#it's just something I wrote

[zilabee]

ways to love you - - by tikk

paul / john love - happiness - domesticity 23,000 words - PG15 - Chapter 1 of 4 _____________________________________________

It's 1969 and John wants a divorce, but Paul offers him something else instead

[pangur-and-grim]

there’s a poetry contest that I kinda want to enter, but the requirement is a single 10-page poem. which is nuts. it would have to be some sort of rhyming short story….

[stillgotscars]

so britt lower improvised taking off her heels as a way of reclaiming helly’s sense of self-agency… she’s so galaxy brained

[flwrkid14]

Tim Drake Accidentally Takes Over the World (and Didn’t Think to Mention It)

So, Janet somehow spent decades climbing her way into every government worth a damn, ruling the entire world from behind the scenes. And then, because the universe is apparently wild, she left it all to Tim.

Cut to Tim Drake, the brand-new, completely reluctant secret ruler of the entire planet. And he just… never really thought it was worth mentioning?

The Batfam finds out when Bruce stumbles across an encrypted memo traced to a mysterious Gotham office with Tim’s name on it.

Bruce, holding up the memo: “Tim. Want to explain why this document about, oh, international finance reforms is signed with your encryption key?”

Tim, not even looking up from his laptop: “Oh, yeah. That. Janet left me her ‘global influence portfolio’ or whatever. Mostly paperwork.”

The Batfam stares in total shock.

Dick sputters nearly dropping his coffee: "Wait—you’ve been managing world policies?!”

Tim, shrugging, barely paying attention as he emails the president of Germany: “Well, yeah. I figured someone had to keep things running. It's not that big a deal. I mostly just redirect some policies. You know, keep things running smoothly.”

Jason, absolutely cackling: “Are you telling me that little Replacement here is the reason for half the ‘global cooperation’ headlines?”

Tim, scrolling through emails: “They send me reports; I send suggestions. And honestly, they make it way more dramatic than it is. It's not that hard."

Barbara stares at him, half horrified, half impressed. “How did we not notice this?”

Tim blinks. “I mean, it’s not like I was actively hiding it. I assumed you guys knew I was… kind of managing these things?”

Cue utter disbelief.

Stephanie, laughing too hard to breathe: “Tim, do you have world leaders on speed dial?”

Tim, completely unfazed: “Only the important ones. They text, mostly. Oh—by the way, I might’ve influenced a minor arms control thing last week. Don’t worry; it’s all sorted.”

Bruce, looking like he’s two seconds from fainting: “Sorted? Tim, we're talking about you having global authority here. People notice these things."

Tim shrugs again as his phone buzzes with notifications. “Sure, but it’s not like they’re going to do anything too crazy. I just suggest stuff, and they listen. Honestly, it’s like herding really powerful, really overdramatic cats.”

Damian, scandalized: “You mean to tell me, Drake, that you’re manipulating world politics like it’s a game of checkers?”

Tim, still casual: “Manipulating’s a strong word. Like I said, it’s more just nudging things along.” His phone buzzes again. “Oh, hang on. France is panicking about their energy policy again.”

The Batfam tries to process the fact that Tim—Tim, who routinely forgets what day it is—is now, somehow, running the world.

And then his phone buzzes with a message from the UN Security Council.

Tim sighs, glancing down. “Oh, great. Looks like they’re debating nuclear arms again. Be right back.”

Meanwhile, the Batfam is left absolutely speechless, processing the fact that their Tim—scrawny, coffee-fueled Tim—is apparently one of the most powerful people on the planet. And to him its just another tuesday.

[talaok]

At your mercy

Pairing: Joel Miller x Sister-in-law!reader

Summary: You must have put some sort of spell on Joel, because no matter how hard he tries, no matter how wrong he knows it to be, he's never able to say no to you.

Warnings: infidelity (reader is tommy’s wife), joel is very much miserable, smut: sub!joel, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected piv, creampie, a tad of breeding kink, degrading and teasing joel.

a/n: This fic is very much inspired by Ledipa and Paulinus' story (or the first part at least) in the book 'Mistress of Rome' because i am sick and i'm obsessed with them. Also,pleasepleaseplease read that book, it's genuinely perfect.

Joel wanted to die.

He hated himself, he hated every single molecule of his traitorous body, mind, and soul... and yet he couldn't stop.

Every single time he tried to deny himself, he begged his brain not to fall victim yet another time, to find his sanity again- and every single time, it did not.

With just a glance, a curl of your fingers, he was back at your feet.

He remembered the day it all started, the day his downfall began and the gates of hell had opened up to greet him in the afterlife.

He had brought you back home one night, and you had insisted - oh how you'd insisted- that he stayed the night, given it was dark out already, and you didn't want him to drive at this ungodly hour in the pouring rain.

And he, like a fool, had accepted.

His brother wasn't in town—if only he had been, if only he hadn't asked to drive you back home that night, perhaps none of this would have happened.

Perhaps he would still have the strength to look his little brother, your husband, in the eyes.

It was such a small decision, and yet...

He was walking out of the bathroom when he noticed some light leaking through your cracked bedroom door, and like a moth to a flame, like a stupid damned bastard, he walked closer, closer and closer until before he realized it, he was peeking inside the room- seeing something he definitely, absolutely shouldn't have seen.

You were sprawled on the bed, your eyes shut closed and your mouth gaped as little whimpers fled your throat.

The covers were pulled down enough to reveal your breasts, your gorgeous, perfect breasts, and underneath the linen, Joel could see movement, he could make out the shape of your hand as it worked at your core- as you pleasured yourself, looking like a dream straight out of Joel's imagination.

He remained there, frozen, feeling his cock harden beneath the sweats you'd let him borrow from your husband- mesmerized and hypnotized by the image.

It was only when your moans started getting higher, louder, that he hastily looked away, that he took a stumbling step back, and then another, and another, until he turned, and while doing so, his arm caught on a vase- he tried to save it from falling to the ground, but his hands were shaking.

The noise broke through the house, and Joel, like a child, ran. He ran to the couch where he should have already been asleep as your moans stopped for a moment, before resuming all over again.

He didn't sleep that night.

The image of your face twisted in ecstasy and the sound of your moans had tormented his mind for hours on end until he felt on the verge of tears.

He couldn't think of you that way, you weren't his, he couldn't...

And yet the next morning, when you took his hand in his and led him to the bedroom, he followed you.

He felt his insides twist into a knot and red-colored shame took over him every time-

every single time your foot caressed him under the table as he sat beside his brother, every single time you'd call him and had him at your doorstep with a simple "come", every single time he kissed you, he entered you, he fell apart, a part of him died- and yet every single time, like clockwork, he succumbed to you.

To your doe eyes, hidden behind your lashes, to your sweet voice, to your perfect body...

He felt awful, he felt like a zombie walking through life with only shame to fuel him.

Even Tommy had noticed it, so many times he'd worriedly asked:

"what's goin' on with you?"

"You're always late to work, you take long ass lunch breaks and you look like you haven't slept in years"

"Whatever it is, you can tell me, man"

Oh but he couldn't

he couldn't tell him that the reason he was always late was that his own wife called him to the house the moment Tommy left for work- he couldn't tell him that sometimes the mornings weren't enough and he was summoned during lunch too- he couldn't tell him that his own conscience hadn't allowed him to sleep in months, that every time he began to fall asleep he would imagine his brother's face the moment he would find out what he'd been doing behind his back.

But things were only getting worse.

You and your husband were hosting a get-together at your house. A bunch of people Joel didn't know were there, and he didn't bother trying to talk to them, he hadn't bothered talking to practically anyone actually.

He'd started to plan at what time he could have gotten out of this without being rude from the moment you greeted him at the entrance- from the moment your arms wrapped around him and you stood on your tiptoes to murmur a simple, devastating, "Hi Joel" into his ear.

Tommy had appeared seconds after,

and he'd wanted to die.

Just like when he watched you dance with your husband in the garden, your eyes inevitably finding him the moment you and Tommy kissed- a wicked shadow lurking behind your iris.

He was almost at the door when he felt a hand on his arm, and he knew it was yours before he even turned.

"Come with me"

"I-I was goin-"

He didn't even finish the sentence, all you needed to do was give him that look, and he was trailing behind you like a dog.

You pulled him into the laundry room, closing the door behind you.

"get on your knees"

You were leaning against the washing machine, looking almost bored with the situation, with him- oh how many times he prayed you would tire of him, that you'd throw him aside like a discarded toy... he knew it would devastate him, but he also knew it was the only way he could put an end to your spell.

"I-I"

"Joel" you cooed, a tad more sweetly now, your eyes trying to lock in with his wavering gaze.

"T-there's people-- and- and Tommy-"

But you'd grabbed his hand and brought him closer, your soft breath fanning over his skin and leaving shivers in its wake.

"Get on your knees"

He made the mistake of looking down at you, and he felt his knee hit the ground before he even realized what he was doing.

You smiled triumphantly as you propped your leg on his shoulder, hicking up your skirt and moving your panties to the side until your foot on his back finally brought his face right where you wanted it.

You watched the fight die in his eyes with just one blink, and in a second his tongue had found your core, slowly, sweetly licking and tasting all he could reach.

He was always gentle, caring... he was pathetic even when pleasing you- he just couldn't help it.

A series of satisfied hums spilled from your lips as he continued his work, his hand going to your waist to get a better angle, but never daring to tighten his grasp, to keep you in place... as I said: pathetic.

Your foot's heel pushed him even closer, trapping him and basically robbing him of all oxygen as your right hand traveled to his hair, fisting a handful of his locks.

His focus shifted to your clit and you couldn't help but throw your head back, a breathy moan climbing up your throat.

"just like that- fuck" you grinned into the air, your eyes shutting as ecstasy took over your body "You're so much better than your brother- so responsive- such a quick learner"

He'd asked you times and times again not to do that, not to talk of his brother, and yet you kept on- it was like you enjoyed seeing how miserable it made him- watching how even when you were breaking all the rules, all the morals, he still couldn't bring himself to stop.

He closed his own eyes as he tried to shut your words out, but his tongue didn't dare stop, he didn't dare stop sucking your clit... especially when he knew you were so very close.

Your hips started moving on their own accord until you were practically riding his face, unabashedly using him for your own pleasure until you felt that sweet sweet bliss build inside your belly.

"oh fuck" you moaned, your back arching "so good-"

And just like that, pleasure took over your body. You writhed above him as he lapped between your folds like a starved man, stretching your orgasm until you literally had to pull him away from your core.

He seemed dazed as he looked up at you, like a lost kid or a kicked puppy- and you couldn't help but smile before unhooking your leg from him and simply curling two of your fingers to beckon him closer.

He obeyed without question, standing up as you eyed him with only pure lust in your eyes.

"Do you wanna fuck me Joel?" you asked, your voice low and sultry and Joel's worst nightmare.

You watched the hurt, the pain in his eyes as they fell to the ground.

Oh how you loved this game

Two of your fingers pulled his chin up, forcing his gaze to meet yours.

"tell me" you purred, your fingers slowly trailing down his body until you were torturously drawing patterns on the bulge in his jeans.

A strained groan rumbled from his chest.

Your lips pulled to a smirk as you started undoing his zipper, watching his breath get caught in his throat the moment your hand fully grabbed his manhood.

"'s this what you want?" you taunted, your hand now finding its way underneath his boxers and oh so softly giving his dick a stroke.

Joel felt on the verge of a heart attack.

You freed him from the confines of his underwear, his dick red and already leaking precum.

You gave it another stroke and he couldn't help but moan.

Again, you smirked, hopping onto the washing machine behind you and making quick work of getting rid of your panties.

He watched your every move like he was hypnotized, and you only needed to look at him that he was getting closer- right between your spread thighs.

He was already breathing heavily as he positioned himself at your entrance, and just when he started finding his way inside you, a grin pulled at your lips as you breathed "You want to fuck your brother's wife?"

Joel could only shake his head, his eyes closing- and yet he kept filling you up more and more

"Your own sister-in-law?" you laughed, as Joel - Oh poor Joel- his face contorted in shame, pain, whatever it was as his head fell to the crook of your neck.

"please" he begged, his hips retracting and thrusting in deeper, his cock fully seated inside you now making you gasp and hum in pleasure.

"please what?"

He'd started his usual pace, slow and deep and so fucking good.

"please-s-stop"

You simply smiled, your hands going to the back of his head as your fingers dove into his curls, your mouth finding his ear to murmur:

"You're bigger than him, y'know?"

The groan he let out was one of absolute despair... and yet his thrusts only got deeper, better, stronger.

He always knew how to hit it just right-

You threw your head back and he used the opportunity to kiss your neck, every single inch that he could reach, as your legs wrapped around him and forced him as deep as he could physically go.

He was lowly moaning with every thrust while you were biting your lips to silence your own cries.

"What if he walked in right now?" you purred, making him hide his face again- but oh you didn't leave it at that, your lips found his ear again "What if he came through that door and saw you balls deep in his wife?"

Joel of course didn't know that was an actual possibility... you hadn't bothered to lock the door.

"what do you think he'd say?" you chuckled "I bet he wouldn't even be able to look you in the eyes... his own big brother"

His dick kept hitting your sweet spot over and over as Joel's soul called for mercy.

"y/n-- please"

But you grinned as you said:

"I bet he'd never forgive you"

A much too loud groan left his mouth as he kept pleasing you oh so well.

"Careful there" you smiled, biting your lip as your hips started meeting his thrusts.

You knew this was wrong... which is why it was so fun. You also knew that if it ever was to go sideways, if say, Tommy actually caught you two, it would be Joel who got the worst of it.

You knew perfectly well that Tommy would forgive you in a heartbeat... you'd just look at him all sweet, bat your eyes and everything would go back to the way it was- your husband loved you to death... and he had never been very smart.

Joel on the other hand... you were certain that Tommy could never forgive him- his own flesh and blood- and so what if it was cruel... you were just having a little fun.

"Oh fuck" you cried as he hit a particularly good spot, your left hand going to the back of his neck, your nails leaving new scratches right where the old ones had started to fade.

"That's good- keep doing that-"

Joel was back at leaving hot wet kisses on your neck, your collarbones, your face, until his mouth had found yours.

You were the sweetest thing he'd ever tasted- your mouth was the most addictive poison to ever exist.

"You're gonna make me come Joel" you breathed onto his lips "He never makes me feel as good as you"

And just like that, with a smile on your lips, your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you crashed your lips with his, feeding him all your moans and cries as pure bliss blinded your vision.

He watched every second of it- of you falling apart

He looked barely there when you opened your eyes again- his thrusts were sloppy, his eyes droopy and you couldn't help but grin.

"You're gonna come?" you purred "You're gonna fill me up?"

He nodded, his breathing a ragged mess.

"yeah? you're gonna knock me up? fuck a baby in me?" you cooed, watching the plead behind his eyes as he kept going, relentless "What are we gonna tell him when the baby has your eyes instead of his?" you smirked, and without warning, without even wanting to, Joel reached his peak, rope after rope of his come filling you up as your name spilled from his lips.

You kissed his forehead, chuckling softly, before getting out of his hold and off the washing machine, not even bothering to put your panties back on.

"Joel?"

He looked like the saddest zombie ever as he turned to face you.

"stay the night," you said, and once again, Joel wanted to die.

[tempo-takoyaki]

Merry Christmas!! I hope you all have a wonderful day <3

EDIT: I accidentally posted this too early but know this illustration is referring to a previous comic if you'd like to read it ! [Christmas 2023]

[gauloiseblue]

You always joked about how you'd find out what's beneath his mask someday. Literally and figuratively.

He'd scoff at your attempts, or suggestions to lift up his sniper mask. Some of them caught him off guard, to the point he almost did it if not for his logical mind. But some of them were downright ridiculous, that he couldn't help but snort.

Maybe you already accepted it from the start, that he would never give in, but it had become a harmless jest at this point, so you might as well keep it going.

Until he gives you permission.

The thing is, it doesn't make you happy—it scares you to death instead. He once bit off someone's finger when they poked it in the place they shouldn't have touched. So what's behind the mask couldn't be worth the pain.

At first, you thought of it as a warning. Yet he wasn't showing any signs of threat. He even pulled you closer, so you'd get a better view of him.

His mask stays on, but he lets you touch his face. Your hands hover an inch away from his veiled visage, before you test the water with a touch.

He doesn't flinch away, or charge at you like a venomous snake. He stays still, letting your hands cup his cheeks.

"Didn't you say you wanna feel my face?" He said as he brought you closer, causing a shiver down on your spine.

"I did," Your lips trembled slightly, "I'm doing it."

"You're not doing it right." He tugged your paralyzed hands onto his chest.

You're confused when he firmly grips both of your hands, before slowly sliding them under the hem of his hood.

"Inside, maus." He commanded you, "Tell me what you feel."

And so, you complied.

You reach into his mask, and touch his neck tentatively. For a brief moment, his muscles tense under your fingertips, before they come down relaxed.

"Oh." You murmured as you pressed your palm onto his nape, "You can certainly survive a fighter jet ride."

He doesn't give you any response, so you take it as a cue to continue.

Your hands creep up higher, until your fingers reach the soft bones of his ears. They seem small in your grasp, smaller than they should, for a man of his height. A quiet smile spreads in your lips, as you imagine the tiny shells that frame both sides of his face.

"I'm surprised you have clear skin." You commented when you caressed his cheek, feeling the texture of his skin, "I thought you'd have a problem with it since you always wore a mask."

"Not always." He replied, nudging you to roam further, "I took it off whenever I'm alone."

"Did you take care of it?"

"No."

"How unfair." You chuckled, "I want to have your skin."

He keeps his eyes on you, and you feel the need to clear your throat, before you trace the lines on his face.

"You have a big nose." You mused as you ran your finger down from the bridge of his nose, "It's crooked."

He hums, while his eyes follow your uncertain gaze.

"Why you stopped?" He called you out, and you jumped upon hearing them, "There's one place you haven't touched."

You bit your lips, trembling, as you lowered your hand, until you felt the soft lumps on your fingertips.

They form a thin line, before they split open, inviting your finger inside. Your breathing becomes labored, as he takes a hold on your hand, guiding your thumb into his mouth.

He doesn't break eye contact the whole time, and you're too paralyzed to look away. You feel the sharpness of his teeth as his lips are closing around your digit. You have anticipated the guillotine falling on the head of your thumb, yet what comes after is a soft brush of his tongue.

It was rough, and drenched with his saliva, that it formed a string at the time your thumb left his mouth.

"König—" You gasped when he dragged his lips down to your palm, before stopping on your wrist. Pressing his tongue on your pulse point, where the skin barrier is so thin, that it feels as if he's tasting your flesh.

"Scared, maus?" He muttered, his teeth scraped against your skin, "Are you scared of me?"

You stare at him, as your instinct screams at you to nod. But you shake your head, despite the tremble in your hands.

"Then you'll do as I say." He wraps his arm around your waist, leaving no room for you to run, "Take off my mask."

Your eyes widened, not believing what you just heard from his mouth. Alas, his glare is enough to confirm the truth.

He guides your hands to his mask, pushing it up in a manner that's close to unveiling a white cover. And once the mask is lifted, you have no time to admire him as he slams his lips against yours.

Your cry of surprise is swallowed by his mouth, as he pushes his tongue between your lips. You can't do anything but cling to him, as he presses your body down with his, until your back is flush against the cushion.

When you open your eyes, what greets you is a pair of eclipses. Gone was the cruel Colonel, as he's replaced by a voracious brute.

The moment he opens his mouth, you know you'll be devoured by him.

[is-this-even-relatable]

Misfortune Teller

tldr: An older Danny, apprentice to Clockwork, does a lot of field work across dimensions, resetting the timeline, queuing future events, and who knows what else. Occasionally, he warns people about such upcoming possibilities, to set them on the right path. How, you might ask? Well in this case... as a wandering fortune teller.

Crack-fic (oh god, it's getting long and my logic brain won't let it remain as crack) where Danny becomes Clockwork's apprentice after getting his GED. Living his infinite afterlife to the fullest. Inspired by this tumblr post.

Working for Clockwork had been... interesting so far. At first, Danny got frustrated by how vague and cryptic Clockwork was. He'd just shunt Danny off to some ancient time with a few words, his own time medallion (Danny carried it everywhere with him now), and then pop back into the portal, leaving Danny with only the faintest idea of where to go.

Eventually, after enough time (ha!) spent around Clockwork, Danny figured out that it just basically meant that he had free reign and to do whatever he wanted. Because if he went on the wrong path, (like that one time in Pompeii when he had almost caused the volcano to explode a few years too early), Clockwork would just pop on by, say another few cryptic words, and then it'd all be fine and dandy, or as he liked to say, "All is as it should be... Now stop practicing your wail by an active volcano."

After telling Jazz about that (it was supposed to be funny, not concerning), she just sighed and shook her head, with a forlorn "think before you act, Danny!" but hey, it'd turned out fine so far, so who cares how he does what Clockwork asks him to do, as long as it gets done, right? Even if it's with a liiiiitle more mischief than strictly required.

Besides. Danny was the one who had been doing time shenanigans across millennia, not Jazz. And he thought he'd been getting pretty good at it too! He'd actually started giving himself a different made-up background for each universe he visited. Sam and Tucker were helping him keep up with the identities on a spreadsheet, so if he had to go back to one he'd already visited, he'd remember who he'd said he was supposed to be.

---

He was on a call with them one evening while haunting Jazz's apartment, doing just that, when he felt a familiar tingle in the back of his throat, as well as a heightened awareness of the seconds passing by, that always accompanied his mentor's appearance.

Sam was talking about his past stint posing as a god of death when he cut in. "Hey- sorry to interrupt, Sam- Clocky's here, guys, I gotta dip."

"Aw, come on! We hardly talked any this past week since you passed your certifications, man," Tucker complained.

Danny rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Yeah, yeah. Partly on you too though, you've been caught up outside of class, and Sam's schedule is nearly the opposite of yours."

Sam hummed in agreement despiter Tucker's scoff.

Danny missed hanging out with them as much as they had in high school, but hey, life goes on. Or at least, theirs did, to college. After finally flunking out of Casper High, he'd taken some time to get used to his responsibilities in the ghost zone, and when he had, he realized that he didn't really have much enthusiasm or timeleft for his human life.

And he didn't really want to go back home either.

But Jazz had made him tie up any loose ends before he noped-off to god knows where, which frankly, he had to thank her for. Getting his GED took a few years, but it was an accomplishment that could be attributed to Danny Fenton, no ghostliness required. Then he was able to let that tether go free.

Pulled out of his musings by a few more grumbles from Tucker, Danny said his goodbyes, promising to call the next time they were all available.

After hanging up, Danny swiveled around, anticipation already lighting up his eyes an ethereal green.

Clockwork, for his part, had been waiting patiently through Danny's lengthy goodbyes. Although he supposed that it tracked for the watcher of time to be patient. With his job, it'd be a nightmare if he wasn't.

"Phantom," Clockwork spoke, calm as always. "I have some tasks I need you to complete as my apprentice."

And Danny, always ready for adventure, didn't need him to explain any further. "Sure! When do you need me to be?"

Clockwork smiled at that. "I am fortunate you are eager. Follow me."

---

Danny popped into existence in this universe with a burst of cold air and static electricity. He found himself hovering by a clocktower above a sprawling, gothic city. Smog and light pollution obscured the stars above him, to his disappointment. He comforted himself with the fact that he'd probably have all the time he wanted to fly someplace less populated to see them later.

He started off by familiarizing himself with the city. As he flew, he followed the trail of power and met the resident city-spirit, a spooky- but kind underneath- woman draped in black lace, who told him her name was Gotham. He spoke in length with her about this universe, its heroes, and her knights. On that, she was very enthusiastic... or at least Danny thought she was, her projected emotions belaying much more than her gloomy exterior. She told him how her knights had been through a lot and would need some guidance fighting the darkness that pooled in her deepest corners, smiling with too much glee, filling lungs with fear, and terrorizing with cold hard bullets.

Danny could sense that the dangers she spoke of were growing in power, ever slowly. The longer they shadowed people's minds and hearts, an intangible thing grew that lent them more otherworldly pull than their physical forms had right to hold.

That must be what he was sent here for.

But... they were weak, pitifully so for him, infinite king as he was. And besides, he wasn't here in that sense. He was a messenger, a simple apprentice. And he could do this however he wanted.

Cue his talk with Lady Gotham, and subsequent idea to arm her knights. With what? Well, he figured knowledge would be a start. Flying high above the city invisibly, Danny noticed a sea of colors and lights by what appeared to be the city's pier. He flew down, noting that it appeared to be the setup spot for a travelling circus or carnival of some kind.

He considered what to do. One of Lady Gotham's troubles was a madman clown, right? Well maybe he'd be attracted to his ilk here... and with the danger came the knights. Maybe he could catch one of them here?

Danny was floating around at the entrance and beginning to formulate a plan when a flyer caught his eye. Looking for a mystic to read fortunes. URGENT!

Hadn't Clockwork said something about fortunes? And he hadn't made an identity in this universe yet...

A mischievous smile crept across Danny's face, splitting it in two with far too many teeth.

---

Half a city away, a man in all black, perched on the very same clocktower that Phantom had Appeared by, shivered as he felt an ominous premonition about his sanity in the near future...

Said man quickly opened his comms to check in with his many, many kids. Yet even after hearing back from each, he still felt apprehensive.

Somewhere even further, Clockwork laughed.

---

And that's how Danny found himself seated at a fortune teller's booth at a pier in Gotham, two days later, for the Tricksy Traveling Circus's grand opening.

[haveihitanerve]

Gotham Protects Her Own

“Gotham protects her own.” Bruce had whispered to him once, in a, at the time, not so rare moment of affection, cradling dick to his chest as they looked over his city. Their city. Batman and Robin. Dick had believed him, of course, but he hadn’t really felt it. Not until he had stood at the bats side for the second year in a row, and his cape had fluttered. Dicks cape had never fluttered while he was standing. Running across the rooftops? Sure. Jumping over a chimney? Most definitely. But just standing still, no movement? It had never happened. Bruce’s did, from the very beginning Bruce’s cape had flown behind him, flapping with grace in the wind that was not there. But dicks hadn’t. But now… Bruce smiled down at him, pride lining every line in his face, before he took off across the roof, a challenge and a test at the same time. Dick chased after him, and for the first time since he had become Robin, he flew. His feet barely touched down, cushioned by the roofs, by shadows, and he laughed, wild and bright and free, and Bruce joined him, laugh deep and rich and full. Dick belonged to Gotham now, the city had laid her claim on him, and as Batman and Robin flew across the city, Dick could hear a new laugh join them, light and happy and feminine, delighted by their delight, their acceptance. Gotham protects her own, and Dick Grayson-Wayne, the first Robin, had earned that right, that protection, with his leaps and jokes and belief in Batman, in a belief in the city, in the belief that it could be better. 

Gotham protects her own. Catherine Todd had murmured to him once, late one night, a bruise blossoming on her cheek, eyes heavy from drugs. She was close to death, Jason could feel it practically wafting off her, and he didn't think much of her last words, a hazy drugged hallucination, slurred speech. But then she had passed and Jason had left, choosing the street over his father and then he had understood. People came looking for him, naturally, even his father ventured out, but shadows seemed to envelop him, the streets opened to his footfalls, and he always found a safe place to sleep, never waking with his things stolen or suddenly kidnapped. Jason could feel the city, his very lifeblood, could hear her music in her traffic, felt her song in the earthquakes. Gotham cradled him, sheltered him, and when the time came, pushed him to a left unattended Batmobile, tempting him to steal the tires. For the first time, Jason doubted his city, hated her for sending him into a trap. But then he became Robin, and Gotham squealed in delight, and Jason watched in awe as Bruce flew, as Gotham made his cloak billow, as she nurtured her prodigal son. Batman had gotten injured, once, badly enough that he had struggled with his grapple line, and it had snapped. Jason had screamed, lunging for him, but it was too late. Before he could cry over the dead body of his mentor, he found Bruce at the bottom of the building, not much worse for wear at all. Gotham had cradled him, shadows leaping to cushion his fall. Jason had laughed with glee, rushing Bruce home as quickly as possible, and something had brushed his cheek, a faint kiss against his forehead. Gotham protects her own and Jason Todd-Wayne, the second Robin, had been born into that right, that protection, and felt her city pound through his body like blood, feeding his soul. 

Gotham protects her own. Tim had seen the slogan on a Wayne Enterprise billboard once, when he had been seven, an ad campaign promoting insurance and helpful housing. It had become a sort of mantra for him, something he whispered under his breath every time his father made a snide comment about Tim lacking proper talent or social skills, after every call his parents declined, after every fight that had him biting his lip to stop the tears and debate running away. Gotham protects her own. Became his lifeline, his mantra, a promise of a better life. It wasn't anything he ever believed, until he finally worked up the courage to approach Bruce Wayne about the secret. Tim slipped on the Robin uniform for the first time… And something inside him settled. A woman's voice in the back of Tim’s head squealed. But as he raced over the rooftops, finally at Batman's side as he always dreamed to be instead of a few feet behind, snapping pictures, his cape dancing with the wind, his feet hardly touching down, that mantra, that false belief of hope, of a better life, became truth. Gotham protects her own, and Tim Drake-Wayne, the third Robin, had believed in that truth his whole life, wishing with every fiber of his being that she would protect him, and she finally had. 

Gotham protects her own. David Cain had warned her once, telling her great stories of the city with air of midnight black, of water a putrid green, and of a people a hardy and tough. It hadn't been a compliment, just another obstacle she would need to overcome to fulfill her future missions. She had believed him, of course, but… she had never truly known what it meant. Not until she had stumbled into the city, hurt, bleeding, afraid, and she had felt that… otherworldly power. Reaching for her. Its tendrils soft and kind, like a mother, shadows stretching across her, shielding her, as the League prowled the streets. It wasn't until she saw him. The Bat. And his little Bird, brutal efficiency and yet mercy in every action, wasn't until she saw how Gotham cradled them, lifted them, helped them to fly. Gotham had been more accepting to her than she had thought. Maybe because she hadn't hurt her children. Maybe because she knew her pain. Maybe because Cass had been so afraid. But whatever the reason, when Cassandra Cain-Wayne took to the streets, a proud, blazing Bat on her chest, her cape billowing behind her, Gotham sang. 

“Gotham protects her own!” Arthur Brown had screamed once. It had been in a fit of rage, followed by the sounds of windows crashing and tables smashing against the wall. He had been angry, livid even, the sound of his footsteps heavy and hard on the floor as he stormed around, pissed that Batman was unreachable for him, untouchable, protected by the city he claimed to do the same to. Steph knew the truth in the words, had been protected by them her whole life, finding a window open right when her father got home, the closet door unlocked miraculously after her father had locked her up, alleyways opening for her to escape through when bigger kids picked on her, or the cops chased her. And it happened now, as Arthur Brown came storming for her, rage and malice and every evil intention written across his features. Steph could feel that tug, that indescribable feeling of home, and she took a step back, melting into the shadows as she fled, fled her home, fled her father, fled his wrath and everything wrong with the world. She settled on the roof, the way she always did when he got like this, and waited, as she always did. For it to end. For him to stop. It was that night that she saw him for the first time. Steph had heard of him, of course, the Batman was infamous throughout Gotham by now, but she had never seen him in person. Never watched his work. It was at Bethany’s house. Bethany’s father, Vincent, was screaming again. The way Arthur was. But Gotham, Gotham didn't protect Bethany the way she did Steph. Or maybe Bethany just didn't listen. But Batman.. Batman listened. Batman protected. Steph watched, wide eyed, as he jumped through the window, as he grabbed Vincent by the throat and slammed him against the wall, snarling in his face. Steph watched, hands clutching her teddy, wondering whether she would rather risk her father than this demon. But he stopped. Paused. Threw Vincent to the ground in disgust, unconscious, and turned to Bethany. Beth had stopped moving, the way she always did when Vincent got the way he did, dissociating so she wouldn't feel his hands on her. Steph didn't think it worked, but it was something. Batman bent down, gentle, slowly, a few feet away, extending a hand to Beth. Steph couldn't hear what he said, couldn't see his face, but Beth blinked at him. She blinked, and she walked closer, slowly. And Batman… Batman held her, held her until she was crying, held her through her tears and wiped her eyes and rubbed her back, held her until she was asleep without nightmares, and carried her to bed, tucking her in gently. Steph didn't know how long she sat there, watching as he cared for this little girl, forgoing the Bat Symbol in the sky, and his anger, for her. Gotham protects her own, Steph swore as she watched him drop from the window the same night, flitting away on shadows only she could see. Gotham protects her own, and she would protect Gotham. She would mold herself after the Bat, and help. 

[poorlydrawninstarsandtime]

the humble conkroch

[id in alt]

[inkskinned]

because sometimes there are invisible tests and invisible rules and you're just supposed to ... know the rule. someone you thought of as a friend asks you for book recommendations, so you give her a list of like 30 books, each with a brief blurb and why you like it. later, you find out she screenshotted the list and send it out to a group chat with the note: what an absolute freak can you believe this. you saw the responses: emojis where people are rolling over laughing. too much and obsessive and actually kind of creepy in the comments. you thought you'd been doing the right thing. she'd asked, right? an invisible rule: this is what happens when you get too excited.

you aren't supposed to laugh at your own jokes, so you don't, but then you're too serious. you're not supposed to be too loud, but then people say you're too quiet. you aren't supposed to get passionate about things, but then you're shy, boring. you aren't supposed to talk too much, but then people are mad when you're not good at replying.

you fold yourself into a prettier paper crane. since you never know what is "selfish" and what is "charity," you give yourself over, fully. you'd rather be empty and over-generous - you'd rather eat your own boundaries than have even one person believe that you're mean. since you don't know what the thing is that will make them hate you, you simply scrub yourself clean of any form of roughness. if you are perfect and smiling and funny, they can love you. if you are always there for them and never admit what's happening and never mention your past and never make them uncomfortable - you can make up for it. you can earn it.

don't fuck up. they're all testing you, always. they're tolerating you. whatever secret club happened, over a summer somewhere - during some activity you didn't get to attend - everyone else just... figured it out. like they got some kind of award or examination that allowed them to know how-to-be-normal. how to fit. and for the rest of your life, you've been playing catch-up. you've been trying to prove that - haha! you get it! that the joke they're telling, the people they are, the manual they got- yeah, you've totally read it.

if you can just divide yourself in two - the lovable one, and the one that is you - you can do this. you can walk the line. they can laugh and accept you. if you are always-balanced, never burdensome, a delight to have in class, champagne and glittering and never gawky or florescent or god-forbid cringe: you can get away with it.

you stare at your therapist, whom you can make jokes with, and who laughs at your jokes, because you are so fucking good at people-pleasing. you smile at her, and she asks you how you're doing, and you automatically say i'm good, thanks, how are you? while the answer swims somewhere in your little lizard brain:

how long have you been doing this now? mastering the art of your body and mind like you're piloting a puppet. has it worked? what do you mean that all you feel is... just exhausted. pick yourself up, the tightrope has no net. after all, you're cheating, somehow, but nobody seems to know you actually flunked the test. it's working!

aren't you happy yet?

[gayafsowhat]

Eepy hours

[bleedingoptimism]

part one -> 📱💞🚙

The first video goes viral. They get a lot of new traffic on their page, and half of it gets curious about their music, and half of the curious ones even become fans. So the series is already a success with only one video out. 

In the second video, Eddie, still blushing but smiling cheekily introduces Steve, who is all smiles and sunshine wrapped up in muscle and tan skin and people eat it up.

Then the actual process begins, and it's genuinely informative and quite good, Steve really knows what he's doing and he seems to have a passion for it that makes his eyes shine whenever he's explaining to Eddie what they are doing and what for.

It’s also fairly comedic, the series. Eddie keeps tripping all over his own feet making funny remarks to make Steve laugh. They both work on the van, because Eddie wants to get his hands dirty too, so Steve stays close behind, whispering instructions and murmuring praises while he works that have Eddie sweating and blushing from things that are completely unrelated to the manual labor and looking at the camera like he’s in the office.

It becomes kind of a thing because Eddie knows Steve doesn't watch the videos and everyone already knows from the first video that Eddie has a little crush on him. So he thinks it is just innocent fun that when Steve is working and Eddie has the phone in his hands instead of the tripod, he sometimes zooms on his back, his arms, the sweat on his neck, and then back to his face, sighing and shaking his head slowly.

TikTokers even start shipping them, saying Eddie has very clear cat energy and Steve is the most golden retriever boyfriend-coded man on the planet.

But something shifts as the videos go on, Eddie’s quips are less jokey and more just pure admiration for Steve’s work. When they film a time-lapse the audience can see them working together, bumping shoulders, Steve looking at Eddie and looking away when Eddie looks at him. And when Eddie is filming there are no more jokes about him pining on camera. It is just scenes of Steve laughing, or just smiling, working while he whistles. Zooms of his eyes, his nose, the highlights on his hair, the way the moles on his cheek move when he smiles crookedly at something dumb Eddie says.

The whole series becomes a documentary about how Eddie fell in love with Steve and then… it's complete. It's done. The van is finished. Eddie films one last video thanking Steve for everything, and making one last flirty joke about taking him for a ride. Steve laughs and runs a hand through his hair, telling Eddie he’s welcome. And that is it. The series is done. 

It drives everyone insane because they love it of course, but also. Because it seems… unfinished. It's kind of a mess, Corroded fans are fighting the shippers and the shippers are accusing Eddie of queer bating, which he thinks it's fuckin hilarious and sad because it's his literal life they are talking about. 

But the truth is, there’s nothing more to tell. They had a real conversation after Eddie stopped filming, a proper thanks and hug goodbye. And then Steve just left. He never made a move. And Eddie tried, he really tried. He insinuated, flirted, complimented. But Steve was either not interested or completely clueless (probably because of how uninterested he was).

And now Eddie has a beautiful van, completely equipped for two people to travel in style. And no one to share it with. So he stays at home, wrapped up in a blanket and watching the comments on his tiktoks, laughing and then crying with the way people describe how palpable their chemistry is. And he misses Steve. He keens, he pins, he craves.

part three ->📱💞🚙

☕🥐💕 coffee? by the side of the road?

[joicecubes]

hey guess who’s absolutely losing it over the stan twins again (spoiler alert its me)

so i was innocently scrolling tiktok when i was introduced to this DIABOLICAL au idea: firstly, what if ford really had shot stan with his crossbow when stan first showed up at the shack? and secondly, what if ford tried to bring him back to life frankenstein-style? (full credit to tiktok user @44boora for this idea, go check their account for some gut-wrenching art) (also… full post below the cut this got long)

but like i was thinking about this, ford bringing stan back to life specifically, and how dependent the concept is on this specific time in his life. i just feel like any other time and under any other circumstance, ford would have been able to, eventually, accept stan’s death. we see it at the end of weirdmageddon, where ford is ready to accept that the stan they all know and love is gone now that his memory has been erased. he tells mabel as much, and only realizes there’s hope for him when mabel is determined enough to push back against ford’s logic. ford believes very intensely in his own perception of the world. he believes in science. theoretically, he believes death is death, and there’s nothing he can do to change that.

but then, think of ford after he’s been betrayed by bill. this ford is at his absolute lowest. he can’t trust his own perception of the world anymore. he’s seen the truth of what their relationship was and the horrors he was so close to unleashing on their universe. he is desperate to right his wrongs. he’s losing sleep, his body is abused every time he closes his eyes, and the end of the world as he knows it is iminent if he doesn’t succeed in making the portal as secure and unusable as possible without dismantling it entirely. the only person he believes he can trust after everything that’s happened is stan. so he contacts him for help, and in his time waiting for him to arrive, cannot stop thinking of the worst-case scenario: that bill could still be coming for him. so when he opens the door to stan, his high-strung, paranoid brain doesn’t see stan, and he shoots.

he shoots his own brother with a crossbow and kills him.

ford is not usually one to blatantly ignore a scientific fact. again, death is death, and there’s nothing he can do about that. and yet, in a state of such intense grief, when his entire world is already close to crumbling around him and he’s holding his dead brother in his arms, there’s nothing else he can feasibly do but deny. so he does.

he lives in denial of a lot of things. that stan’s death is final, obviously, but also his reasonings for attempting to do the impossible and revive him. ford likes to believe he operates purely on logic, so he tells himself he’s doing this because he has to. without stan, he can’t prevent bill from entering their universe. he’s still the only person ford can trust, so reviving him is another step in his ultimate goal of stopping bill and saving the world. it doesn’t matter that its never been done before, ford will do it anyway. and he believes that he can, because as much as he thinks he’s moved on from his hubris, he’s still acting off the assumption that he’s special. he’s so far ahead of everybody else, so naturally, if anybody could accomplish the impossible and bring stan back from the dead, its ford.

and so he denies that the real reason he’s trying to save stan is not a logical one. he denies that he’s running entirely on emotions. it would be foolish to try something so risky and impossible and time-consuming if he were only doing it because of his crushing guilt and decade-long yearning, so he tells himself there’s so much more to it than that. he can’t just be doing this because he loves him, right? he’s not that shallow. he’s not that desperate.

and yet, he is. because as much as ford wants to deny it, he can’t live without stan. he can’t live with the knowledge that he was responsible for stan’s death. if he didn’t succeed, his grief would surely kill him.

[dixoterin]

💝💝

[askthisfishprince]

((Eridans outfit by @caligvlasaqvarivm ))