and while that was a good thing, Danny almost wished there was. He wanted to see it. "I saw, and I would’ve called Father foolish if he hadn’t hired help. He attracts trouble almost as badly as I do."

"Maybe it's hereditary," Sam jokes, laughing under her breath. With her fries finished, she started on her veggie burger. "At least your dad isn't a vigilante like you are."

Danny smiles wryly. It felt nice to be able to talk more freely about this. That he didn't have to hide the fact that his father was Bruce Wayne, now that Sam knew it from her own accord. Maybe he could have conversations like these more often. Even if it was limited to Bruce Wayne only.

(Even if it felt a little terrifying to know that his father was so close by, close enough that Danny could reach out and touch him. To speak to him. But how would he explain that? And with an audience?)

(He’s wanted to see him since he was a kid, and he still does. It clings onto him like a cough that doesn’t go away after the cold already has, and while it has faded over the years, it clings. His mother’s words still ring in his ears however; it’s not safe. It’s not safe.)

(And isn’t that why he faked his death in the first place? So that his little brother would be safe? Why he gave up the heirship, his home, his Mother, Damian, and his chance to meet his Father? Going to see Father, even now, would be throwing that all away. He has to stay away.)

(Why is Damian with Father if staying with Father was unsafe?)

He just needed to tell Tucker. Danny wouldn’t keep him out of the loop, he was just as much as his friend as Sam was. His eyes draw towards the door, where the golden glow of lights was still pouring through, where music was playing loudly. "Yeah, fortunately."

They fall into a comfortable silence after that, and Danny finally cracks open his thermos. The pipe Technus impaled him with was covered in a goo that Danny didn’t recognize, but whatever it was, his injury was taking its time healing. The ectoplasm was speeding it up.

He isn’t sure what the difference between the ectoplasm that Drs. Fenton collected and Grandfather’s Lazarus pools is, but there’s a difference. He swirls the thermos slowly, watching as the ectoplasm inside twists into a small whirlpool sluggishly.

When left alone, it thickens into a consistency similar to egg whites, or perhaps a thick smoothie, but reverts back into a water-like substance when moved and swirled. It was strange; unexplainable. He can understand, to an extent, why the Drs. Fenton are so obsessed with studying it and the dimension it comes from.

Sam watches him idly as he brings the thermos to his lips and drinks from it. The effect is instantaneous, a sense of relief washing over Danny as if someone had put a soothing balm onto an injury. It buzzes down to his fingertips, and when he lowers the thermos, he licks his lips and watches the tips of his fingers burn green like frostbite.

“Your hair turned white again.” Sam comments, her hand reaching out and touching the hair on the nape of his neck. While it’s not the first time Sam’s touched his hair, it still makes him tense up with her hand so close to his throat. Instinct. dan

He ignores the urge to bat her hand away, humming thoughtfully. “I’ve noticed it does that.” He says, pulling down his bangs to see if they’ve also turned white. No, still black. He lets go. “Let me guess; my eyes are green too?” He lifts the thermos again and peers into the chrome casing.

Sam nods, “Yep, but it’s only the, uh.” She makes a circle around her eyes with her finger. “The iris part. Everything else is fine.”

Danny can see that. The faint reflection on the chrome casts back an intense green. He takes another sip. It chills the back of his teeth, and he can feel his canines warp and sharpen. He runs his tongue over them, and swallows.

Sam is still watching him, her fingers drumming against the balcony railing. “What’s it taste like?”

“Carbonated.” He says dryly, before taking a large swig. He couldn’t name a specific flavor if he tried, it changed every time he took a sip. The only thing that stayed consistent was that it tasted carbonated. And slightly sweet. When he pulls the thermos away, Danny twists his body towards her and offers it out, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “Want to try?”

Her reaction is immediate. Sam’s nose scrunches up and her mouth twists into a smile, and she makes a huffing-laugh sound. “No, thank you.” She pushes it away lightly with her fingers, “I don’t know how to explain to my parents why my hair is white.”

Right. Danny pulls the thermos away and puts it down beside him, straining his eyes to see if the rest of his hair has changed colors. Even just his first sip would take half an hour to fade back to its normal black, and he was a halfa. He had no idea how long it’d take to fade on Sam, who was human.

There’s movement from the corner of his eye, and Danny snaps his head towards the source. There’s a figure, small, a boy, trying to hide behind one of the curtains at the door. His form just barely peeking out from the angle Danny was sitting at. He wouldn’t have seen him if the boy hadn’t moved.

His fingers curl tightly into the railing, and he breathes in sharp. Sam’s smile crumbles away and she turns to see what he’s looking at. “I should go.” He says, and reaches for his thermos. “There’s someone spying on us. Don’t say anything, just look at me.”

Sam’s expression warps, twists. Her eyes widen, her jaw starts to drop before fixing itself into place, and her shoulders curl up and tense. She forces it all to smooth over, and she leans casually against the railing. There’s a tick in her jaw. “I see.” Her voice comes through teeth. “Do you think they saw you?”

“I am not sure.” Danny says. He keeps an eye on the figure as he twists himself over and grabs the Nasty Burger bag and the container. He tries not to look like he’s rushing. He is. How long has that boy been there? How much did he see? Did he hear anything?

“Father, fortunately, has privacy films on the glass. Nobody should have seen me unless they’re specifically trying to peep through the door.” He says. The boy seems to realize that Danny was starting to leave. And, his heart beginning to sink, instead of leaving, moves to grab the door handle instead.

No. No, no, no, no, no.

Danny’s breath catches in his throat, he’s hoping that isn’t who he think it is. But how else would he have not noticed an eavesdropper on their conversation unless it was someone who was capable of bypassing those skills? He told himself that he wouldn’t fool himself into thinking that his siblings’ had poor stealth. He got distracted.

Five years, five years. He refuses to let that go down the drain. He zips up the container and throws his legs over the other side of the railing, his back facing the door. He hears the doorknob click, and without a word to Sam, slips off down the side and down to the ground below.

Just in time. The once muffled music now sounds blaring as the door presumably is thrown open and the pull of invisibility washes over him like a second skin. He doesn't stay to see who it is.

#dpxdc #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dpdc #dpxdc crossover #danyal al ghul au #older brother danny #first danny pov of the au! whoo!#danny's hair turns white if he drinks ectoplasm brrrrr and his eyes turn green. good for him #this sat in my drafts for the last few days until i finally finished it during class #it was a math class and i already knew the material so tis fiiiine. now i just need to finish my CFAU post rewrite :)#ectoplasm tastes like that time i went to go get pepsi from the soda machine and it was all out of the pepsi flavoring so instead i got a #cup full of carbonated liquid. it was disgusting. ectoplasm kinda tastes like that. sometimes.#danny smiles in this more than i thought he would but yk it fits. he IS more smiley around his friends and family.#ectoplasm is a weird non-newtonion fluid and danny is fascinated. its got the consistency of egg whites one minute and then water the next #its a water slime and then suddenly its as brittle as annealed glass. it heats up and rots like milk or it heats up and boils like water #it congeals. it thickens. it boils. it solidifies. it does whatever it wants. it gels and melts into a tar-like substance #how long has damian been standing there? good question. :) i almost had him open the door and make eye contact with damian before falling #backwards. i also almost had it be *bruce* and damian opening the door bc bruce found out that damian pulled a knife on sam and was gonna #have him come apologize. that would be a fun scene. prolonged eye contact prolonged eye contact prolonged eye contact #imagery brrrr. had fun playing with how danny's ghost form works. if anyone has seen a video of steel wool burning thats how i imagine #danny's ghost transformation to be like.#also ayyy balancing danny's dialogue be like “how fancy should he sound and how Normal Teenager Should He Sound”#when sam gets home she catches tucker up to speed about everything including the convos with the waynes she had and they both form the #'“Fuck Them Waynes” squad. Sam has jumped to the entirely wrong conclusion about danny's separation from his family but in her defense.#it is a pretty sound conclusion to jump to considering the lack of context she has from danny's prior home life. which is almost none at al #so to her it looks like danny got abandoned by bruce wayne

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