4, Damian and Jason? I totally understand if you don't get to this one :)) thanks for doing this!!
Bruce’s shoulders are heavy as he walks upstairs.
Alfred had left a few minutes before to run some errands, and had given him very firm instructions to head on up to check on Damian. He hates seeing his kids sick; it’s one of those inexplicable parent-things that he never would have anticipated before taking in Dick.
Seeing them sick as adults is bad enough (here his step falters, and he cringes, makes a mental note to check on Tim), but to see Damian, small and pale and weak, breath wheezing in his chest, pains Bruce deep inside. A soft spot he doesn’t like to acknowledge or even think about.
But days like today, he has no choice.
And it’d be much worse, he thinks, for his children to be sick and alone… He stops briefly outside Damian’s door, already feeling the corners of his mouth pull down. He raps two knuckles lightly on the door, says,
“Damian… it’s just me, I’m coming in,” and he doesn’t wait for a confirmation, because he isn’t expecting a response. Damian had been complaining of a sore throat days before his other symptoms, after all.
And when he enters, his son’s room is dark. Heavy curtains thrown closed, lights off, the conflicting smells of stale air and fresh sheets. Clearly in spite of Alfred’s best efforts.
There, standing in the centre of the room, is Jason Todd. In his arms is a blanketed-lump, a dark-haired head pressed into his shoulder. And Jason, looking up, shushes him.
Feeling off-balance, blinking, trying to reconcile the image in front of him, it occurs to Bruce that Jason was not shushing him. He was shushing Damian, and keeps murmuring to him, low, gentle. He hears the words ‘just Dad’, and ‘don’t move, it’s fine’, but the rest is too quiet for him to hear.
Damian, still in his pyjamas, weak and ill, his normally caramel skin an ash grey, shifts his arms. Clinging tighter to Jason, who just says, “I got you, akhi. I got you.”
The boy is a good few feet off the ground, sitting on Jason’s hip like a much younger child. Hands gripped carefully to the back of Jason’s t-shirt. And Jason, he notices, is actually swaying slightly, walking in little circles, arms gentle and fully supporting Damian’s weight. Damian’s face is hidden, but he makes a small sound of discontent, and Jason shifts his grip. Pulling him closer, murmuring something in… Arabic?
“What’s going on?” Bruce says, finally. Voice choked.
And Jason looks up from across the room, frowns at him. Brow wrinkling. Like it’s obvious. Still swaying, shifting on his feet, one hand rubbing up and down Damian’s blanket-covered back, he says, “I’m minding the kid. Lil demon’s sick as hell, he needs rest.”
“… he has a bed,” Bruce says.
Then Jason looks at him like he’s an idiot. “He’s an assassin baby, Boss. Do you know how much it freaks him, to lie down in the same place for hours? He’s too weak to defend himself if he had to, and he can barely move.”
The boy makes another sad little sound, and Jason keeps pacing. Keeps rubbing one hand in circular motions over Damian’s back. Says, “كلشيءعلىمايرام” and “أنت آمن الحبيب” ,and he quiets.
“We— we have an alarm,” Bruce says, because it still doesn’t make sense, the way Jason is gentle and sweet and kind with his enormous hands and his enormous shoulders– the hands Bruce has seen break bones, the shoulders usually stiff with the weight of guns and knives and anger– the way he moves like a slow-dancer, keeping Damian pressed against him.
They don’t even get along.
And he remembers, suddenly, vividly, standing with Jason outside of Wayne Enterprises— it’d been windy and they were walking to the car, discussing a case, and the boy had said, grin wide and cocky, “Don’t worry, B, I’m great with kids.”
Bruce couldn’t help but laugh, then, looking down at him in his rumpled school uniform to say, “You are a kid, Jay.”
The grin had turned immediately to a huff; “Barely. And I mean younger kids.” Then, “Back before, when my mom… just. Sometimes I’d help, with some of the neighbour’s kids in the building, like if they got sick or whatever. And, like, they couldn’t always take off work cuz their kid was sick, so sometimes I’d skip school, to, you know. Mind them and stuff.”
“Yeah,” the here-and-now Jason is saying, voice heavy with sarcasm. “Because feelings are always rational. Especially when you’re ten years old and have goddamn-pneumonia.”
And Bruce… shakes himself, takes a few steps forward. Quietly, “How’s he doing?”
Jason looks down at the boy, frowning slightly. Shifting his grip. “ ‘bout as good as you could expect. Poor brat.”
Bruce reaches out, rubbing a hand through Damian’s sweat-stiff hair. Alfred had helped him wash it yesterday, after they’d come home from the hospital. Bruce had had to piggy-back him from the car.
At his touch, Damian stirs, lifting his head from Jason’s shoulder; mumbles tightly, “Father?”
He blinks tiredly, confusedly, at Bruce.
“Yeah, Damian,” he says. “It’s okay, just try not to talk.” And then, to Jason, “You want me to take over?”
Jason shakes Damian very gently, then, to get his attention; his head had already fallen back to Jason’s shoulder, his eyes closed again. “Hey, baby brat. You comfy here, or you want Dad to take you for a bit?”
The boy shifts effortfully, wrapping his arms more tightly around Jason’s neck. Hiding his face completely once more.
And Jay actually smiles at that, says, “Uh-huh, okay.” A beat. “You know we’re gonna keep you safe, yeah?”
Muffled from Jason’s shirt and what has to be at least two blankets, Damian says, “… tuh.”
“Did you just try to click your tongue at me?” Jason asks him. “Jeez, you must be messed up. Don’t worry, your condescension is implied.”
And Jason makes another two short trips around the room, which actually seems to help help soothe Damian. He falls into a doze somewhere around the chest of drawers, the painful-sounding rasps of his breath slowing. Bruce just stands there, uncomfortable, unsure what to do.
“What time did Alfred say he’d be back?” Jason asks, after a minute. Quiet.
“Less than an hour,” Bruce says, and Jason nods, like that’s what he expected. He explains, “Kid needs his next lot of pills at four, but I don’t know the dose.”
“I didn’t know you spoke Arabic,” Bruce says, after a moment of relative silence, broken only by Damian’s breathing and Jason’s footsteps on the carpet.
“I don’t, really,” Jay dismisses. “Just a couple phrases I learned, when Talia. From when I was upset.”
And that’s when Damian stirs, fidgeting uncomfortably. He pulls back far enough to see Jason’s face and gives a whine, says “Where’s Grayson.” and then sags again, clearly exhausted by his outburst.
“We’ve had this conversation a couple times already,” Jason reminds the kid, without heat. Rolling his eyes, but there’s a sympathetic twist to his lips, and his hand doesn’t slow on rubbing Damian’s blanket-covered back. “He’s on a plane, remember? He called us a few hours ago, when he was going to board. He’s still in the air now. And you know he’s gettin’ here as quick as he can.”
And Damian says something that sounds a lot like “Hrrrmmm,” sounding, for once, like a regular child his age, and doesn’t move.
Jay presses the back of his hand lightly to Damian’s cheek, then, frowning. “Hey, B? You mind getting the thermometer? I think his temperature’s back up.”
And Bruce says, “Of course,” and is halfway out the door when Jason says, “It’s in the third kitchen drawer.”
“Sure,” he says easily, still pacing.
And Jason’s back is to him, when he turns around. Pausing. His older son is keeping up a low murmur, half-Arabic, half-English, and his hold is exceedingly careful. Like Damian is something precious and fragile.
And this, too, is another thing he could never have predicted about parenthood; this feeling of awe and warmth, overwhelming pride. He knows his boys well enough to know they will never talk about this. As soon as Damian is strong enough to walk on his own, as soon as the colour is back in his cheeks, it will be back to constant insults and barely-contained violence.
But for now, Bruce thinks, at least there’s–
“Your accent’s … ‘ttrocious.”
“Excuse you, demon. Jesus. You try to do something nice…”
Teen Wolf AU: In which finals are looming over Stiles’ head like the sword of Damocles and he turns into the cliché college student who pulls all-nighters before the exams, mostly running on energy drinks and fear. Luckily, he has Derek to slap him over the head and remind him to get some sleep once in a while.
Warnings: Potential to pull at your heart strings, but that’s about it really.
“God I miss you,” you sigh, letting your hand take Peter’s, desperately wishing he would just squeeze yours, show you that he could hear you, that he was still there… anything.
You didn’t get to see him as much as you would have liked, but every chance you got to visit Beacon Hills, to visit your best friend, you took. And every time you left you regretted going there in the first place. Seeing him like that, not a shed of an emotion on his face, non of his old wit, or his infectious laughter… he was but a shell of the man you had once known, and it killed you to see him like that. But never the less, you would always return.
It didn’t matter that it had been years since the fire, years since you had been able to actually hold a conversation with him. He was your best friend, and he always had been.
Of course, now the conversations were far more one-sided than they used to be, you would tell him about your life, from terrible dates to brilliant movies you promised you would re-watch with him when he was better. But with no response, it lost an awful lot of it’s meaning. But that didn’t stop you from going, from talking to him just as you would were he able to respond.
With a heavy smile, you nod your head, readying yourself to leave when you remember the one piece of information you had been debating over telling him, not wanting to cause him any anguish on the off chance he were able to hear you.
“Look,” you start, moving to kneel in front of his wheel chair, taking both of his hands in yours this time, your eyes staring uncertainly into the blank gaze of his. “I’m going to tell you something, and I don’t really know if I should, but I need to be honest with you. Someone has come to town, and I just… I know you can’t answer me, but you better me silently promising me you’ll stay safe. The Argent’s are back,” you sigh, your head falling in dismay.
Perhaps you had imagined it, knowing all too well what his usual reaction to that news would have been, but you could have sworn his hand twitched ever so slightly at your words. But as you look to his still motionless body, you convince yourself it was merely your mind playing tricks on you.
“They won’t hurt you, I promise,” you smile somewhat sadly, running your thumb over the back of his hand as you swear it to yourself as much to him. “And I’ll keep an eye on Derek, as always,” you add with a customary chuckle, making the same promise you always did.
“Just look after yourself, ok?” you all but whisper it, unable to look at him as you stand up, that usual feeling of betrayal kicking in as you move to leave, feeling as if you were abandoning him to the four white walls of his hospital bed once more. “I’ll see you soon,” you say in farewell, kissing the top of his head gently before gathering your bag, refusing to turn back to face him on the off chance that he might see the tears brimming in the corner of your eyes.
3. “I don’t want to take advantage of you. Please, understand.”
Hux smells the omega before he sees him.
Kylo’s scent is overwhelming, like the sweetest of pastries mixed with the freshest of flowers, enlightening Hux’s senses to the point where his consciousness becomes clouded.
Kylo has gone into heat, and his scent is doing what it’s supposed to; luring a hungry alpha to his destination.
Rounding the corner of the bowels of the engineering unit to find Kylo slumped against a wall, his ragged breaths louder than the rumbles of the Finalizer. His deactivated lightsaber lies by his trembling hand, marks on the walls and floor from where he’s obviously slashed them, but Hux focuses on the bodies of three of his officers–alphas–lying dead on the floor.
“C-couldn’t help it,” Kylo whines, sat back against the wall, knees bent up but legs spread, and Hux takes quiet note of a wet patch on his trousers. “They were staring at me, I-I could hear their thoughts, they wanted to breed me, I killed them–”
Kylo groans loudly, lifting his hips from the floor as he trembles, gasping, but his weak body fails him and he falls to the side, lying with his back flat against the wall, trying to curl in on himself.
Hux feels dizzy.
His instincts are screaming at him to take Kylo here and now, flip him over and tear his breeches from his body to part his legs to fuck him until Hux’s knot has swelled inside him.
But the alpha blocks those thoughts from his mind; he can’t submit. Kylo is his cocommander, Snoke’s apprentice. To mate would be to surrender to their biologies. Kylo wouldn’t be fully consenting.
“Stars, Ren,” Hux says, feeling beads of sweat form on the back of his neck, but steps closer to Kylo regardless, kneeling down. “We need to get you out of here.”
“N-no,” Kylo whispers, eyes half-lidded, hand reaching up. “N-need…you. Now. Can’t wait, it’s too much. Armitage, help me.”
“Kylo,” Hux breathes, taking hold of Kylo’s hand only to guide it back down to the floor. “I don’t want to take advantage of you. Please, understand.”
The omega cries out, arching his back, hand grasping at the material of his shirt as he writhes, and Hux closes his eyes and turns away, struggling with leaving the boy to suffer.
“Hux…alpha, I…I’ve wanted you for so long,” Kylo breathes. “H-had to wait for my heat to have you…could sense your lust for me. Take me. I’m asking you. Don’t let me suffer.”
The heat rises in Hux’s stomach, pooling in his gut like lava and spreading through his veins, burning him, making him sweat.
Kylo’s eyes have never looked so dark, so deep, so inviting for Hux to drown in them.
And as he leans down to take the omega’s lips up into a messy kiss, Hux knows that he drowned for Kylo Ren long ago.
Candy Apple Girl Charm Bottle a spell based on the song “Nightlife” by Green Day, aiming to sweeten someone’s feelings for you
What You Need:
♥ Red/Pink Candle (optional)
♥ A Small Jar
♥ Vanilla (I used vanilla extract)
♥ Pink & Red Glitter
♥ Piece of Paper
♥ Red & Pink Pens/Colored Pencils/Paint/etc.
♥ Rose Quartz
What You Do:
♥ If you’re using a candle, light it. Try to channel its energy into your materials as you work.
♥ Take the slip of paper and draw a candy apple. Color it with the red and pink pens, and on it write the name of the person whose feelings you aim to “sweeten” (or the person you want to *ahem* “explore your vocal chord” ;)))). *If you don’t have a special someone in mind, you could write a trait you want to have in a significant other instead!
♥ Drip a few drops of vanilla onto the paper and let it soak in.
♥ Put the paper in the bottle.
♥ Sprinkle in the cinnamon (love), pink glitter (love), and red glitter (lust/passion).
♥ Seal the bottle with the red/pink candle wax, give it a kiss, and charge it beside the rose quartz in the light of the full moon. *or if your impatient like me, on a Friday.
♥ You can carry the bottle with you, wear it as a necklace, or just sit it somewhere (I sat mine by my rose quartz clusters ✨)
*bonus points if you play and sing along to the song while performing the spell!
i thought abuse didn’t get much more obvious than a victim standing with his arms out in a sign of “i mean no harm”, hospital band on his wrist, and he’s suddenly shoved to the ground and then he’s the ones apologizing (p.s. he was hospitalized because she’d almost killed him) — but the reaction this scene got in the fandom downright astounds me, specifically because people just don’t see this relationship as abusive.
what makes this especially troubling for me — not that abuse and abuse apologism isn’t always troubling and awful — but there’s this whole other level to it: the fact that this character is a male abuse victim. he can take care of himself. she’s just a girl, what can she do to him? men aren’t victims. he probably deserved it. this is empowering and feminist, because she’s a girl and he’s a guy and #weaponized femininity, she can beat up any dumb boy with her winged eyeliner. this mindset (men aren’t victims) is the exact reason it’s so hard for male victims of any kind of domestic or sexual violence to come forward and talk about their experiences. women are the socially acceptable victim, and even most women aren’t believed when they try to come forward.
this character, mike, is canonically neurodivergent: it says that he’s ADHD and he’s written with ADHD traits, and after he’s hospitalized (when she almost killed him) he develops an addiction — a mental illness — to painkillers. the fact that he’s neurodivergent and an abuse victim isn’t a coincidence. it’s the same reason so many fans call him “crazy” and “stupid” and “boring” and make fun of his neurodivergent traits and say “lol mike whose fault it this” and “see what happens when you do drugs, mike?” during his addiction storyline. neurodivergent people (including men) are very commonly victims of domestic violence because abuse is almost always linked to a power imbalance: abusive people see their victims as weak and therefore easier to control. in an abuser’s eyes, neurodivergent people are weak and easy to manipulate. this is why women are the more socially acceptable victim in a patriarchal society: according to this system, women = weak and men = strong. the only victims who are allowed to exist are women who appear to be weak — not that they actually are weak or that there’s anything wrong with them or their reaction or with a victim showing weakness, or that women in this bracket have an easy time coming forward, but abuse against a neurodivergent man is basically unheard of; it’s just not something that’s recognized.
continuing to use mike as an example: his neurodivergence, coupled with the fact he’s a guy and therefore not allowed to be seen as a victim, were all that was needed for this fandom to split into three distinct groups: the ones that hated him and thought he was pathetic, boring, and whiney; the ones that shipped him with his abuser and romanticized the abuse; and the few that saw this as abuse and mike as a victim.
someone once reblogged one of my gifsets of mike and added “nobody liked you, mike. you were boring and had to be literally injected with personality.” this injection being a reference to mike’s drug addiction that almost kills him (his abuser and when she almost kills him are why he develops this addiction, she makes fun of him for “going crazy” aka being high sometimes, and when he goes through detoxification, he wakes up at one point and she’s touching him — he tries to move away from her and says “don’t touch me,” and she shushes him and keeps touching him. great example of the power imbalance and how she believes she has complete control over him). to the person who said this, mike has no other personality besides his season 3 drug addiction, which isn’t even though of as a mental illness but instead a character flaw. there are no traits of ADHD, no reactions to abuse. the fact that this character always forgives people who hurt him? how, when he finally told someone about his drug addiction, he cried and apologized for letting that happen to himself? not relevant. pathetic. boring. whiney. his fault. more and more often, i see people calling abuse victim characters “boring” and “whiney” when the characters react with fear, cry a lot, are in pain, etc. people who say this, like the abusers, see the victim as weak, their pain easily swept aside or mocked.
as for people who ship abusive relationships: i get it. people can ship whatever they want, or whatever. i’m not trying to ~start a ship war~ like i was accused of the last time i made a post talking about mike being a victim. the problem here is that when you ship an abusive relationship, other people see your posts and thoughts. through your pretty edits and fluff fics, they see you saying very clearly: “what happened to you was romantic. what happened to you was okay. what happened to you was how people are supposed to be treated.” when real life abuse victims watch a show and see a character like mike, they relate, and then they see a bunch of people talking about how much he deserved it or how sad the shippers are for the characters ~not getting along~ or how pathetic he is for being in pain. the fact that people can prioritize how cute or sexy they think a fictional relationship is over the mental health of real life victims says everything you need to know about what kind of person they are.
how we see fictional characters sets the precedent for how we treat real life people in the same circumstances. and, if you publicize in any way how you see the character, real life people in the same or similar circumstances will see what you’re saying. the sooner we see characters like mike as a victim, the sooner we can improve the way real life victims (including male and/or neurodivergent victims) are treated.
victims of abuse reading this, please feel free to add on commentary (as long as nobody adds on any garbage like “men can’t be abused”)
Julia closely follows political news from her home in Canada, with a deep interest in American politics. She has been particularly alarmed by the recent rise of Yiannopoulos and others like him. So as soon as she heard Yiannopoulos would speak at CPAC, she was appalled.
Then an old moment popped in her head. She remembered hearing an obscure podcast, the Drunken Peasants, in which Yiannopoulos, responding to a video by YouTube pundit Kevin Logan, defended the idea of “13-year-olds” having sex with “older men,” arguing that child molestation provided a “sort of ‘coming of age’ relationship” for teenagers.
Her memory was right. She found the July 2016 clip.
She didn’t think she’d have much luck spreading the news herself with her small Twitter following, so she contacted a conservative outlet to get the story out. She figured a liberal outlet would have less credibility among CPAC followers.
She landed on the previously not-very-well-known conservative blog Reagan Battalion, which, after a bit of back and forth, tweeted out the video — leading not just to CPAC canceling Yiannopoulos’s speech, but to Simon & Schuster pulling his already controversial book deal and his resignation from Breitbart.
(contains spoilers from Thomas’s new video’s including Morality’s new name. I know some people haven’t watched it yet for various reasons *cough* one reason was closed captions*cough**cough* so I’m just going to leave this warning here.)
Patton was frowning. He had managed to keep a smile on his face, most of the time, but… he still felt torn inside.
“Morality! YOU are the issue here!” Logan said. He knew how bad Logan was at expressing emotions so he just assumed that he was just saying something and meaning another thing. Besides, he was his best friend, he couldn’t possibly be being mean.
“Aww, Logan, I love this teasing lil back-and-forth we have here!” Morality said, not understanding it completely.
“No. I’m serious. And I always have been. And forever will be.” Logan snapped.
He closed his eyes. Logan had said nice things at the end, he was fine.
“YOU are holding Thomas back” Prince said.
He winced and took a sharp breath in. During the video, Roman had praised him for thinking of giving the others their rooms.
“His heart’s just not in the right place.” Anxiety said.
Patton bit his lips. Anxiety was just trying to lead him back to where he should be, and that was taking care of Thomas. _
“I am always a proponent of following one’s heart… but, if it is not helping on the quest to fulfill one’s longing then what is the gosh darn ding dang point?” Prince glanced over at Patton as he spoke. _
Patton let out a sob as he remembered the pain he felt when Prince looking at him. _
“B-But, kiddo–” Morality was interrupted, “That’s just it! I’m not a ‘kiddo’ anymore!” Thomas snapped. _
Morality whimpered. ‘Thomas was just tired of being referred to a kid. He just wanted to be seen as a grown up.’ _
“We need actual contributions from you every now and then” Prince said. _
Morality clenched tighter to his bed, trying to hold back sobs (and failed.) _
“You stand there making your… puns… and are just… needlessly silly. All the time. Logic said. _
Why did this hurt?
"Perhaps it’s best you just stick to knowing the difference between right and wrong and leaving the rest to us.” Prince. _
He sobbed, letting the words rush around his head. They all apologized, he shouldn’t be feeling this way. He let it happen anyways, it felt so good to get it out.
He hated it.
‘But it’s good to let emotions out! Healthy even!’ he told himself
‘Yeah, but you shouldn’t be feeling this way at all. What they said stung. and why did it sting? becase they don’t care. They should be fixing it and making things better.’ another part of him said.
‘But they are already trying to make it better! They caught their mistake and now they’re trying to fix it!’ he tried to reassure himself.
‘Not really. They’re not here now are they?’ Morlaity felt a sharp pain as he inhaled. That thought hurt.
But… but they were his friends how could they do that to him?
‘They’re human, they all make mistakes.’
But why did it hurt so much?
Morality sobbed clinging to the bed. His thoughts confusing him. Why couldn’t he just forget about it. He’s probably said a few hurtful things to the others once or twice and they forgave him.
“Patton?” he could hear a voice. He tried holding back a sob.
“Y-y-yeah.” He cursed himself for not keeping a straight voice.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he still couldn’t recognize the voice.
“I-I don’t kn-ow” Patton let out a sob. Why couldn’t he just forgive them? They probably felt guilty enough, he didn’t have to make it worse. He hated himself for not moving on.
He felt a dubious arm around him. Morality wanted contact so bad so he turned towards the owners chest and grabbed their jacket, sobbing.
“I’m here,” they said. It sounded awkward, but he could tell they meant it.
Patton kept sobbing letting his emotions have control. He felt their arms hesitantly move up and down his back as if it was foreign to him. Patton kept crying, as the owner got more comfortable hugging him. A little while after Patton calmed down he was surprised to hear Anxiety speaking to him;
“Do you want a patt-on the back?” he asked. Patton giggled.
“Th-a-t was funny” Patton sniffled.
“Yeah, you used it on me once, except you literally jumped on me.” Anxiety answered.
“Yeah, I’m-I’m sorry about that.” Paton said, feeling guilty about that day.
“It’s alright, it could have been worse.” Anxiety hugged Patton closer.
They stayed quiet for a minute. Patton enjoyed the silence, sniffling once in awhile.
“Do-” Anxiety hesitated before continuing, “do you want to talk about it?”
Patton thought about it for a minute. It was a good idea to talk about his feelings.
“I just-i hate myself for feeling bad about the things you guys said, you already apologized, but I can’t seem to get over it.”
“Hey, take it easy on yourself. I’ve been holding onto what people say for years and I’m still not over it. Its barely been a day for you.” Anxiety said.
“Y-yeah, but-” He hiccupped, “but I’m-I’m the heart, I’m sup-post to forgive people easily.”
“You can still take your time. You have feelings after all. Sometimes it’s good to take your time. It lets others know that what they did wasn’t okay.” Anxiety answered. Patton sniffled, but smiled.
“When-when did you grow up to be so-so smart?” Patton asked.
“Since i was born.” Anxiety answered. Patton laughed.
“If you say so k-kido.” Patton smiled and looked up at Anxiety.
“Thanks for-for being here.” Patton said. Anxiety shrugged and continued rubbing Patton’s back. Patton sniffled for a while and leaned closer to Anxiety.
“Would you like to play with some goo?” Anxiety offered after a while. Morality lit up and nodded. “I have some in my room- or do you want to stay in here?” Anxiety sounded a little hesitant.
“Can we stay in here?” Patton was nervous, he didn’t want to ruin the moment with Anxiety. “It’s fine, but if you dare tell anyone i did this i will not be held accountable for the things i do.” Anxiety snarled.
“Aw you tease!” Patton answered before getting up to find his Goo, and Anxiety’s grey sand. He found them in his desk and brought it over to the little table he had set up in his room. He beckoned Anxiety over pointed at the sand he had brought and opened the can of his goo. Anxiety sighed but walked up to the table and sat text to him, rolling his eyes when Morality showing Anxiety his colorful goo, Morality pulled the goo and squeezed it together, smiling at the sticky feeling.
Anxiety rolled his eyes a few times, but he seemed to be enjoying his sand.
They didn’t do much talking, but they did enjoy each other’s presence.
I can't get Kent singing 'for good' from wicked out of my head for some reason. I don't even know why he's singing it but damn it won't leave me alone. Also Broadway Kent who can sing, does his own special version of Ariana grandes Into You for tater (I'll never be over that song). Also imagine tater by knowing much but Kent always talks about Hamilton and tater surprises him with tickets !! Or buying front tow tickets to the new show Kent is doing for like a week straight to show his support!
yes yes!!! to all of these!! (also unrelated but i got inspired so here’s an angsty meet-Jack-again backstory thing ive been thinking of for the broadway Kent AU)
Kent kind of got the idea that Tater doesn’t like musical theater as much as he does like watching Kent perform (although Tater is fascinated by ballet and can stay awake during the entire thing; Kent can’t stand ballet–there’s that one scene from The Mindy Project that he’ll always remember, where these two guys observe a ballet practice and one of them has to pinch his own nipple to keep from falling asleep–Kent knows which one he is). Point is, Tater shows a lot of support by buying him all these tickets and attending the same shows over and over, always ready at the end with a huge bouquet of flowers and the loudest, most boisterous claps.
But Kent still hasn’t been to one of Tater’s games.
Yes, of course he wants to, and yes, it’s mostly because their schedules rarely match up, but he knows Tater wants to introduce him to the Falconers officially before he does the namedrop so it can be a fun surprise, like “Hey, I’m dating Kent Parson! He’s famous! He sings and has like a bunch of Tonys and once he voiced a character in a Disney movie. Yes, that Kent Parson!”, blah blah blah. Which is all good and well, since he knows Tater’s fiercely proud of his team and in turn, the Falconers are fiercely proud of Tater, so the problem doesn’t necessarily lie in Kent himself.