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wordsinhaled · 10 months

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i’m so totally normal about the fact that aziraphale’s last (known) deliberate foray into the queer community was when he learned the gavotte at the fictionalized hundred guineas club (!!!) in the 1800s and now in the 2020s he’s like “grindr? what’s that?”

many are talking about his repression which is very valid… and yet the thing to me that stands out about aziraphale is that he’s actually… incredibly stable in his identity and that identity IS incredibly queer. queer by the standards of heaven AND by human standards as well

metatron describes his “de facto partnership” with crowley as “irregular.” and in fact aziraphale in his entirety is irregular. he likes and makes it his business not only to understand but to be a connoisseur of all manner of things angels aren’t supposed to even remotely care about. food. music. books. theatre. sleight of hand. and more.

it’s the sort of behavior that would’ve gotten him othered, treated as a bit odd, in heaven even if he hadn’t chosen to consort all across the earth with a literal demon. and it IS treated that way - the fact is aziraphale even as an angel has got proclivities that set him apart from the rest of the host (even after offering him the highest position in heaven, metatron still acts deeply dismissive of him… like aziraphale’s bookshop is merely a quaint little hobby of his that can be easily transferred to another custodian, and not a literal extension of who aziraphale has become, full of his tartan and unique bibles and special vintages of wine and the books arranged in a very specific way)

so. aziraphale is a queer angel but of course he’s also queer to other humans. but in such a way that… he had his realization a LONG time ago, and put the matter very much to rest after that. aziraphale is perpetually something like several centuries behind schedule. he owns an ancient computer that probably continues to run windows 98 simply because aziraphale’s decided it should. he wears the same waistcoat and coat for generations because he simply likes them precisely the way they are and sees no reason to change them. but the idea that he doesn’t know how he comes across to others - of course he does. he knows he looks like your prim and proper grandfather and he prefers it that way

aziraphale looked around at humans in the 1880s and said: ah yes. this is where i fit. and promptly ensconced himself in that queer subculture. learned the gavotte. read his austen. loved crowley from afar. aziraphale is fiercely and vibrantly queer. just with the sort of assurance of someone who lives with his lover in a commonlaw marriage for decades and then shows up at city hall for the certificate once society decides it’s ‘allowed.’ like… he hasn’t had any need to know what grindr is because aziraphale’s ‘scene’ was a century and a half ago and it defined romance for him too.

but my favorite thing about aziraphale is how much of him is about appearances versus the truth. he can lie straight to angels’ faces and sleep at night. he knows he comes off soft but he once wielded a flaming sword. he dissembles helplessness but he’s far from it and he knows precisely how it makes others treat him. and at the core of aziraphale is rigidity, inflexibility of ideas… his sense of self is stable where crowley’s is malleable, and so on, and so on

and the fact that he’s continuously fixated on trying to misguidedly do the right thing, the fact that he seeks heavenly approval and wants to fit the world into his schema of good vs evil… in no way do i think that means he isn’t one hundred percent aware of how he feels about crowley or what it means about him by angelic or human standards. i’ve seen some folks saying that aziraphale doesn’t want to like kissing crowley and like… as much as i love me some brideshead revisited/atonement flavored angst; i put forth that it’s not internalized homophobia or queer panic but simply: “i’m trying to do the right thing for both of us and you won’t let me.” and “i wanted our first kiss to be different.” he was envisioning an entirely different flavor of romance than what he got but he emma woodhoused too close to the sun

like, y’all. aziraphale in all likelihood has a glorious collection of historical queer erotica. he just has a feathery diva coat hanging in his closet, and for what. “oh, good lord” he says at crowley’s revolutionary outfit in the bastille, while eyeing him up like an entire meal. he’s so good at affected propriety, at carefully constructed stuffiness, but between the two of them aziraphale’s got to be the one who has experience

aziraphale had been physically throwing himself at crowley the entire season. he orchestrated an entire regency ball so they could touch hand to hand. he spends the entire season (well, and season 1) looking at crowley like he’s particularly coveted. he looked at crowley before the fall like he was glorious and beautiful. aziraphale’s queer and he knows it and i think that isn’t his problem, it’s the fact that he wants to build a different sort of future for the two of them but crowley’s gone and thrown a wrench in it by reminding him of everything he can finally have. like. that’s the heartbreak. it’s how dare you make this ugly? i forgive you for our first kiss being all pain and salt. it’s my dearest, i wanted to make heaven as beautiful as you deserve. as sacred and safe for us as our bookshop. and i can do that for us, because once i held a flaming sword and i still remember how the hilt felt in my hands. and now the taste of you is in my mouth.

#coughs this is also why aziraphale’s a dom. but that’s a separate post #good omens #good omens 2 #ineffable husbands #good omens 2 spoilers #this continues to be an aziraphale stan account #‘aziraphale is traumatized’ and ‘aziraphale celebrates the part of himself that loves crowley’ are two ideas that can coexist #feeling a bit like this take might get me flamed whoops but. i’m deep in my az feelings tonight so i guess i’ve decided to share anyway

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starry-bi-sky · 17 days

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tales of the passerine - danny fenton being bruce wayne's first kid

okay okay. so this is like a continuation/elaboration of my oneshot/prompt i wrote about the idea that Danny was the first batkid. We have a lot of aus where he joins the family after the rest of the bats do, right? So hey! Lets shake things up a bit. Danny is the first to be adopted by Bruce Wayne.

Danny's parents and unfortunately Jazz die shortly after the events of TUE -- how so? I was gonna say an ecto-filter explosion, that would call back to the TUE explosion and trauma behind that. But lets do something new! Carbon-monoxide poisoning.

It's not too unexpected for something to break in the Fenton house, especially with the Fenton parents' questionable understanding of proper weapon handling and lab safety. The water heater broke from a stray shot by one of the weapons, and was promptly MacGyver'd incorrectly. Danny went to stay with Tucker for a guys' night, and came back to a dead silent house.

(Danny's neighbors got a very unfortunate shock when he ran to the next house over in hysterics.)

There was a lot of shuffling around with CPS, the police. People had to be called in to handle the equipment in the lab, and the GIW was rumoring to show up in aid to clearing the scene. When Danny heard of that, he immediately went and dismantled the ghost portal to the best of his abilities. He burned the physical blueprints of all his parents' inventions, their blueprints on the ghost portal, and their most dangerous weapons were destroyed beyond recognition. Anything to prevent the GIW from getting their hands on his parents' tech.

It opened up another investigation, but he was not under the list of suspects. He was placed in the care of Vlad Masters, where they then went back to the rebuilt castle mansion in Wisconsin. Danny, terrified of the future that has once passed and may do so again, shuts down in his grief. Inadvertently, he ends up somewhat repressing his ghost half. Something Vlad, who is grieving Madeline but relishing in Jack's demise and his custody of Daniel, is not very happy with.

Vlad's... gone into a bit of a mental health spiral. He's becoming increasingly possessive over Daniel, the final remnants of his friends and a liminal being like him. He doesn't like that Danny's repressing his ghost half -- both out of genuine concern as a ghost, but also because of his desire to control Danny and groom him into the perfect son. If you ever had a phase where you read Dark SBI found family fics, first off; me too bro, and second off; those are the vibes I'm thinking of.

Danny's mentally shut down from grief! And fear. He's dropped into a bad depressive state -- paralyzed with grief and the terror of the inevitable. Clockwork saved his parents because he believes in second chances, but what's the point of that when his family ended up dead anyways? Danny doesn't wanna believe that he's destined to become evil, and he's holding out onto that hope, but it's a thin line, and he feels utterly hopeless and trapped. He hasn't used his powers or ghost form since he trashed the lab, and Vlad has alarms set up to prevent him from trying to escape.

He's also unintentionally cut off Sam and Tucker -- both of whom are so scared and concerned for Danny too, and are trying their damndest to reach out to him. He keeps ignoring their texts. Danny basically haunts Vlad's manor. He goes out to eat if he has to, attends parties Vlad drags him to, and stays in his room all day if he can.

At parties, Vlad doesn't allow Danny to leave his side, or really talk to anyone -- not that Danny wants to. A product of Vlad's increasing possessiveness. Well, he almost doesn't let Danny leave his side. Danny has a habit of slipping off to hide somewhere for the parties whenever he can, and Vlad reluctantly allows it so long as he stays alone.

This becomes an advantage when eventually, Bruce Wayne returns to Gotham after missing for years, and holds a bright charity ball to celebrate the return. Vlad has been chomping at the bits to get his hands on Wayne Industries, and with the return of its owner there is no better opportunity to wipe out his rival. He goes, and he as normal, brings Daniel with him.

Vlad thinks Wayne will bleed his little heart out for Daniel's poor orphan sob story -- he's a fellow orphan himself, after all. He's not wrong; Wayne's little heart will bleed, just not in the way that benefits him.

Bruce sees Vlad and Danny approaching before they're even close enough to introduce themselves - and like with many of the children he will soon come to care for, it's like someone set a mirror into the past right in front of him.

Danny Fenton's suit is tailor-made for him, and despite the fact that it's his perfect size, the sag in his shoulders, the ducked down head, and the way he hunches into himself all pictures the image of a child in shoes too big for him. There's a far away, glazed over look in his eyes and grief marble-cut into the lines of his face. There's not enough makeup in the world that will hide the dark circles under his eyes.

("My nephew, Daniel Fenton." Vlad's hands are possessive on Danny's shoulders. Bruce immediately notices the way the boy tenses under his touch. "His parents passed recently, and as his godfather I was designated his guardian.") ("I'm so sorry, the loss must've been terrible.") ("Yes, carbon-monoxide poisoning caused it. Daniel was out with friends, when he came home... they had already passed.") (Bruce immediately dislikes that Vlad shared the details of their death unprompted -- he likes it even less when Danny flinches at the reminder and hunches into himself.)

Danny runs off at some point earlier into the charity. At this point, parties are still being held at Wayne Manor (because iirc google search mentioned that was a thing at first before it was changed), so he disappears and hides in one of the empty rooms nearby. It just so happens to be the same room Bruce Wayne hides in when he needs a break from all of the socialization.

Thus begins a long, long process of trust. Bruce can't reveal his hand as being smarter than he looks, but he can be compassionate. Kindness needs no measure of intelligence. He keeps Danny company for as long as he can before he runs the risk of being found.

Rinse and repeat. Vlad insistently wants Wayne Industries, and he'll go to as many Wayne parties as he can to get his hooks into the man. The problem is that Bruce Wayne is never alone, and getting him alone is impossible. Finding him too. It's like the man never stops moving. Always talking to someone, always circling somewhere. He orbits around the room as if he isn't the sun of the Gotham Elite's solar system.

Danny's had such repetitive behavior that Vlad never thinks to believe that Bruce Wayne is disappearing to go talk to him. That "Vlad's" son is even interacting with him at all. Danny never gives him a reason to think so, and neither does Bruce.

Danny doesn't actually acknowledge Bruce until a handful of parties in, where he hands Bruce a small slip of paper he smuggled in that says; "don't trust Vlad". Danny's face stays carefully blank, but he's so tense that his hands are trembling, and he's purposely looking away from him. Bruce plasters a smile onto his face, slips the paper into his pocket, and tells him "okay".

(he's been busy with his own goals with the mafia, but he sets aside time to investigate Vlad Masters. He was holding off. Until now.)

Danny does eventually start speaking to Bruce, he's starting to really like the guy. He's starting to see a little hope, even as Vlad is starting to get more and more agitated with him the more he refuses to use his powers.

He reaches out to Sam and Tucker again, and starts trying to reconnect with them. Vlad has spyware on his phone, and he limits the amount of times he can talk to them. A weird parental control lock of some sort that leaves a time limit on how long he can talk to them for. 30 minutes. Danny doesn't tell them anything about Mr. Wayne.

Danny, slowly, wants out of here, and he's slowly gathering the motivation to do it. Vlad is genuinely scaring him -- and Danny wonders just how truthful the past-future Vlad was when he told him that Danny wanted his ghost half separate. He starts trying to come up with an escape plan.

Vlad has anti-ghost wards everywhere around the mansion, and while they're always on, they boost to full power at sunset. The doors and windows are always locked, all main exits have alarms set on them. The only reason it's not super extensive is because Danny hasn't tried leaving at all yet, so Vlad hasn't had to tighten anything.

At night, Vlad locks the door to his room and puts up an anti-ghost ward around the room. The mansion is on the outside westward side of Madison, more entrenched in rural Wisconsin. The closest town is a four-way stop sign with one house on three corners, and an open bar on the fourth. Not much to go.

He refuses to go to Sam and Tucker; Vlad would look there first. It's too dangerous. Vlad would sound alarm bells and have a manhunt looking for him, Danny can't risk going just anywhere. Too much risk of being found, sold out, or caught. There's really nowhere for him to hide.

Until there is. Bruce is telling Danny about the history of Wayne Manor, and says, as casually as saying the weather; "The manor has dozens of empty rooms, I'm sure Alfred wouldn't mind filling another one if he could." And quietly, hesitantly, Bruce places a careful hand on Danny's shoulder, unrestrictive and gentle; "He wouldn't mind getting one ready for you if you need one."

And there it is. There's his out.

Danny, just as quietly, replies; "I'll keep that in mind."

The ball starts rolling.

Now I've been trying to summarize this au as much as possible for length convenience, but Vlad has been steadily growing more and more controlling. More emotionally manipulative. More agitated at Danny for not using his powers.

He wants Wayne Industries under his thumb but he's been steadily growing more and more concerned with Danny. He's started grabbing him, yanking him around, shaking him; trying to goad him into using his powers. He gets angry when Danny doesn't react, or tells him he doesn't want to use his powers. He hasn't outright attacked him, but he's getting there. This has been happening over the time it takes for Bruce to indirectly offer Danny sanctuary at his home.

It all comes to a head when Vlad stops going to parties at all -- something Danny has to pretend he isn't upset about -- because Vlad doesn't want him around other people anymore. Vlad rarely goes now without him, and only leaves to go to a Wayne function or to handle something at VladCo.

Danny can't wait for Vlad to leave long enough to escape. So he leaves during the night of a big storm. Vlad's locked him in his room, but Danny doesn't bother trying to go for it; he goes to the alarmed window instead. Danny's been repressing his ghost half so long that he can't access his powers immediately anymore -- he can feel it, he knows its there, but he can't quite reach it.

He breaks the lock by hand.

Immediately the alarm goes off through the entire castle, filling the room with red, and he scrambles for the rope the Wisconsin Ghost left for him a few months back. Danny's already out and climbing down the side of the castle before Vlad even reaches his door -- the only good thing about the entire room being ghost-proof is that Vlad can't get in that way.

The rope ends before it reaches the bottom, and he's still twenty feet in the air. It won't kill him if he lands it right. Danny takes his chances, and drops. He breaks his ankle, but he survives.

And he fucking books it to the back garden. He hears Vlad shrieking over the thunder and rain.

I'll save the full experience for a future oneshot, but Danny makes it out into the nearby woods and forcibly experiences what it's like to be in a horror game, trying to hide from the thing that's hunting you. There's only one thing going through his mind; "i'm going to die"

I have this mental image for this scene. Very stereotypical horror imo. Where Danny is hiding behind a tree, with a hand over his mouth, and Vlad is a few feet away from him, glowing ominously red through the trees, trying to search for him.

Danny doesn't get away from this unscathed, but he does get away alive. That's all he could ask for. He gets away by getting his ghost half awakened long enough to transform into Phantom and fly to Gotham.

But he gets to Wayne Manor, he gets to Bruce. Or, at least, Alfred answers the door from his insistent pounding. Danny's just in tears and Alfred gets him in the living room, wrapped in a towel, with ice on his swollen leg before he has to step out and alert Bruce.

Bruce already breaks multiple traffic laws on a nightly basis. And that's just with the sheer existence of the batmobile itself, not including the speeding and military artillery attached. He breaks double the amount trying to speed back to the cave and get out of the suit.

Right off the bat: Bruce will know, at least before Dick enters the picture, about danny's powers. He'll figure out something considering the fact that Danny traveled from Wisconsin to New York in a single night. That'll be a bit of complicated affair, but I've already got something in mind.

Actually it'll probably be very soon after Danny joins the family, because Bruce tries to offer to fight for custody for Danny - the state Danny was in at arrival is clear enough evidence for a trial. But Danny immediately shuts it down, says it's not going to work and then Vlad will know Danny's with him and he won't be safe. He tells him that Vlad cannot know Danny was with Bruce.

Danny's biggest regret was not telling his parents he was a halfa, and while he doesn't want to tell mister wayne (yet), he does tell him about Vlad being one. He needs to know why Danny can't be seen with Bruce. So he tells him, and Danny's current plan is to just hide out from Vlad until he turns 18. That way, he has no more legal jurisdiction over him. After that? He's not sure.

And to wrap this up, since this has already gotten very long and I can make more posts about this au later; I've thought about it, and I'm going to say that Danny does become a vigilante before Dick enters the scene. He goes by, as you probably guessed; Nightingale. "Gale" for short.

#dpxdc #dp x dc #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc crossover #tales of the passerine au #i dont want to overemphasize how much vlad sucks but also i dont want to downplay it. but also i didn't wanna make this post too long #i didn't emphasize enough on vlad's possessiveness but i wanted to make this post as general enough as possible for the au.#for some more wiggle room in the future if i make more posts about this au.#the consequences for Danny repressing himself was not a concern i was focused on for the post but i am thinking about it and mulling it ove #i'll be blunt my main specific reason for why this occurs shortly after tue is bc it means dani doesn't exist yet and it means i dont have #to include her in the continuation of this au. i love that girl but she's a dead weight. i dont wanna come up with an elaborate reason as #to why she's not in the picture when i can just say 'she never created in the first place' instead. i don't have anything for her to do #I don't want to risk giving her a poor plot line just so that she exists in au.#sometimes i really hate just how long my posts get. i feel like it kills my engagement. but i also don't want to make posts that have #a part 1 and part 2 just because I think it got too long.#i feel kinda bad for having Danny take the spot of 'first partner' from Dick. But that was part of the reason i was inspired to make this a #i've already got the skeleton of a reasoning for danny becoming a vigilante being made in my head.#He can't go by Phantom since that risks drawing Vlad's attention -- a new vigilante showing up in Gotham. a place the visited frequently #who goes by the name Phantom? He'd be on that faster than chickens on meat. and nightingale has familial meaning behind it due to being #part of an ancestral name. it follows robin's theme of using it to honor his parents while still having its own unique enough lore to stand #on its own without feeling like a cheap copy. plus the bonus meta reason that it follows the bird theme. which personally is vital to me #my other alternative to Nightingale is Sparrow. mostly because it has good phonetic structure for a hero name. not too many syllables #a good balance of consonants and vowels. dont want a hero name with too many syllables or unbalanced consonants. or worse; both.#my reasonings is that hero names should be easy for a civ or teammate to yell while still being understood. max amount of syllables before #it threatens to become too wordy is 3. If it goes over 3 it should have a balanced consonant-vowel ratio. Wonder Woman is a good example #some things got cut here that were in the initial oneshot. like danny giving bruce his physical ghost core and showing up bloody.#the first son au

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venture4treasure · 21 days

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“It’s like Drowning”

Words: 1516

Premise: Suicidal!Reader makes an attempt at taking their own life. Venture is there and does their best to make things better.

Warnings: Suicide Attempt, Mental breakdown, Drowning, Self-deprecation, Hospital

Venture sat in a chair pulled up beside your hospital bed. They rested their head on the bed rails and tucked their hand underneath their head. They stared at your sleeping form. According to the doctors, you were stable and you just needed to wake up. And you had woken up a couple of times, the nurses said – you’d woken up and gone right back to sleep is what your vitals had indicated.

Each time you stirred, Venture would sit up, hopeful that you’d finally want to wake up. It took an incredible amount of self-control for them to not shake you or crack a joke to get you to open your eyes. But they figured you’d been through so much already, that you should just wake up on your own time. So, they waited.

They took brief breaks from all but guarding your bed to take care of themselves – because you hated when they were ever sacrificing their health for you. They also routinely brought more and more of your plushies, pillows, and blankets to you. They placed them around you on your bed so when you woke up, it’d be a little less like a hospital and maybe a little more like home. Especially, if you woke up when they weren’t around, they needed you to know you were on their mind and they were thinking about you. And that you aren’t alone.

Right now, there was nothing left to do. The moon hung high in the sky and lit up the room. The lights of your room had long been turned off for the night. They reached to rest their hand atop yours, and thank god your hands are warm. Because despite what machines can tell them, the warmth of your body and breath will always be more reassuring. They cringe as memories of that night resurface in their mind.

They had felt something was off – something was really off. In their heart, they knew they had to check on you, they had to see you. When they’d rushed home, they found your scrawled notes and apologies in a handwriting messier than usual and they knew. They called 911 in a heartbeat, shared everything they could about your possible whereabouts and then immediately threw on a jacket to find you.

You had taken a jump off a nearby railroad bridge, you’d left your phone and coat there. Venture had found your items and took to immediately scaling down the side of the valley to get to the river shore. It wasn’t the safest maneuver, but traversing rocky terrain is part of their job and they were willing to risk it for you. They also updated the authorities on the situation.

They found you first, and you were so cold. The frigid wind and water didn’t help at all. Without missing a beat, they wrapped you in their coat and began chest compressions. When you finally coughed up water, albeit reactively instead of consciously, and took some shallow breaths. They almost cried.

You were rushed away in an ambulance, nurses and doctors told them they had done everything right, and if they hadn’t acted, you probably wouldn’t have survived. It made them shudder, the idea that if they had just swept aside their gut instinct the whole situation would have been very different.

Venture was startled back to the present when they felt your hand close around theirs.

You made a series of wordless noises, your face scrunching up in discomfort. Venture gently squeezes your hand back, silently encouraging you to try and wake up.

You eventually blink awake after struggling with the gross feeling of consciousness. You’re met with the blank ceiling of the hospital room, you recognize those lights and groan. You notice the familiar plushies at the edge of your vision and turn to take a better look at them. Venture catches your gaze and they smile brightly.

“Hi,” they excitedly greet, trying to keep the volume of their voice down.

You try to respond, but it comes out as unintelligible mumbling and eventually coughing. Venture immediately helps you sit up and holds a bottle of water for you to drink.

“I’m sorry…” you eventually decide to say, hands nervously holding the water bottle in your lap. You can’t bring yourself to meet their eyes.

“No apologies, I’m just glad you’re here,” they smile softly.

“I just-”

Venture hushes you, stepping across the room to retrieve and microwave a takeout container for you. When they return to your side with the warm food and utensils, you stare at them in disbelief and guilt.

“It’s your favourite,” they add.

You held the warm container, letting the heat seep into your hands.

“I don’t deserve this”.

“Yes you do,” Venture corrects, “eat something, it’ll make you feel better. And then we can talk about whatever you want, okay?” Despite it being phrased as a question, you can tell there’s no changing their mind.

The food tastes amazing, you didn’t realize how starved you were until you started eating. While you ate, Venture pulled out their phone to show you pictures and share some stories.

“My old coworker got a cat and sent me this picture of her, she’s so silly,” Venture laughs, showing you the picture of an orange cat, sprawled out on her back with her paws in the air.

You giggle a bit at the cat and Venture visibly brightens hearing your laugh. It encouraged them to look for even more cat-related pictures on their phone.

They show you a video of a beautiful cat walking down a sidewalk while being cast in the golden light of a sunset.

“I saved this one cause it reminded me of you!”

“Flatterer,” you huff lightheartedly.

“It’s true!” Venture insists. They began to point out all the similarities between you and this cat for the rest of the time you ate.

By the time you were done eating, your face burned with embarrassment and hurt from smiling. Venture has never failed to surprise you with all the things they adore about you – you don’t even think about half the things they mentioned.

You finished about half the meal, before calling it. You set the takeout on your bedside table and picked up a plushie, placing it in your lap and playing with it absentmindedly as your smile faded. Venture could tell the change in the air and set aside their phone to give you their attention.

“I just felt so empty. Like there was no direction in my life at all. All my friends are chasing their dreams, and I don’t even have one. And you,” you glance up at Venture, “you are living your dream, your passion for archeology is so infectious”.

You take a shaky breath, “and what do I have? I work a meaningless nine-to-five, it doesn’t even pay that well. All I do is force myself to get through the empty days to get to the moments where I can spend them with friends or you”.

“I’m so tired,” you cry, tears dripping onto your hospital gown, “it doesn’t feel worth it some days- like, when I get to be happy, I’m so happy and it feels worth it. But every day in between is so miserable and…” your words dissolve into sobs.

Venture leans over to hold you the best they can over the bed railing, they trace shapes on your back to comfort you as you cry into them. Their heart breaks hearing you cry, and their mind races with possible solutions to your problem. Realistically, they know they can’t help you to the extent you need – they’re not a medical professional. But they think they can make you feel better at least.

When your crying slows down, you pull away, wiping your eyes with your arm. You apologize again.

Venture reaches for your hand, holding it with care.

“What if you came to my expeditions with me?” They silenced the alarm in their brain telling them their job is not safe – clearly, you weren’t safe here either.

“It’s not the most comfortable place to be living, and we hardly have any luxury compared to city life, but you’d be able to see me every day!” they start to ramble, “and I don’t mean that as in I need to see you because I don’t trust you… I just think maybe you’d find it more bearable”.

You stare at them in awe, that did sound nice.

“I would like to, but,” you think out loud, airing out your anxieties.

“I wouldn’t have a job”.

“I can pay for everything, if you’re comfortable with that”.

“You work with a team”.

“My crew would be happy to have you! Promise!”

“What if I don’t like it- I mean, I think I would, but…”

“Then we will try something else, nothing is permanent”.

You soon run out of qualms to have with their plan, “my therapist won't like this idea.”

“I’m sure she can be convinced,” Venture grins.

You sniffle a laugh, “Okay, okay. You win. You make a compelling argument”.

Author’s Note: You’re technically supposed to remove all wet clothing from a person to prevent hypothermia, but I did not know how to write that in, so I guess Venture just did not know better.

The pain of realizing a few scenes and wanting to write about them, but also having to write everything in between. Also, this was meant to be a couple hundred works max, I just can’t help it.

#venture fics #venture x reader #venture x you #venture overwatch #overwatch venture #venture #sloan cameron #sloane cameron #overwatch x reader #overwatch fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #i’m so sleepy when posting this #part 2 maybe if other people like this or i like this in a couple days #i’m like 90% sure there’s going to be a continuation #it's happier #did tumblr send me a mental health care bot because of this

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paxcallow · 2 years

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he just really believes in her

#psychonauts #razputin aquato #lili zanotto #posting my backlog of art part 2: the more psychonautsing #fanart #my art #comic #trying to cleanse the tag's palate a little. after. Another Fuckface Is Reveal...!#sorry for the people following me for megamind or world's end or whatever i'll post that stuff too i prommy :^(#but uhhh yeah i was a mixed bag even back on CM. that will continue i think

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superkooku · 4 days

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+ Orpheus, through the maenads

And Perseus is the only one who didn't lose 🤣

#i know it's the 100th time i rant about Dionysus #but as long as no adaptation does him justice I'll continue to complain #and yes i know he didn't beat the giants alone. but him participating in the gigantomachy is really awesome #part 2 of the rant incoming 👀#dionysus #dionysos #greek mythology #greek myth memes #not a reblog #again. not a hate post against hades ii. i'm still very excited for the game 😅

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nat-without-a-g · 3 months

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The acolytes of the Doodler were not bad people, they’re consumed by their obsessions. They all think that they’re helping the people they hurt, too— minus that one incel with the trumpet he’s just an incel. The only thing that really defines an acolyte of the Doodler is their obsession with something, and in some way coming to utilize power from the Doodler to achieve these goals, intertwining their obsession with their understanding of the Doodler.

Let’s talk about Normal Oak-Swallows-Garcia!!!

We know that the school is on an especially vulnerable point between the worlds after the kiddads become stuck on Earth, with three separate incursions happening within the building in the span of a month. Additionally, all the kids have something they’ve defined their lives around, but Normal is the only one who built his identity around it since childhood and defined himself by it. I don’t want to refer to his love of mascots as an obsession, it’s more like a hyperfixation and one he had before Teen High, but his ‘school spirit’ act is somewhat obsessive. Underneath his love for his school is his desire to be the center of attention, his desperation for recognition, and the underlying feeling that he deserves it. I’m getting that last part from his experience on the Pride floor. Normal is a good kid! He’s a character with nuance! I’m just saying he is susceptible.

Like, incredibly susceptible. As much as I’m not a fan of how Lark and Sparrow handled him being excited about an interest (we remember Sparrow saying he’s not proud of Normal, but Lark in episode one really went ‘does your kid have a friend yet?’ In front of Normal), it Is possible to read some of what they say as concerns that he’s going to wind up Doodlerized. Especially with their innate familial connection to it, and the fact that I also think specifically Lark would incredibly susceptible as well (obsessed with trying to Destroy the Doodler, but hate and love can be easily muddled) were it not for his closeness with Sparrow. I think that’s why both siblings seem to have gone out of their way to interact with Normal in ways that didn’t involve his interests but would still be fun and pleasant (like going to the zoo or the park, Lark taking him out for pizza). Trying to keep him grounded with experiences that are not all connected to one thing, that way it’s harder to pull him off of his supports.

That being said, in spite of Lark’s ‘do not involve the children’ line, I’m pretty sure Normal would have gone down the path of a Doodler acolyte had he not had D.A.D.D.I.E.S. And the teens. Not JUST because Normal is already vulnerable to his obsession with popularity, and his family’s innate tie to the doodler, and a CHUNK of his wobbly support structure has gone completely missing and he is aware of it and nobody will believe him. But also because his obsession is rooted in the school itself. The school that is about to have not one but Three Incursions. Back-to-Back. Plus the mayor is friendly with his mom, meaning she has a direct influence on him. And Hermie’s attempted betrayal would only prove to him that he was right that the mascot— and therefore himself— was something worth protecting without the goal of going to the goof realm to keep him focused. It would just reaffirm the belief. He might even overtake the mayor as the main spokesperson of the doodler because, as we see when he sits on the throne, he Empathizes with it.

If Hero was approached to manage D.A.D.D.I.E.S., which she likely would have been had Hills not assumed that Normal had access to Daddy magic too, she would probably have to confront her brother at some point.

#dungeons and daddies #dndads #dndads season 2 #dndads spoilers #dungeons and daddies season 2 #normal oak #normal oak swallows garcia #the doodler #long post #Similar thing for Lark if anything were to happen to Sparrow— if he continued his work he would gradually grow to be at risk #the chosen one faces off against a loved one who got corrupted while the chosen one was ignoring them to focus on chosen one duties #<- a trope that I apparently enjoy in this context #funny part of this is that Normal would still be a Cleric

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happi-tree · 11 months

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i hate accidents (except when we went from friends to this)

“Oh, god, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you, I don’t know what came over me, you’re just so hurt and I was so scared and I didn’t know what to do and -”

Link cuts himself off as he glances up from Taylor’s still-glazed expression to his forehead. Before his eyes, the gash stitches itself closed, the open wound fading to a pink scar that pales to white before disappearing entirely.

Lincoln remembers hearing the words “kiss it better” throughout his entire childhood. He remembers the way his dads would patch up his scraped knees with ointment and a bandage and top it all off with a tiny kiss before treating him to a hard candy from their first aid kit for being such a good boy.

Never once had Link thought that the phrase could be literal. Or that his newfound powers could make it literal.

Or: Link discovers a rather unorthodox way of using Lay On Hands thanks to one Taylor Swift, and for some reason, he can’t seem to stop finding excuses to perfect his new skills. Fortunately, Taylor is more than happy to help.

once / twice / thrice, pt. 1 / thrice, pt. 2

twice (‘cause it’s gonna be alright)

The second time it happens, it’s not an accident.

Taylor invited Link to his house on the pretense of doing homework together (who knew saving the world meant having so many late assignments?) and maybe watching some anime later.

It had taken Link some convincing at first, but Taylor thinks he’s finally got him hooked on Blue Lock: Keyed Up!!! (which is good, considering it’s the only soccer anime that Taylor’s watched).

Unfortunately, though, homework comes first. Which sucks, because there are about a million and one better things that a protagonist like him could be doing, but he doesn’t want to worry his mom about his grades slipping any further.

Plus, Taylor missed an additional afternoon’s worth of classes yesterday for a long-overdue orthodontist appointment (his jaw aches at the reminder), so he has extra extra make-up work. Ugh.

At least Link’s passable at science. Normally, Scary could make up some pretty good answers for all of them for their English work, but she’s out recording some stuff for Erica’s podcast. Normal has cheer practice, so Taylor doesn’t really have much hope for his pile of Spanish worksheets, but at the very least, he and Link are making progress.

Very slow progress.

Taylor accidentally clenches his jaw a little too hard, and the ache in his teeth intensifies from there-but-tolerable to fucking-hell-it-feels-like-someone-is-wrenching-my-upper-jaw-in-two-holy-shit.

He makes a quiet, whimpering sort of noise, and Link looks up from his work immediately, eyebrows all scrunched together and lips downturned in concern. It would be cute if Taylor could focus on anything other than the agony plaguing his mouth.

“You okay, dude?” he asks, shifting closer on Taylor’s king-size mattress.

“Nnnnnnn,” Taylor moans, shaking his head ever so slightly and flopping back against the pillows dramatically (but carefully, so as not to accidentally make the pain worse somehow). “Teeth hurt.”

“Oh, right, you got your braces adjusted yesterday,” Link gently moves their notebooks and laptops to the side, where they won’t get crushed.

Taylor’s eyes squeeze shut as he tries to do anything but focus on the ache. “Mmm,” he confirms. “And I think maybe my fangs might be growing in? Hard to tell, but I keep accidentally cutting my tongue on my canines, so I think they’re getting sharper.”

“That’s pretty cool,” Link says, and the sincerity in his voice brings a smile to Taylor’s face, which he cuts off with a wince because fuck, ow, that hurt.

“Would be cooler if my entire mouth didn’t hurt like hell, though,” Taylor grumbles.

He opens his eyes to find Link hovering over him, looking worried and… hesitant?

“Jeez, Link, I’m not dying or anything. The torment is endless and the agony neverending, but I will persevere! Ah, fuck,” Taylor mutters, pressing a hand to his cheek, which only seems to make matters worse.

Link’s still looking at him like that, though, so he makes grabby hands to beckon him closer.

“Cuddles would maybe help, though, if you’re just gonna sit there,” he offers.

“I can work with that,” Link says, laughing a little under his breath and leaning back on the pillows beside him.

He opens up his arms and Taylor wedges himself between them, tucking his head under Link’s chin and burying the top portion of his face into his chest, right below his collarbones. He inhales, trying to focus on the smell of laundry detergent and fresh-cut grass and sports deodorant and sweat and something uniquely Link rather than the pain in his jaw, and it works a little.

Link’s arms come around to encircle him, and while Taylor can feel stifled by skin-to-skin contact (he already has enough trouble regulating his own body heat without throwing someone else’s into the mix), the way Link holds him feels… nice. Protective. Link begins to trace tiny, meaningless circles into his back with his thumbs through the fabric of Taylor’s shirt, and the sensation grounds him.

Taylor quietly realizes that he hasn’t felt this safe in a long time.

His mouth still hurts like a bitch, though.

As if on cue, another pulse of pain floods his mouth, and Taylor instinctively clenches his jaw against the feeling, which in hindsight was pretty stupid because it makes the ache intensify tenfold. Taylor lets out a whine into Link’s chest, clutching helplessly at his best friend’s shirt.

He fantasizes somewhat deliriously about taking his teeth and chucking them out of his face where they can’t hurt him.

“That seems like it must be pretty painful,” Link says sadly.

“Nnnnnnnngh,” Taylor replies because yeah, no shit, Sherlock-kun.

“You know,” Link starts out, tone still soft but much more considering, more nervous. Taylor can feel the vibration of Link’s voice against the top of his head, right where it’s pressed against his taller friend’s throat. “I think I can fix that, if you want.”

Taylor pulls away a bit, and Link loosens his hold to allow for some space.

“Well, why didn’t you say so earlier?” Taylor asks. “I know I look totally awesome and composed on the outside, but I am fucking perishing inside. Yes, please, whatever your idea is, I will literally do anything. What were you thinking of, though?”

“Well,” Link says, voice pitching high, “I was thinking, I could, uh. Kiss it better? Like I did last week, if you remember that?” He looks briefly down at Taylor, as he says this, scanning his face for… something. “Oh my god, it would be so embarrassing if you didn’t remember that. Never mind, this is so stupid, sorry, forget I said anything.”

Except Taylor doesn’t really hear that last part because he’s too busy reliving the feeling of Link’s chapped lips pressed against his temple, callused hands cradling the back of his head, big brown eyes that look like black holes in the darkness of sun-off threatening to swallow Taylor completely.

Does Taylor remember last week? That’s like asking someone if they remember that the sky is red. Taylor remembers last week annoyingly well, and he keeps remembering it, and the scene plays and replays as the hellfire within his ribcage flares and the heat rises and he looks up at Link who’s still working himself into some anxiety-ridden ramble and -

Cool it, cool it, part of his mind whispers to him.

Link offered to kiss me, an irritatingly large amount of his brain shrieks back at him, uncool and uncharacteristically nervous and taking up more mental real estate by the second. Boy hugging me boy touching me boy kissing me?

You just need to calm down, the more rational part of his brain assuages. You’re Taylor Swift, you’ve got this.

I’m Taylor Swift, I’ve got this. Taylor mentally chants, strongarming the fire in his chest and turning the flame down to something a bit more bearable. I’ve got this. I’m popular, I’m icy cool, and anyone would be lucky to kiss me. I’ve got this.

Brain successfully rebooted, Taylor nudges at Link’s shoulder, stopping his friend’s mutterings in their tracks.

“As long as you haven’t talked yourself out of it, I’m, like, totally down if you’re still offering. You severely underestimate how desperate I am for pain relief.”

“Oh,” Link says, eyebrows drawn up in surprise. Then, “Really?”

“Yeah, oh,” Taylor echoes back. “Really. The only thing is… don’t you usually have to touch whatever’s hurt for it to work? And like, it’s my teeth, so…”

“Yeah, and?” Link prompts, like he isn’t quite seeing any problem with that and.

Oh.

Oh, Link means kissing kissing. Like, on the mouth. And to get at Taylor’s teeth… that’s like making-out-kissing. Oh, god. Oh my god, okay. This is fine. Sure! Great.

“Oh,” Taylor says aloud. Then, “Okay!”

“Are you sure? About this?” Link questions, searching Taylor’s expression even as he places a slightly-clammy hand to Taylor’s cheek, even as Taylor’s face feels like it lights on fire in response. The clear concern in the upturn of his brows and the gleam in his dark eyes has Taylor humming in assent before he realizes what he’s doing and placing his hand atop Link’s larger one, holding him there as Taylor’s gaze is drawn to his slightly parted lips.

“For the love of god, Link, just kiss me already.”

“Okay,” Lincoln says, quiet and slightly unsteady. And he closes the gap.

It’s clear that this is Link’s first kiss, and Taylor’s pretty sure Link can tell that it’s the first time he’s kissed someone, too (well, someone that isn’t his body pillows).

Link’s lips feel softer against Taylor’s than they had against his forehead. He’s tentative and shy and exceedingly gentle, and Taylor’s unsure if that’s out of the fear of causing him undue pain or if it’s just who Link is, but he appreciates it either way.

Link’s thumb strokes delicately across Taylor’s cheek, almost reverently, like he’s afraid that Taylor will break apart in his arms if he doesn’t treat him with care. Link’s other hand comes to rest at the side of his neck, threading through the hair that’s escaped Taylor’s topknot, and the feeling of it paired with the light press of Link’s lips against his own draws another humming sound from his throat.

Taylor tries his best to reciprocate, mouth pliant against Link’s, free hand fisting in the soft, slippery fabric of his best friend’s shirt and tugging gently as if to bring him in even closer. His other hand moves from atop Link’s to cradle the back of his head and run his fingers through his close-cropped hair.

Link makes a low, soft sort of noise that will no doubt be replaying for weeks on end in Taylor’s head. God, he needs to hear that sound again.

Sadly, though, they’ve run out of air, and Lincoln pulls away only to lean back in and carefully rest his forehead against Taylor’s.

Taylor’s eyelids blink open (oh, he had closed them, when had that happened?) and he comes face-to-face with Link, brown eyes deep and dark, half-lidded and half-dazed, staring directly at him with open affection. His hand still rests on Taylor’s cheek, and Taylor can feel the stark temperature difference there, anxiety-chilled and demonically-overheated, as something flutters hard in his chest.

“Uh, wow,” Link says, quiet and very breathless, and God, who gave him the right to be so beautiful and so adorable at the same time?

Taylor draws his lip in between his teeth and is greeted with a sharp stab of pain.

“Ow, fuck, shit,” Taylor hisses, scooching back to put more distance between the two of them. “Guess that didn’t work, but thanks for trying, Link. You out of spell slots or something?”

With Link’s complexion, it can be difficult to tell when his friend is flushed or flustered, but his wide eyes and cringing expression definitely come across as embarrassed.

“No,” he replies, voice a few octaves higher than normal. “I, uh, forgot? To do the spell.”

At Taylor’s quirked eyebrow, Link elaborates, “I just wanted to make sure I didn’t accidentally hurt you more, and then I got so wrapped up in that that I guess I forgot, and then you did that thing with your hand in my hair, and -” he cuts himself off with a whine, covering his eyes with a hand and dramatically rolling over, the picture of mortification. “Kill me now.”

Taylor laughs, loud and sudden and sharp despite the pain, and Lincoln curls a little further into himself.

“I can just, uh - I made it weird, I can just go, I guess?” Link says in that reedy, nervous way of his, voice cracking toward the end as he sits up, moves to stand -

“Dude,” Taylor clambers across the mattress after him, grabs his wrist. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

“I-“ Link gestures with his thumb toward the door. “Home? I mean, I screwed up, and you laughed, and now you probably think I’m so stupid and-“

“Hold up, handsome,” where did that pet name come from - “I wasn’t laughing at you- I mean! I was,” Taylor watches as Link’s expression droops further “- but not to make fun of you! It’s just…” Come on, just say it, you’ve never had trouble speaking your mind before - “endearing.”

Link looks more confused and anxious than anything, but that’s better than sad and anxious, so Taylor takes that as a win.

“Plus, you’re not getting away from me that easy, Li-Wilson,” He adds, tugging his friend a little closer. Link doesn’t resist it.

Taylor allows a smile to pull at his lips, only flinching a little bit at the pain he now expects. “You can try again, you know,” he offers, looking up at Link through his lashes.

“I can?” His friend asks, skin flushed darker across his cheeks. “I didn’t make it too awkward?”

“Nope!” Taylor responds, popping the “p.”

“Nothing awkward about a good old-fashioned makeout session with your best friend!”

“Best friend,” Link echoes, “Right…”

“C’mon,” Taylor goads, crooking a finger toward him as he smirks. “I don’t bite.”

Taylor’s gaze lowers from Link’s face and rests at the side of his friend’s neck, taking note of the sparse freckles there. His teeth feel a little heavier in his mouth.

“Not unless you want me to,” he murmurs.

“What?” Link asks, sounding strangled.

“Don’t worry about it,” Taylor evades.

“If you’re really sure -“

“I am,” Taylor confirms, moving to sit half-gracelessly in his friend’s lap, hands steadying his weight on Link’s strong shoulders. “Now, less tally-talky, more smoochy-smoochy!”

“So demanding,” Link teases, even as he threads his fingers through his hair again. Taylor can hear the smile in his voice without having to look - which is good, because if he did, he’s pretty sure he’d give into the impulse to kiss the curve of his lips without preamble.

“You bet.” Taylor’s voice comes out much breathier than he expects as he meets Link’s eyes. “Don’t forget the spell this time!”

“I won’t! Probably.”

Just like before, Link leans in again, and a slight smile pulls at Taylor’s lips as he meets him halfway.

The sensation of Link’s lips against his own is a little less foreign now, a little less startling. Taylor lets himself melt into it, and just before he closes his eyes he can see the adorable little furrow of concentration between Link’s brows that he gets whenever he’s casting something.

Kissing his best friend tastes like vanilla chapstick and Taylor’s favorite soda. Link had snagged a bottle of lychee Ramune out of his hands earlier, saying something about how carbonation was bad for braces and offering his homemade sports drink instead (which hadn’t tasted too great but wasn’t quite as bad as Taylor had expected). Taylor finds that he doesn’t really mind, now - not when the flavor is even more addictive this way.

Link’s hands come up to cradle the sides of Taylor’s face like some sort of fairytale prince, firm and gentle and insistent all at once. The soft pressure of his friend’s fingertips ghosts along the jut of his jawline, and it’s almost worshipful, like Link sees Taylor as someone to be adored.

The tenderness of it all sends a thrill down Taylor’s spine, and then the chill spreads, unfurling itself through every nerve.

Taylor has been on the receiving end of Link’s magic before, but he’s rarely lucid enough to appreciate it, to bask in the comforting coolness his friend’s Lay On Hands brings. It’s less like running an open cut under cold water and more like a fresh breeze in the middle of a stagnant summer afternoon, he thinks, something blissful and relieving that reminds him of safety, just like the boy he’s kissing. He falls forward into the embrace - both the spell and Link’s affection - as his hands tangle themselves in the back of Link’s athletic shirt, chasing the feeling. Link’s magic is a deeply soothing sensation, a balm to Taylor’s flushed cheeks and fire-bright nerves and burning heart, and he can feel himself melt in Link’s hold, his thoughts reducing to little more than a warm haze against his lips.

Link pulls away after what probably amounted to only a few moments, and Taylor leans after him on instinct. His eyes flutter open just in time to see Link gazing down at him fondly through his lashes, the last dregs of his magic sparking across his irises in anvil-sharp flashes of bronze before fizzling out entirely. His lips are slightly kiss-bruised, and it sends a jolt of satisfaction through Taylor’s stomach as he realizes that he did that.

“Did it work this time?” Link asks him, still cradling Taylor’s face in his hands, thumbs still grazing lightly across his cheeks.

It takes a few seconds for Taylor to register the question, then a few more as he prods at the back of his teeth with his tongue, clenches his jaw experimentally.

“Looks like it!” He confirms happily, though his joy sours a bit as Link’s hands leave his face to lean back on his arms, mourning the loss of contact.

“You’re a genius, Link,” Taylor praises, smiling and then smiling wider when he realizes that he feels no pain whatsoever. “Think you could do that again whenever my joints are acting up?”

He doesn’t really mean it - of course, a bigger part of him than he’d like to admit does, but his tone was supposed to come off as teasing - but Link’s eyes go wide and his cheeks darken further, and maybe Taylor wouldn’t mind at all if his friend takes that one hundred percent seriously.

“I- I mean, if you want t- If it’d help?” He fumbles, face flushing further as he stutters. It’s pretty commonplace to see Link a bit flustered, but it’s different when Taylor knows that he’s the reason for it. It’s pretty cute, in his opinion.

“It’d do more than help. Chronic pain sucks ass, but you’d be, like, my personal angel,” Taylor says, looking up at Link.

You already are, his mind adds for him.

“Sure, then. Anytime. Uh, that’s what friends are for, right?” Link asks, those big brown eyes of his searching Taylor’s face for something.

He said “anytime”, is Taylor’s only coherent thought, one that runs giddy circles in his brain. I kissed Lincoln Li-Wilson. Twice. I just kissed my best friend twice. He said he’d kiss me again. God, I want to kiss him again.

“Mm,” Taylor half-responds, still reeling from the way Link’s hands carded through his hair and smoothed over his cheeks and the way their lips slotted together.

“Oh,” Taylor hears Link say distantly. “Okay, that’s, um. Okay.”

“Mm,” Taylor hums again, still in the process of rebooting what’s left of his brain.

A hand waves in front of Taylor’s face. “Taylor? You okay there, buddy? Did I do the spell wrong somehow? Please tell me I didn’t break you.”

You can break me anytime, Taylor thinks, mind conjuring images he definitely should not be having this close to the subject of his fantasies.

Taylor shakes his head in attempt to clear them. “All good, my man! Just, uh, thinking.” He desperately hopes his face isn’t as red as it feels.

“Wanna get back to homework, then?” Link says, gesturing to the pile of notebooks. “I think one of our make-up quizzes is due tonight.”

“Oh, shit, I forgot about that. We should probably get back to studying, huh.” He scoots away from Link to grab a notebook and his laptop, and for once in his life he misses the body heat of having a person next to him.

“Okay,” Link says, patting the empty space next to him and propping himself up against Taylor’s headboard.Taylor complies, settling himself into place at his side and handing him a pen (ballpoint, blue ink, Link’s favorite kind). He finds his own (a click pen, black gel ink) after a few moments of feeling around on the comforter.

“We’re still on chapter seven, right?” He asks, chewing on the end of his pen as he attempts to decipher the chicken scratch that is his own handwriting.

“Unfortunately,” Link sighs, slinging his left arm around Taylor’s shoulders.

As Taylor leans into Link’s side, he thinks that even though make-up work is bound to be hell, there are much less fortunate things than this. He smiles to himself, and it doesn’t hurt one bit.

#YEEHAW. ao3 may be down but my wild fic posting methods continue <333 #also!!! ty to everyone for being so patient about this!!! hope y'all like part 2! :Dc #as before. title from paper rings taylor swift!#hopefully i did not accidentally make 5000 billion mistakes in this and things are kinda sorta in character ahsvdhkasvdvs #dndads #swiftli #fic #happi scribbles

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