#and pretty angsty

[museumgiftshoperaser]

Paint the Devil on the Wall

80s New York City art scene AU, Coming November 7th!

My Steddie Big Bang project has a posting date! The first of five chapters will be uploaded to AO3 on November 7th! I can't wait to share this story that I've been working on since January. It's the longest I've ever worked on a fic and also the longest in terms of length. We'll probably be clocking in at around 60k and it will be rated E. The fic will be accompanied by art from @melonalemonade and @dreaminginpencil which I could not be happier about! I've seen a little sneak peak of one of the pieces and it's so insanely gorgeous, you're gonna love it so so much <333 Below is a little excerpt from the intro...

***

The first artwork Eddie ever falls in love with is a piece of graffiti on the dumpster behind the church. He’s ten, maybe eleven and his mother pushes him across the parking lot on Sunday morning. They’re running late and pretending not to be, but the Indiana sun soaks sweat through his mother’s nicest blouse. A telltale sign of rushing and cheap polyester. 

Would you look at that, she tuts anyway, like judging other people will guard her from nasty looks from the right side of the picket fence. Her yellowed nails hook into his shoulders. I bet it’s those Peterson boys again. 

So Eddie looks. 

It’s a corner of town he’s seen a hundred times, but just like that it’s new again. Angry blue and black lines swoop across the metal into bold letters spelling out SOON. Loud like advertising, enticing like early morning cartoons. Messy, but on purpose.

His mother must see the crease between his brows, maybe the longing in his eyes because she adds you don’t draw on things that aren’t yours, baby.

Inside, with his knees on the hardwood and his eyes closed, those bright letters light up the inside of his eyelids like a promise. Soon. He doesn’t know what, or where or how, but he thinks it’s coming. 

Later that night he scratches the same swooping letters into his bedside table with a ballpoint and a vision. Pushes so hard the plywood dents in the shape of his marks and learns how good it feels. How a room can be a canvas. How he gets to pick the colors.

His stepdad smacks him over the head for it when his mother finds out so he figures nothing in his bedroom is really his. But maybe he knew that already. 

It’s a decade later now, and Hawkins, Indiana is over seven hundred miles away. He doesn’t believe in God anymore, maybe never did, and he no longer believes in Art. But he believes in Soon like nobody’s business. Gets the word tattooed over his wrist his first week in New York and never looks back. The money. The boys and the white, chalky lines across every black surface he can find. Everything. Soon.

It’s coming.

All of which is to say that this is not a love story.  At least, not yet.

(If you have any questions you can always send me an ask, I've been absolutely DYING to talk about this story since January) (And also thanks so much to all the moderators who've been running this big bang!)

[noodles-and-tea]

Just some more thoughts on that jayvik dbh au

[soratsuart]

WHAT DO YOU MEAN

WHAT DO YOU MEAN ACE'S DREAM IS ABOUT CELEBRATING THAT YUU FOUND A WAY TO TRAVEL BACK AND FORTH BETWEEN THEIR WORLD AND TWISTED WONDERLAND AND HE ACTIVELY FIGHTS WAKING UP SO MUCH THE OTHERS ALMOST GIVE UP ON HIM AND MOVE TO THE NEXT DREAM

WHAT THE FUCK???

[heywriters]

Once again, you can be an English major. a seasoned journalist. an established author. a famed literary critic...and you will still scratch your head over the junk that makes it big. Public opinion has no worth. Just write what you want.

"But I don't want to share something that isn't perfect" why not? everyone else does.

[morganbritton132]

17 year old, CEO Tim Drake canceling a press conference and then putting out a statement like, “Sorry for canceling last min, Alfred said that he was going to run my laptop through the dishwasher if I didn’t clean my room. I think he’d do it :/. Also, wasn’t really in the mood. Cya -Tim.”

[chloesimaginationthings]

The FNAF Mikes talk about their extended family..

[supine-ly]

Kim dokja somehow won the custody battle (he fully expected Yjh to win) and he doesnt know how to proceed.

[charlietheepicwriter7]

G̴̩͍͆͆̈́e̵̹̣͆t̷̬̋ ̸̻̮̎̒ĭ̸̏̃n̵͙̋͐ ̸̛̳̃t̶̪̣̅ḣ̸̳̇͜è̵̠̲͖̔̑ ̶̢̹̖͗͐̀Wa̵̬̞͝ṫ̴̩̣̣e̶͉̲̯͂̏̎r̴̉

It was a simple mission. Damian was working with Father to confirm the existence of a Lazarus Pit below Gotham, as Ra's Al Ghul speculated. And they had found it, deep in the caves below Gotham. A Pit the size of an Olympic sized swimming pool, bubbling and steaming. He'd only looked away for a moment.

"Kin-slayer."

Standing waist deep in the water stood Damian's reflection. The hair might be white, and the eyes glowing with the waters, but it was his face. But not his face alone.

Danyal's ghost glared at him. "Get in the water."

Father threw a batarang at him, but the metal flew straight through his head like it was air. Danyal didn't even glance at him, his eyes fixed on Damian. "Get in the water," he ordered again. He stepped closer to the shore and the green water sloshed up the bank higher than it was before. "Or I'll raise the tide so high, all of Gotham will die. So get in the water."

Damian's heart jumped into throat. "Wait-"

"Get in the water."

Father shoved Damian behind him, as if it would protect him, as if he could stop Danyal. "Stop this, please-" If he could just explain-

Another step and the waters surged forward, nearly touching Father's boots. "I'll make whirlpools so profound, your entire family will drown," he promised.

"NO!" Not his brother, his kind brother-

"THEN GET IN THE WATER!" Danyal snarled, revealing monstrously sharp teeth and a black tongue from Damian's poison. "G̴̩͍͆͆̈́e̵̹̣͆t̷̬̋ ̸̻̮̎̒ĭ̸̟̰͙̏̃n̵͙̝̟̋͐ ̸̛̳̃t̶̪̣̅ḣ̸̳̇͜è̵̠̲͖̔̑ ̶̢̹̖͗͐̀w̵̜͍̤̌a̵̬̞͝ṫ̴̩̣̣e̶͉̲̯͂̏̎r̴̉͜!̷̡͔́̀̽" He lunged and Father pushed them back down the passage they'd come. "Don't mistake this for a bluff, brother. You've lived more than enough. Just get in the water." Damian swallowed, throat dry. Was this Danyal's revenge? Did he finally have to face what he had done?

"Robin, who is this?" Father snapped, trying to keep retreating down the cave. But Damian wouldn't let him; the waters, and Danyal with them, would only follow.

Danyal looked between them, scowling. "G̴̩͍͆͆̈́e̵̹̣͆t̷̬̋ ̸̻̮̎̒ĭ̸̟̰͙̏̃n̵͙̝̟̋͐ ̸̛̳̃t̶̪̣̅ḣ̸̳̇͜è̵̠̲͖̔̑ ̶̢̹̖͗͐̀w̵̜͍̤̌a̵̬̞͝ṫ̴̩̣̣e̶͉̲̯͂̏̎r̴̉͜!̷̡͔́̀̽" he snapped again. "I'll take your father and gouge out his eyes, unless you want to stop being a coward and choose to die. Now... get in the water."

[smalltownrobin]

Something so painful about Robin's coming out scene is when she says, "if he did know her, like really know her, I don't think he'd even want to be her friend."

She doesn't word her rejection like ‘I don’t like you because I like girls’, she words it as ‘you won’t like me because I like girls’.

She was so prepared to lose Steve's friendship, even after everything they'd been through together, not because she didn't like him in the way he did her and was about to make things uncomfortable between them, but purely because her queerness could erase their entire friendship in an instant.

[starzovermarz]

So close to being the real thing

[egophiliac]

OMG EGO HAVE YOU SEEN THE BOOK 7 CATER CARD YET

80s britpunk Cater is such an incredible direction to take. his Sid Vicious jacket! his little british police cap! I wouldn't have anticipated that going full-on Sex Pistols would be his alternate self but it is SO fitting actually. 😭

(also th-the crown symbol?! the gavel?! is housewarden Cater real because I will TRANSCEND --)

[pineflowerart]

Never look back Aventurine

Too much to gamble

[the-words-we-sung]

How can I trust anyone?

[undead-zomboy]

yall probanly dont even know my fav petekey livejournal post ☹️☹️ new mexico sunset has NOTHING on this shit

[flwrkid14]

Buried Beneath The Laughter They Ignored

Tim is totally fine. Ridiculously fine, actually.

It didn’t matter that he woke up feeling this bubbling, manic laughter in his chest, like everything was suddenly so fucking funny. It didn’t matter that he’d woken up from another nightmare last night, crying, calling for his mama—not the mother he lost, but the mother he gained, Harley Quinn. And it didn’t matter that most days, he felt more like Joker Junior than he did Tim Drake.

It didn’t matter that no one else seemed to fucking care.

He shoved down every bit of laughter clawing up his throat, because he knew if he let even one chuckle slip, they’d all give him that look. The one they always did. Disapproval masked as concern. They didn’t like Junior. They didn’t want to believe Junior was still in there, clawing his way up every time Tim breathed.

It didn’t matter that no one ever asked him how he was doing. They didn’t want to talk about it. Because talking about it would make it real, and they preferred pretending it wasn’t. They expected him to be fine, to push it down, to carry on like nothing happened. If he tried to bring it up, they’d say he was being insensitive—insensitive to Jason's trauma. What fucking irony, he thought bitterly. As if it wasn’t insensitive to be stepping all over his by not letting him speak.

It didn’t matter that he caught them glancing at him sometimes, like they were waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for him to snap, waiting for Junior to come out again. But they never asked. No one asked what was going on in his head. No one fucking asked.

It didn’t matter that when he finally snapped, when he finally screamed at them, sick and tired of pretending, they had the nerve to act clueless. As if they didn’t know.

It didn’t matter that Dick, of all people, screamed back. Yelling like he was being unreasonable. Like he was the problem. He screamed at Tim, demanding answers, to ask what the hell he meant by Joker Junior, as if—

As if they didn’t know.

They didn’t fucking know.

This whole time, they hadn’t known.

They didn’t know Tim had been taken. They didn’t know Tim had been missing. They didn’t know Tim had been held prisoner at the hand of the Joker for months, tearing him apart, piece by piece, until Junior was the only thing left of him. They didn’t know he had screamed for them, begged for someone to find him, but no one ever did.

They didn’t know how much he had suffered. Alone. They didn’t know how much he had changed. They didn’t know that every time he woke up now, it felt like he was still Joker Junior, just wearing Tim’s skin.

And they didn’t know how much it hurt—how much it broke him—to realize that they had never known.

Tim wasn’t fucking okay. And it mattered—oh, it mattered—that they didn’t fucking know.

Because if they didn’t know, it meant no one ever bothered to look. It meant no one ever cared enough to notice.

[enden-agolor]

am i even a real lukas fan without drawing his trailer design? so there’s that. also have some very sweet and gentle baja blast boys 🤗