#and some of the next chapter too

[black-and-yellow]

👇

I was surprised at the amount of people who have apparently never heard about my fic? I post about it all the time how have you been missing this. So here's the latest chapter. Eri-centric, very cute. Idk how to write kids so forgive me. As a former kid myself, I know I should be a little more qualified, but here we are.

This covers comic 10 in the second half, but the first half is more of just an Eri study.

[egophiliac]

crossing my fingers and wishing upon every star that chapter 10 finally brings us the tweel cards 🤞🤞

[ghost-proofbaby]

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR EIGHTEEN

in which eddie shows you deftones, texts are missed and calls are answered, and lines are crossed once more for good measure.

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, light dry humping?, upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ wc: 4k+

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

18:00 ─────────────ㅇ── 24:00

Steve-O: rise and shine, campers! time to get back at it with these wellness checks. gonna need some proof you two are still alive.

HOUR EIGHTEEN - 9:00 AM 

Eddie’s eyes narrow in concentration at your phone as his thumbs fly across the screen, navigating the Spotify app with ease to find the Deftones song he specifically wants. He doesn’t do as you had and go to their artist page – he searches with purpose, in no mood to scroll through albums to find the song he’s looking for. 

“I still don’t understand how you can type so fast,” you mumble, watching with fascination that you try to tamper down with faux boredom, “Even I can’t type that fast, and I own the damn thing.” 

He doesn’t even glance up as he scrolls along the screen, finding the song and clicking on it, “I’m just good with my fingers.” 

There it goes. The air from your lungs, once again vacating the premises as he freezes beside you. 

It isn’t fair. An internal whine that nearly works itself up your throat and out your mouth, making you want to stomp your feet like a child. You hadn’t even recovered from the casual drop of baby yet. And now he’s going to just say that? 

“Oh, God, I-” he’s looking up finally, eyes wide and stuttering with embarrassment, “Fuck, I swear to God, I did not mean that as an innuendo.” 

You open your mouth. You close it. You repeat the process. You’re fucking speechless and it’s a little bit embarrassing. 

“I’m serious!” he persists when you don’t reply, and only stare at him in continued shock, “Seriously! I- Fuck, I was referring to with my job. At the autoshop. I’m- Fuck,” he cuts his explanation off, dragging a hand over his face and falling back into the couch, “Kill me. Kill me now, please – and be sure to make it quick and painless, pretty please.” 

You finally laugh. It’s a bit choked, a bit strangled, but it instantly has Eddie lowering his hand. 

“I think if we were going to kill each other, Munson, it would have happened hours ago,” you try to tease him, but something about the sentiment comes out far softer than you intended. Like it’s not a joke. Like, in your own odd way, you’re trying to whisper a truth to him – everything has changed for me now. 

“Probably,” he sighs, relaxing a bit and leaning back beside you as he looks to the phone once more and clicks on a song, “Proba-fucking-ly.” 

For the first two songs, there is a distance to be kept between the two of you. You peek at the screen and catch the titles – Cherry Waves and Sextape – and make a mental categorization of which one you enjoy more. You nearly audibly snort at Sextape, but manage to keep your immature humor to yourself. You prefer Cherry Waves, anyways. 

  The songs that follow become a bit of a blur. Because for the first two, the distance existed. You can focus on the guitar and the vocals and the bass drum and everything except the man sitting beside you. But then song three comes on. 

Fucking song three. You don’t catch the name, but it might be your favorite yet. Or you might be biased. 

Because it’s during this third song that something changes. Eddie is no longer content in just leaning back beside you, in letting you consume the new music in a sort of solitude that was impressive to achieve when not actually alone. You first notice his restlessness in the bounce of his knee, shaking beside yours as he finally puts the phone down on the coffee table rather than balanced on his thigh. You don’t comment on it, you let it slide. You faux indifference. But then, the flexing of his hand starts.

It’s odd. Sure, plenty of people mess with their hands in relation to nerves, but you’ve never seen it happen like that before. The slow stretch of him pushing his fingers to their limits before retracting them, bending his knuckles as he tucks the tips in. The veins along the top of his hand popping exceptionally. 

“I’m just good with my fingers.”

I fucking bet he is. 

You curse yourself for the warmth that burns in the pit of your stomach. Focus. You should be focusing on the music, on taking in what he’s sharing with you. 

Not on his hands. Specifically his fingers, and how good they’d feel-

Fucking stop it. Cut it out. No. 

It takes an ungodly amount of willpower for you to look away, but you manage it. Unfortunately, what you don’t manage to do is ignore the bouncing of his leg. You don’t manage to extinguish that burning that he’s begun in you — a fire started from his kindle. 

Impulsive. Impulsive, and a little stupid, and endlessly daring. That’s what it is when you finally reach out a hand to land on his knee midsong. 

The shaking immediately ceases, and you take over the soothing motions as you let your thumb initially rub in arcs against the side of his thigh. With each strum of the guitar that rings out, you let your thumb complete its semicircle motion. With each pounding of drums, you give a gentle squeeze. He doesn’t say a word about it, and neither do you. Especially when he drops his hand over yours, wiggling his fingers between yours with the failure of a casual grace. You try not to smile as you flip your hand and let him properly intertwine them.

Flexing, but this time, it’s to squeeze your palm to his. You still think about those goddamn fingers.

“So, what do you think so far?” Eddie asks after he clears his throat.

“They’re good,” you nod, finding yourself shuffling subconsciously closer to him now that he’s gripping onto your hand, “Really good.” 

“I’m just good with my fingers.”

You know that he’s more than just good. Just like Deftones, you’d dare say he’s really good. 

The song switches, and both of you have scooted close enough to one another that your thighs press together. Shoulder to shoulder, sharing enough space to feel his breath on the side of your bare neck. 

His grip on your hand tightens.

You want the opposite. You suddenly want his hand to detach from yours and to find home on your cheeks, hands on either side of your face before he’s pulling you into him, throwing caution and formality to the wind. You two have already crossed that line; why was it so hard to take that leap once more? 

The song is still playing. You don’t recognize the tinny guitars that are on the loop of repeating the same notes, an echo effect of sorts layered over them. 

It’s just the guitar. And suddenly, the rasps of Eddie’s breaths are something your acutely aware of. Like he’s closer, like he’s letting his head tilt even closer to you. You feel that heat transferring between your biceps that are smashed together, not even thin layers of t-shirt or the sleeve of the crew neck able to stop it. 

It all happens suddenly.

The guitar pauses and Eddie’s hand loosens in yours. Your heart races, and you realize you’re preparing yourself for what he’s doing before he’s even sprung into action. 

Kiss me, the sigh you let out whispers.

It’s answered by the song, and by Eddie. A combination of the two that you can’t differentiate. 

The silence in the song is cut off by whimpers. One from the lead singer on the track, one from Eddie. Both breathy, both shakey, both whispering of the loss of control.

“Fuck it.”

Two words. He says those two words again as his warning before he lets go of your hand and is reaching up, shifting your two bodies impossibly quick as his hands do exactly as you had craved. One on each cheek, and then he does it.

He kisses you.

It is neither kind nor gentle, despite the allusion that it might have been from the way he cradles your cheeks. The callouses on his fingers scrape your cheeks, you can feel every crack in his bottom lip as it slots between your own. It’s easy and quick work, the way your mouths can mold together so effortlessly. Tongues that were once so sharp as they’d spit venomous words at once another now meet and pass over teeth, blurring the lines of where you end and he begins — of where hatred ended and this began. 

Whatever it is, whatever it will be for these last few hours, whatever it will be once the clock runs out, you’re grateful. You, your vinery, your civility — they all scream their prayers of thanks as his hands drop from your cheeks and find your hips. You don’t even process that he’s tugging you onto his lap or that you’re letting him until it’s happened. Your thighs bracket his own hips, and he gives you no time before he’s pressing your full weight into him, hands clawing at you, desperate to keep you close. 

You can’t even hear the song anymore over the roar of your own heart.

“Baby,” he murmurs against your mouth, and you realize now what the price is. 

The price is your sanity. The price is a loss of control, and letting him consume you whole. A small price in the grand scheme of it all.

“I-“ you start a sentence that you have no idea of what the ending would be, but he interrupts with his mouth. The teeth your tongue had once met bite down on your lip and you swear you taste blood, swear you see crimson as he sighs out again into your open mouth. 

His hands guide your hips against his. A steady rhythm, and with only a few passes, you can feel him harden against you. Your pace picks up of your own doing, the friction of your panties and his pajama pants nudging your clit and leaving you breathless. 

What the fuck are we doing?

You should stop it. You should mind the delicate balance you two have been trying to achieve since you first crossed this line. 

You only push down harder on him, only bite down on his lip as he had yours. This time, blood might have honestly been drawn — the hiss that escapes him says it all. 

“You’re going to be the fucking death of me,” he chastises you between kisses, “You want to know what was fucking wrong earlier? You. You are driving me insane, you are driving me straight into the fucking grave.” 

Oh.

Oh.

The way he had leapt up. His nervous energy. The way he had put as much space between the two of you as possible.

“I affect you that much?”

It is not a confident question — you completely pull away from him, leaning back as you breathe it out, hands finding home on his shoulders as you survey him.

He’s being honest. 

His pupils are wide but those brown, doe eyes have softened as they meet your gaze. His chest is heaving, his lips are already bruising pink as they fall apart so casually. 

He’s being honest. 

You affect him, you’re doing this to him — he’s caught up in flames, no sign of salt water in sight. 

“You always do,” he says, “Always have. Probably always will.” 

Your grip on his shoulders tighten. 

I could never hate you. 

How blind you had been. How absolutely, blissfully unaware you had been functioning all these months. 

A hand trails from its grip on his shoulders, fingers slipping over his bare collar bone, “What do you mea-“ 

You don’t get to finish the question or dig any deeper into the revelation. The music both of you had long since abandoned has been replaced by the ringing of your phone.

Eddie’s eyes immediately pinch shut, face twisting with irritation. You can’t tell if he’s more annoyed at the interruption due to whatever breakthrough you two were on the precipice of, or because he’s still painfully hard beneath you. But he quickly wraps one arm around your waist, tugging your torso flush to his as he leans forward quickly and reaches out to grab your phone. 

“Oh, what the fuck,” he huffs once his eyes are open again and he’s looking at your phone screen.

Your face has been pressed into the crook of his neck due to the current position and way he’s tightly holding you to him. You have no clue who it is, but you have five decent guesses to throw out. 

He answers for you. Sharply and bitterly, he snaps out a, “What do you want, Harrington?” 

Steve. One of the five guesses. Go figure.

“Yes, we’re fucking alive,” Eddie holds no patience for your friend, all the softness he’d held for you gone save for the stroke of his thumb against the bare small of your back, “We were-“ 

A pause. You wonder for a second if he is going to admit it. If right here, right now, he would confess to your friends what has happened. How he could never hate you, how you drive him insane, how by nothing changing that everything has changed.

“Sleeping.” 

An answer to your question. You hate your disappointment, and bite it down with vengeance. 

You can faintly hear Steve’s voice over the phone, not quite as trilling or pitched as Nancy’s or Robin’s. Eddie’s annoyance still rolls off of him in waves, and you imagine that you’d catch him rolling his eyes along with his little huffs of air if you were to finally lift your head from his neck. But you’re selfish, and his arm is still around you waist as it presses you tight to his chest, so you indulge yourself. You dig your nose deeper against the junction of his neck, you take in his lingering cologne and let the stray curls tickle your cheeks. 

You should have known he wouldn’t admit it.

“Okay, okay,” Eddie grumbles into the phone, barely getting out the repetitive word before his breath hitches as you pucker your lips against the skin you’ve been burrowing into. It’s only a chaste kiss, but it has its desired effect, “Okay, Harrington. We’ll send a fucking photo. You done?”

Then it hits you. A fun game, a distraction from your disappoint and a way to crawl under his skin all in one. You fight hard not to let a smile spread at the risk of him feeling it against his neck as you take a deep breath in through your nose, noticing the way his shoulder nearly reflexively lifts slightly as if it tickles, because you’re puckering your lips again.

The second chaste kiss is testing the waters. He doesn’t react. And so you go forth with your plan, mouth falling open, teeth grazing his jugular.

He reacts microscopically. His chest halts movement.

It’s not enough for you.

So you suck. Hard. Puckered lips and a vendetta to prove, you let your teeth bite at the skin that sucks into your mouth. 

That does the trick.

“O-Okay!” he yelps out in surprise, his hand bruising as he grips you harder. He tries to pull his neck back from you, but his hand only presses you down onto his lap and you feel his dick twitch beneath his thin pants, “Christ, Harrington. We fucking get it. We’ll send a photo. And we won’t sleep another wink, so bite me,“ he pants out as you move to the spot beneath his ear, finding where his jaw connects to his throat, repeating the process and doing exactly as he had told Steve. His hips buck up into you, “Okay, I’m hanging up now, Harrington. Bye.” 

You’re grinning wildly against his ear as he tosses your phone carelessly somewhere on the couch — or maybe the floor, you couldn’t tell at this point — before he’s flipping you down onto your back on the couch and hovering over you.

Your head falls back instinctually, leaving your neck open for him to begin an assault of kisses.

“Are-“ A kiss. “You-“ A bite. “Fucking-“ A soothing lathe of tongue over the bite. “Kidding-“ A harsh suck. “Me.”

You writhe beneath him, but he’s pressing his entire weight down onto you, hips slotted between yours and one hand  pinning both your wrists to the cushion above as the other stays glued to your waist. 

“Did you think that was funny?” he breathes out against you, letting the tip of his nose barely graze over the base of your throat, “Doing that shit while I was trying to talk Harrington down from that damn ledge?” 

“Why was he on the ledge to begin with?” you breathily question, trying to move your hands from his grasp, the urge to run your fingers through his curls growing. He only tightens his hold.

“Apparently,” he pauses and presses a quick kiss at the edge of the sweatshirt collar, looking up at you through his bangs and lashes, “He had texted, and we didn’t respond. Photos are back in demand.” 

“We’re quite the commodity,” you try to joke, avoiding his gaze. Trying to avoid the softness buried deep inside there, all soft and melted in shades of brown, “We should start charging them.” 

“We are charging them, technically,” he snorts, finally letting go of your wrists and leveling his face above yours.

Right. You keep forgetting the promise of a cash prize if you make it out of this alive. 

Alive, not unscathed. 

You’re already picturing that cash as blood money, some pathetic trophy that won’t even begin to cover the irreversible scars that will be left behind. All the hurt, all the fights, all the realizations — no amount of promised money can erase them.

You start to consider what could erase them, but you stop yourself when you realize that that admittance is too heavy. 

He’s here. The weight of him is pressing into you, the smell of him is encasing you, and the stare of his big brown eyes is locking you in. You have him. For a few more hours, you have him.

The wounds can wait. The time to heal and scar over will come later.

“I guess they are, huh?” you laugh when you realize you’ve gone too long without replying. 

The stare turns curious. Still melted chocolate, still deathly soft for you, but curious all the same. “Yeah. Yeah, they are.” 

You’re about to retreat into your own head and consider what he might do with his share of the cash, but that voice in your mind whispers once more.

He’s here. You have him. Just ask him.

“What are you doing with your money?” you blurt out. 

He chuckles and shakes his head, curls falling over his shoulders and creating a curtain as he continues to balance his weight on his forearms settled on each side of your head, still hovering over you.

You should probably comment on that. Make a snide remark about it. Shove him off.

You don’t.

“Is that really want you’d like to talk about right now?” 

Right, the weight of his hips as he rolls them gently into you reminds you of what the two of you had been doing before the phone call. The boundaries you’d hopped right over, all the lines you two had been in the process of crossing.

The affect you have on him.

Your stomach twists and suddenly your legs fall open wider to welcome him in, only to wrap them up around his waist. He lets you, lets you pull him right in until your chests are flush to each other. The only thing separating your skin from his is this damn sweatshirt. 

“I… Maybe,” you force out just before his lips capture yours. It’s not as urgent as when he’d pulled you in for a kiss to Deftones, but it’s still enough to shatter every bone in your body before melding them all back together into something new, something different.

Something changed. 

Eddie smiles, and it’s almost shyly. “Maybe?”

You hum, but it’s cut off, caught in your throat with another roll of Eddie’s hips. 

“Okay. Let’s talk about it then, sweetheart.” 

Another roll of his hips, and you lift your own to meet the thrust this time, trying to catch him against you in a way for reprieve. You can feel the wet patch gathering on your panties, your thighs clenching onto his hips harder. 

“What ever shall I do with my money?” he pretends to ponder, eyes shooting up to look away from you in faux contemplation. 

As he does it, one of his hands wander over your sternum, dancing above the fabric of the borrowed clothes. 

“Maybe I’ll buy a new bike,” he muses, the hand wandering lower, tracing a steady line down your abdomen, “Maybe I’ll get myself a new guitar.” 

His hand has reached the hem of the sweatshirt, slips beneath it and plays with the edge of your panties. 

Your mouth will be your damnation as you snipe back, “Or maybe you can buy yourself a whole collection of playboys, filled with plenty of models who definitely don’t look like someone you claim to hate.” 

His hand retracts immediately, and you can’t help but begin to giggle.

“Wait, wait, wait,” you start to gasp out when he lifts away from you, reaching out to grab onto him. 

He’s fast, but your hands are quicker. You wrap them around the back of his neck and tug him into you, only for him to continue to lift himself up and bring you with him as well this time. 

You resemble a koala, and can only imagine what the scene looks like to an outsider. 

“Eddie!” you practically squeal, and can feel the vibrations of his own laughter as he sits up on his knees, you still clinging to him.

His arms wrap around you and you lean back, catching that mischievous glint in his eyes. It breaks through the softness, burns brightly in your chest as your laughter fades into soft breaths that hit his freckled cheeks.

You stare at each other for a moment, a tangle of limbs and unspoken words. His earlier admission isn’t forgotten, the lines crossed all painted in red now.

He’s here. You have him, for now. 

You can only imagine the claw marks you will be leaving behind when the clock strikes twenty four hours, and you’re forced to leave him and this behind. 

“You, sweetheart,” he finally breaks the silence with gentle smirk, “are a certified boner killer.” 

You don’t miss a beat, reaching down between you two, hand cupping his still prominent erection, “You sure about that?” 

He only groans in response, and in your following cackles, your hold on him slips. 

He could have let you fall back roughly on the couch, especially given his distraction with fighting his ever growing smirk. He could have let you smack your head back on the cushion and let you deal with the dull ache that would have followed. He could have, he could have, he could have.

He doesn’t. 

He guides you back with his arms still tight around you. Makes sure that you land softly against the worn plush. Takes his time removing his grip on you before he’s standing up from the couch.

You lay back, so sincerely content as you let out a final breath of a laugh and watch him shake his head in amusement as he turns to leave. 

“Where are you going?” if it weren’t for the residual giddiness of the moment, you’d have been embarrassed by the clinginess that had threaded its way into your tone.

“The bathroom,” he answers without hesitation, back facing you as he starts down the short hall.

You call after him, “Okay. Don’t take too long this time!” 

Even as his laughter echoes faintly, you know you still have him. For now.

taglist: @catherinnn @haylaansmi @gaysludge @paprikaquinn @manda-panda-monium @audhd-dragonaut @blushingquincy @hellkaisersangel @eddieslittlewh0re @ajkamins @prettyboy200 @munsonzzgf @blue-eyed-lion @digwhatudug @madaboutjoe @wickedslashdivine @sweet-villain @somespicystuff @big-ope-vibes @jadequeen88 @sylviin @emma77645 @notbeforelong @lolalanaie @lo-siento-ama @happy-and-alone @micheledawn1975 @aysheashea @moon-huny @munsonswrld @bambipowerblueaddition @averagestudent03 @bakugouswh0r3 @mattefic @mxcheese @bietchz @nativity-in-black @stezzil @vngelis @coley0823 @folklorebau @luvmunson86 @theherothesavior @keene200213 @hargrovesswifee @m-chmcl-rmnc @cherrymedicine13 @iunaelumen777

taglist is now closed.

[starkspi]

these sketches are all inspired by @miribalis fanfiction "Managerial Liberties" where Adam stays at the hotel (spoiler - he is not happy and he is still stupid) [and please everyone who sees this post also has to read "Bedtime Rituals to Try out Before the Next Angelic War" so we can scream in each other's faces how INSANELY good both fanfictions are]

[buttercupshands]

rewatched Kurogiri's holiday story from ultra impact (not related to sketch at all)

(but it did inspire me)

on another note

finally!!

[nobodysdaydreams]

WIP and Published Fics Ask Game (reblog to play and feel free to drop the emojis/questions in the ask box!)

Questions about WIPs:

🥰 a fluff WIP snippet

😂 a funny or crack WIP snippet

😭 angst or sad WIP snippet

🤩a WIP snippet about or with dialogue from ________ [name of a character]. If you don’t have one for that character, choose someone else!

❓ any WIP snippet you want!

Questions about published fics:

📖 a published snippet from _________ [published work of theirs you haven't had read yet, but are curious about]

😔published lines or a section of a fic that was super sad, angsty, or difficult to write?

😍 published lines or a section of a fic that you loved writing?

🎁name a published gift fic someone has given you that you love and can't recommend enough (be sure to tag the author. Or if you don't have an AO3 or haven't been gifted a fic, what kind of fic would you like to be gifted?)

🤔 ____________? [ask the author a question about any of their published works, such as what the writing process was like, what their favorite fic is, or what character they like writing about].

[midnight-mourning]

Week 3! But WHAT'S THIS?? WHO ARE THESE HANDSOME FELLAS???

Why, they're none other than some of my beloved mutuals versions of Sun! Or at the very least, attempts at them!

Yapping and links to the mutuals and their aus below the cut :)

**also you should click for better quality**

Something important that I remembered recently was what advice I got from watching Bob Ross paint (yes I do bob ross paintings in my free time, moving on) which is that when you're following someone else's process, you're not trying to copy them, but rather emulate them and learn the fundamentals while do so.

It's how I'm now able to do paintings in 'bob ross style' without following a tutorial bc i learned the basics first and foremost. And besides being my moots (who I think are so cool and amazing) I chose these 4 designs specifically because of how distinct their styles are and how each ends up with very pretty end results regardless.

So that's how we ended up with the last three drawings of the week, which are me trying to figure out a more lax sketch/doodle style (Day 20), a very detailed style for more 'finished' pieces (Day 21), and lastly somewhere in between (Day 19).

I've seen a lot of growth in myself while going through this challenge, both in my art and in my confidence towards it, and I'm excited to finish out this next week. Who knows, might see a few other familar faces mixed in :)

As for my lovely moots, if you haven't already you should go check them out! They all make very great content. Hope I did y'all justice with these! Stared at your art for hours and simultaneously had a TON of fun drawing your versions of the boy ^-^

In Order of Appearence:

Eclipsed By You (EBY) Sun - @ping-ski

All Bark No Bite Sun - @cazbats

Fashion/Model Au Sun - @luckyyyduckyyy

Solar Takeoff/Ride Operator Au Sun - @fishm0ther

[minty364]

DPXDC Prompt #58 Part 3

Gotham Academy High School was the sort of school where almost everyone was elite in some way or another. Some of them were from old money like Damian who held himself up to a very high standard in his academics and was the top of the class. Others from new money like Dash and the rest of his cohorts became very hateful of somebody like Danny who was given a scholarship by Bruce Wayne, in their eyes Danny was taking advantage of Damian not even knowing that Damian approached Danny for companionship two years ago.

This also meant that everyone including the teachers would compare Danny and Damian to each other even though they weren’t brothers. That didn’t matter though as Danny was associated with them so that was all the reason they needed.

Danny groaned as he sunk into the seat next to Damian. The lunchroom was filled with chatting students and Danny was glad he shared the next class with Damian, which happened to be English. Dash never bothered Danny when Damian was around, probably because Damian had threatened the jock. How he was threatened Danny didn’t know, Damian never told him what happened and he was a little scared to ask. 

The guy hadn’t stopped harassing Danny since he and Jazz transferred a couple years ago. The school year had barely begun and Dash had made Danny his primary target like he was making up for lost time over the summer. Danny sighed as he dropped his paper bagged lunch on the table with a little plop. Jazz had packed for him this morning hopefully before his parents arrived and contaminated the entire kitchen.

“Dash again?” his sister asked across the table, she was seated next to Tim.

“I was paired against him in dodgeball again,” Danny lamented, his head resting on his arms that were crossed on the table.

“Danny, could you just talk to Mr. Lancer or something?” Jazz asked before she took a bite from her sandwich.

Danny sighed again and unpacked his lunch, “I have but no one will listen! They all act like I’m lying or something.” The teachers at this school probably wouldn’t listen to a charity case like him. Dash was a football player and had plans to become captain of the team. Everyone at the school loved Dash and it was precisely why everyone except maybe the four students at the table they were seated looked down and sometimes even bullied Danny.

Danny ignored it all eventually, it was better just to let the jock tire himself out. 

Once Danny and Damian finished eating they made their way to English. Luckily it was easy to carry the material for a class that only required a small binder and whatever book they were reading, in this case it was ‘gone with the wind’. Danny didn’t really care about reading old literature like this but he did what he had to maintain the grades he had. He’d endure anything, even Dash’s bullying, to become an astronaut.

Danny could hardly concentrate today through his afternoon classes. For some reason he had a bad feeling that something was going to happen. He tried his best to ignore it, he was probably just tired or something. Soon the school day was out and Danny packed up whatever homework he had for the day and headed outside to wait with Jazz. Damian and Tim were probably wrapping up their classes. Tim had an AP class that ran an extra 30 minutes and Damian’s last class was art, they were doing a painting and it wasn’t unusual for Damian to finish up what he was working on as he found out over the last few years that he enjoyed painting.

“… Do you think it’ll work?” Jazz asked a hint of hesitation in her voice. Danny knew she was talking about the portal, the both of them had talked about it before. Danny glanced over at his sister, he could tell she was having trouble sleeping lately, her face looked tired and her posture was stiff with her arms crossed in front of her. Both of them had anxiety about the possibilities the portal possessed, and they were especially worried that their parents wouldn’t take it well if the portal didn’t work. 

He was equally concerned that it would work. “I hope not…” he said eventually. It was something that brought the siblings closer as the whole of their family fell apart. How their parents managed to pull off getting the funding in the first place seemed to be a miracle. Everyone called their parents crazy and dismissed all of their science as ludicrous garbage.

Danny wondered how they even managed to stay under Batman's radar, he thought that something like this would be cause for the vigilante to look into it but maybe the thought of ghosts was just that outlandish that even the dark knight himself thought it to be crazy too. Danny himself didn’t believe in anything his parents published, some of the papers even seemed to be biased somehow, even though his parents hadn’t ever actually encountered a ghost. That last part was probably the reason no one bothered to actually investigate his parents, there wasn’t really much to investigate.

The siblings waited in silence and eventually Tim and Damian showed up after their classes and the four headed to Alfred waiting by the car. 

If anyone tried to start a conversation with Danny he wasn’t paying attention. If he was being honest, his parents' portal scared him a lot. He wasn’t sure why he felt so nervous about it, both him and Jazz renounced the thought that ghosts could exist. Something deep down in his guts told him that he should turn and run, that what his parents were attempting was taboo and that his parents were tampering with forces unimaginable. 

No one was going to listen to a fourteen year old though so Danny kept his feelings to himself and ignored them. 

Soon they were pulled in front of their apartment and true to their word, Damian and Tim asked Alfred to park nearby. Danny and Jazz took a hesitant glance at each other as they walked into the house. 

[winterrbluess]

Spoilers

Ok now that the initial shock has faded and I'm much more grounded. This chapter is good actually. Everyone knew Sukuna was going to die and to some extent I knew his death was going to be anything but glorious. It's jjk people rarely get good and respectful death let alone a grand and glorious one but yeah Gege took me out again with how he closed Sukuna's arc. Was it underwhelming? Yes. In jjk if you don't adapt, don't change you're doomed to fail and Sukuna no matter how much physically strong he was always emotionally fragile and in the end his own lack of self awareness became his cause of demise. Kenjaku the biggest villian of the series (for me, the heinous acts he has done is way more than mass murder) got a pretty satisfying end for him because he was open to see and connect with Takaba. Sukuna never did that and died a lump of flesh. And honestly it's not humiliating or pathetic. At first glance it did seem like with him becoming a slime but he didn't die begging for his life rather still being the no 1 hater and his pride mostly intact (he did looked overwhelmed but when after 1000 years you actually lose it's given) also as hypocritcal as ever (mocking Yuji and others for fearing death but he himself felt that too) His death was neither like a glorious warrior nor truly pathetic like Mahito's. For me he just...had a simple and quick death. Though Yuji holding his remains and finally telling him something that he always unconsciously craved for was very bittersweet maybe this is what Yuji had told him on their stroll time things could've been...better? His 'you're me' moved me honestly. They both are the different sides of a coin. It was sad how Sukuna (the man who never cared for any identification or title) for the first time out of everything chose to identify as a...curse really showed how hollow his sense of self was actually. But no matter how much Sukuna denied it he was still...a human not a god not a curse and he died as such and with the only family he ever had at that (maybe if you see he died in the hands of the only family he ever had) and though a direct parallel to Mahito it wasn't hate that Yuji felt and I think neither pity but empathy genuine empathy. Wishing a place where Sukuna could get someone like he had his grandfather, Gojo had Geto and Megumi had Him....

Rip Ryomen Sukuna very few other characters had me itch my brain with their duality.

[redo-rewind-if]

Redo; Rewind Demo Update - Chapter 3

This update adds: Over 140k words (including code)!!

Features:

Go clubbing and run into a very familiar face.

Or, you could head over to the local music festival instead! Why bother tracking down your hitman. Unless...?

Attempt a little breaking and entering, just for fun.

Plant a listening device and hope for the best.

Head home and plan your next steps.

Possibly use your new time travel abilities to fix your mistakes. Or don't. It'll probably be fine.

As you can see, the update is finally here! I'm sorry it took me so long, I really wasn't expecting it to. Alas, writing and coding are rather time consuming. And 100k words is basically a novel's worth.

Despite the word count, if you're only playing one route, it may not take you that long to read. Unfortunately, that is a problem with writing IFs, it feels like a lot when you're writing it but then when you go to play it...

On the plus side, there's many different routes you can try! I'd highly recommend using multiple saves to check out other options.

Regardless, I thank you all for your patience and support, and hope you enjoy it!

[Link] - Demo Update, Available Here!

(Make sure to start with a fresh save to avoid possible bugs caused by the old ones!)

[ayeliiss]

#mha429

*EDIT*: don't take this seriously pls this is just a vent lol 'half-joke' is more about me being pissed off at that line than anything else!! I am not saying this moment was romantic, I know it wasn't! <3

Izuku to Ochaco in this chap: "you're my hero!"

Izuku to Katsuki +200 chaps prior: "All Might was my hero but you were the one actually in my life!"

I don't want to see anyone complaining about "OOC" stuff anymore in takes/fics/arts when Horikoshi himself is mischaracterizing his own characters!!!! (/half-joke tho)

[animentality]

I'm crying, my fanfic update is 10k words, what the fuck is wrong with me

this is disgusting.

I'll post it tomorrow.

Jesus Christ.

[eustasskiddsprosthetic]

I usually don't post wips so openly like this but I have an idea.

What if canon Ace, after marineford, is isekaied to an old-fashioned, coloniser England? He wakes up confused like what the God-fuck happened and it just so happens that he ends up in a noblefamily's courtyard where he meets their youngest son who's his age who reminds him a bit too much of someone very familiar. The guy's name is Sabo too.

As of writing this, the fic is still a nebulous mess in my head but here's what I have.

Ace's immediately interested. The moment he went up to the study to ask for help, everyone just screams how indecent he is because he's shirtless and very attractive. The women blush, which Ace, being a greasy player to some extent, doesn't mind, but then there's Sabo who blushes in the same way. The neurons started activating in his mind. Ace never did it with guys too often but hey, he nearly died! He'll figure it out! Let's Fucking Go!

Sabo's also interested in this sense, "H-how rude! Who's this naked imbecile (Ace's just wearing his iconic shorts and boots)? Is he mad? In this weather? (looks down. Blushes immediately) That's a rather... large... scar........ What kind of w-warrior is he? Where is he from? Roman soldiers were known for being handsome, is he... (he can't believe himself for looking at his tits again) Why is he looking at me? His hair is too long for a man. (Sabo sees his smoky black eyes once more and turns away, out of breath) He's the Devil himself. I refuse to give in to temptation. I r-refuse to sin. I refuse!"

It doesn't end there, though. This hunk of a man gets thrusted to Sabo's care because no one trusts women to keep it in their pants if the Portgas D. Ace with his infinite, maxxed out rizz is right here. Sabo wants to cut his hair but couldn't bring himself to because it's just too beautiful. He simply cuts the fringe and dry-ends off before forcing Ace to shower and change into more appropriate clothing, aka this multi-layered suit that Ace wore wrongly.

Sabo couldn't stop himself from laughing. Ace pouted so much like a grumpy cat. Sabo started coughing and wiped his eyes.

"Why'd you stop?" Ace said. "Laugh more. I don't mind 'cause you're so cute."

Sabo finally sobered up. What was he doing? Acting like some lovesick fool. He never acted that way towards his own fiancé...

He didn't say anything as he helped Ace wear it properly. He couldn't help but feel he's doing something wrong. Ace looked so uncomfortable but it seemed that he understood why he's wearing this. Sabo hid his smile when Ace sneezed. Maybe he wasn't so bad.

When he's done, Sabo thought... Well, Ace is still handsome but he felt like he had taken something away from him, the thing that made him so special to begin with: his freedom. There's some spite in Sabo's grimace.

Sabo never had the chance to even dream of freedom.

[petite-phthora]

Do you think it was a date?

[DP x DC fic]

[Love at first... murder? - part 5]

<< Prev | Next >>

Part 1

Ao3

---

In-chat nicknames:

Daniel = Danny

Sharpshooter = Jazz

TooFine= Tucker

Chaos = Sam

TheCoolerDaniel = Danielle/Dani/Ellie

---

Private chat nicknames:

Bill = Danny

Pants = Jazz

---

As soon as Danny enters his apartment, face bright red, he takes his head into his hands and lets out a silent scream.

He could have said anything, and he panicked and went with Toodealoo Kangaroo???

At this rate, he’ll never get a partner.

As Danny stands there in misery, his phone starts buzzing with messages. Curious, he checks his phone to see what going on.

Uh oh.

---

Team Phantom 👻😎

Chaos: Guys check this out

Chaos: *link*

Chaos: The Joker escaped from Arkham again, but no one’s heard anything of him since, nor have they been able to find him

TooFine: @Daniel 👀

TooFine: ok the @ had been a joke but the fact that he has read it and not replied is concerning

Sharpshooter: @Daniel, what did you do?

Sharpshooter: @Daniel

Sharpshooter: I can see that you’re reading this, don’t ignore me.

TooFine: ohhhh someones in troubleee 👀

Sharpshooter: Tucker.

TooFine: 🤐

---

Danny takes a deep breath.

Well, it’s now or never. Let’s hope Jazz is feeling merciful.

---

Private chat

Bill: ok so you know how you said you would still love me if I was a worm?

Pants: I have no clue how this ties into the previous conversation, but yes. Why?

Bill: hypothetically

Bill: would you also still love me if I

Bill: hypothetically

Bill: accidentally

Bill: vibe checked someone that tried to uh

Bill: hypothetically

Bill: kidnap and or kill me??

Bill: 🥺🥺🙏

Pants: Danny, did you accidentally kill the Joker?

Bill: yes or no Jazz??!? 😩🥺

Pants: Yes, Danny. I would still love you if you, hypothetically, accidentally killed the Joker.

Bill: this is why you’re my favorite sister 🥹🥰😘

Bill: don’t tell Ellie 😳🫣

Pants: Danny, what happened?

---

Danny lets out a sigh of relief before proceeding to tell Jazz what happened.

---

Pants: Oh Danny.

Bill: are you mad at me?

Pants: I’m not mad at you, I just want you to stay safe.

Pants: While I don’t condone murder, I understand that it was self-defense and an accident. I‘m just glad that you’re alright.

Bill: 🥰💞😘

---

With a small smile on his face, Danny goes back to the groupchat.

---

Team Phantom 👻😎

Daniel: you know

Daniel: if I had a nickel for every time I’ve had to fight off an insane clown that attacked me 🤡

Daniel: I’d have two nickels

Daniel: which isn’t a lot but it’s weird that it’s happened twice, right? 🤔

Chaos: Damnit Danny, we leave you alone in a new city for a week and you already manage to get into a fight with one of Gotham City’s most infamous rogues

TooFine: actually its been 6 days 10 hours and 17 minutes

TooFine: so not even a full week yet

Chaos: Did you at least get a good few punches in?

Chaos: Danny?

TooFine: @Daniel ???

TooFine: if i had a nickel for every time danny said something concerning and then didnt provide context id be richer than vlad

Daniel: anyway, for completely unrelated reasons, @TooFine I need you to wipe some cams for me 😃

TooFine: danny im not wiping the cams again so no one will have proof of you tripping backward and falling ass-first into a trashcan

Chaos: Speaking of, Tucker do you still have that footage and can you send it to me?

TooFine: already done

Daniel: noo it’s nothing like that this time 😫

Daniel: pleaseeee 🥺🙏🙏

Daniel: I’ll get you an autograph from Tim Drake-Wayne?

TooFine: deal.

Daniel: 🥳🎉

Daniel: ok so the footage from somewhere around 3 am last night

Daniel: around some place named park row??

Daniel: I think it’s called?? 🤔

Daniel: though I’m pretty sure I’ve also heard some people refer to it as crime alley

Daniel: not sure why tho 🤷

TooTine: aye aye captain o7

Chaos: Danny, in an alley getting attacked by the fucking Joker: I wonder why this place is called crime alley

Daniel: stop bullying me 😠

Chaos: No

TooFine: hey danny r u sure thats right? i checked the cams n stuff but theres no available footage from the area n time u described

TooFine: its like someones already wiped it all

Daniel: oh!

Daniel: that’s so sweet of him  😊

Chaos: Wait who is this ‘him’?

TooFine: the joker????

Daniel: oh no not the Joker

Daniel: just some cute guy I met last night  

Daniel: he witnessed me killing the Joker 🫣

Daniel: and didn’t call the cops on me afterward 🥰💞

TooFine: def green flag

Chaos: Oh hell yeah, he’s a keeper

Chaos: Wait you killed the Joker?! I thought you just fought him off!

Daniel: it was an accident!! 😭😭

Daniel: he crept up on me and tried to grab me 😓

Daniel: so I got startled and because all I saw was a clown

Daniel: I just kinda punched his face in with my ghost strength… 😰

TooFine: f

Chaos: f

Sharpshooter: Have you gotten rid of the body yet? Did you leave behind DNA at the crime scene? Will I need to start saving up bail money or getting ready to enact the Fenton Break Out plan?

Chaos: Jazz asking the important questions here

Daniel: well, considering the footage was wiped

Daniel: and also the fact that no one’s found him yet

Daniel: I think it’s safe to assume it’s all taken care of

Daniel: that’s honestly really sweet of him though 🥰😊

TooFine: oohhhhh ur mystery boo??

Daniel: yeah, this random guy saw me vibe-checking the Joker

Daniel: and let me go home without any trouble

Daniel: pretty sure he’s the one who wiped the cams 🤔

Daniel: and then today he showed up at my apartment with flowers 🥺

Daniel: they were sweat peas!!!! 🥰🤩

Chaos: Was that to thank you for the murder orrrr?

Sharpshooter: Oh those are your favorite, was that on purpose?

Daniel: well I didn’t tell him

Daniel: so I’m not sure if he knew or if it was a coincidence 🤷

Daniel: but yeah then he took me out to this restaurant called Pete’s for dinner

Daniel: they had some amazing cannoli

Daniel: you should try it sometime if you get the chance

Daniel: and then after dinner he took me to the observatory!!!!!!! 🤩🥰

Sharpshooter: Gotham observatory?

Sharpshooter: Isn’t that the one with the special telescope, I think you mentioned it before

Daniel: yeah, the crystal-powered telescope!! 😍💞✨🤩❤️

Daniel: and at the end, he brought me home

Daniel: and he asked for my number!!!

TooFine: nice dude!

Chaos: The guy really went all-out and planned your dream date hu? So, what’s this mystery hunk’s name?

Daniel: oh I’m not sure, I didn’t ask 🙃🤭

Sharpshooter: Danny…

Daniel: yes?

Sharpshooter: Did you go on a date with a complete stranger who witnessed you commit a murder?

Chaos: How do you not even know his name?

Daniel: two words Jazz: Johnny 13

Daniel: and he’s not a stranger!! 😠

Sharpshooter: But you don’t know his name?

Chaos: We just can’t leave him alone, can we? Less than a week on his own and he already murdered one of Gotham’s most infamous rogues and then completely forgets the concept of Stranger Danger

Daniel: I mean he probably just found it when he tried to do some research on me or something

Daniel: probably got it from the school’s system now that I think of it 🤔

TooFine: dude who the hell is this guy??

Chaos: Who the fuck did you go on a date with?

Daniel: do you really think it was a date? 🥺😳

Daniel: I wasn’t sure

Daniel: cause he mainly took me out for dinner to thank me for the night before

Daniel: but then again

Daniel: he did get me flowers and ask for my number after he brought me back to my apartment 🤔

Daniel: like I wasn’t sure if I was reading the signals right…..

Daniel: but do you think that was a date? 🫣

Sharpshooter: Danny, for the love of the Ancients.

Sharpshooter: Who was it?

Daniel: oh, it was Red Hood 🥰

TooFine: damn dannys got that vigilante rizz

Sharpshooter: Red Hood? The crime lord?!

TooFine: former, actually

Daniel: what he said ^^

Chaos: Danny, you really have a type huh? Vigilantes with a Red theme. Who’s next? Red Robin?

Daniel: stop bullying me

TooFine: never

Chaos: Never

Daniel: on a different note, who changed my name in the chat again?

Sharpshooter: Ellie did.

Chaos: Ellie

TooFine: @TheCoolerDaniel

TheCoolerDaniel: 😎

TheCoolerDaniel: wait i just read back, danny’s dating a crime lord?? :0 👀

---

Taglist (for now, I’ll probably stop if I cant keep up):

@i-always-say-yea  @uraniumwizard

[kuyenshino]

Just a friendly reminder that even when there are some theories going on about Asa and Yoru merging together into one, they are currently NOT the same individual, even when Asa's feelings for Denji are permeating into Yoru somehow (well they share the same body and brain).

Clearly Yoru gives a damn about Asa, including her body autonomy (and you can say that Asa was sa'd by Yoru too bc she didn't consent). I'm saying this bc a lot of ppl thought Asa and Yoru were acting friendly lately... But that's just because of what Famine said to them about Chainsaw man.

The reality is that Yoru doesn't really care about Asa's feelings (and Denji's by extent). She wants to fight with Chainsaw man and doesn't care about anything else. She's a devil after all.

What happened in this chapter can potentially not only destroy whatever genuine relationship Asa and Denji could have, but Asa and Yoru's alliance too.

I think we will see some seeds of a conflict inside between Asa and Yoru once the fragile trust they developed has been broken. This internal conflict can be decisive for the climax of the manga.

Of course, Denji is a SA victim here, but Asa is one too! So I wonder if Asa will have an emotional breakdown and reveal the truth about her and Yoru at some point... Or if shit will get even worse and nothing will be cleared up, because Asa will close herself off from Denji and Denji will distrust her even more.

Anyway, to be honest, I just don't see any point of still keeping Yoru as a secret anymore, since what happened in this chapter is probably the climax of their misunderstandings and bad communication, and that will define their relationship from now on. In my opinion, it would be more interesting, from a narrative point of view, if Denji will finally have to deal with the whole picture about Asa, "her mood swings" and all it implies for their interactions: the ugly, the bad and the good... And what HE will decide about that. Or maybe its just my wish for Denji to finally have some kind of iniciative or consent about his own life.

I'm very anxious of what will happen next chapters because Fujimoto is such an unpredictable author...

[rosewoodroad]

"Aren't you really just someone pretending to be the commander?"

Did I turn a joke line from Cloudseeker into angst development for my commander? Yes, yes I did.

I imagine being the Commander slowly became less of a privilege and more of a performance art over the years. When you've felled Elder Dragons, Gods, Liches and all manners of infallible beings, people start to think of you as one of them.

But you love them so much, you don't have the heart to betray their expectations. So you keep pretending you've got it all under control.

And the more vulnerable you feel- the more weak you are- the less you feel like the Commander. Right now? You're nobody.