#no one lets this man sleep

[unexpectedbrickattack]

hiding under a readmore bc its not even a properly paneled comic. But i will never fix it up so here; take my no-op peppino being bothered by an imp

[mooneggtarts]

I think he does not sleep like a normal person /lh

[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.

[naturalharmonicas]

Shhh he's FINALLY getting a good night's rest

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 290

Ghosts have the habit of taking names of those they’ve defeated. Not in spars or play-fights of course, and one has to actually be an adult for the instinct to hit, but it happens. It happens far more often than one would think. 

Jason? Actually has no clue when he comes back to the living why he stole one of the Joker’s older names, nor why the Pit goes so angry when he thinks about Robin- HisTitleHisFraidNameFromFamily- 

Now the Pit? Not a baby semi-near the cusp of adulthood, in fact is Very Old even if it’s more hivemind-esque then a full on realms entity. Very offended for the Baby it was gifted, because who takes that from a literal infant?! 

Oh! Oh that’s another baby! Hm, change of plans, obviously the baby is also its. Because while adult ghosts trying to forcefully take a Name is a direct challenge? A ghostling- or in this case liminal- doing it is an open invitation for adoption. 

[fruitbythefoot7]

bylerween day 7: season 5 era, shiver (ish)

michael.

@bylerween

[kacievvbbbb]

Mihawk is such a capricious dude, oh my god. The only dude you know who is always itching for a fight but only ever a specific kind of fight so he goes out of his way to take the path of least resistance for everything else.

Like he would rather leave than fight Don krieg, Sail away than decimate the marines, live in peace instead of challenging the other emperors for the one piece. And when they do he’d rather follow buggy’s idea of just being smarter about how they go about it instead of brute forcing it like the rest. He is constantly leaving fights but then a swordsman of mild repute and an interesting technique engages him in a battle and suddenly you have his whole attention. Like with vista it was obvious that he could have just cleared him like he did everyone else but he’d never seen the flower sword techinque and by god was he going to miss this chance. And so he engages him in what is essentially a spare.

Because Mans isn’t looking for a fight, instead, like a middle aged director of a short indie film, he’s chasing a feeling.

He wants to feel like his 19 year old self did when he was strong but there were people stronger. When there were still obstacles to overcome limits to exceed. When the world was large and exciting and he wasn’t just waiting for it to catch up with him. When he could look at Shanks as the person he is instead of the person he could have been.

He wants to look at Shanks and not see visions of a grinning red haired boy with 2 arms and a strawhat laughing in the dirt and asking for “just one more round Hawky I swear I’ll beat you this time”

But there is nowhere Mihawk can run that that boy won’t haunt him.

[ruinme-please]

Who’s the most gorgeous drum king?

[doopn00p]

Michael and Adam stuff (Michael design inspired by @Vale29artz on Twitter)

[dandelion-roots]

[Image description: a digital drawing of sklonda and pok gukgak from fantasy high, two goblins with shoulder length straight hair and short curly hair, respectively. they're touching foreheads and embracing, both of sklonda's hands in pok's hair, while one of pok's hands is moving sklonda's bangs off her foreheads and the other is clutching at her waist. we only see sklonda's face and the look of silent grief on it. in the background on pok's half is a stylized dragon's mouth with teeth digging into his shoulder, and on sklonda's side are sheets of paper. over the background on the left is text that reads, it's okay, and then on the right side in brackets it says, (it'll be ok). End image description]

[stagshipping]

i wish the tiktok proship community was more like the tumblr proship community, bc on tiktok it's all 13 year olds trying to be as edgy as possible. im so sick of every post being "bandit 🍇s bluey but she likes it" like i doubt that you even ship that you're just trying to post the most vile "headcanons" you can come up with. proship just means "ship and let ship", it doesn't mean you HAVE to post dark headcanons about children's media. also the fact that most tiktok proshippers are around 13- there's no space for adults? as far as ive seen anyway.

[shamblespirate]

[starry-bi-sky]

realizing i have. a lot of untapped trauma potential for clone^2 danny because i just Fully Processed Four Months Late the fact that his parents were capturing and torturing ghosts in the basement before he became Phantom. and the fact that he was on house rest for 2 weeks. during that time period. and he wasn't really leaving the house. he could hear their screaming through the floorboards

*points at clone danny* i can give you suuuuuuch a bad time babe ahaha. i've got two untouched years before you meet damian what fucks you up before then

[cyanidespideycup]

I think a lot of people conflate superheroes as a whole to specifically Batman when it comes to the importance of a life. It makes sense, supers are meant to be put on pedestals and represent what we should all aspire to be. But it's weird when this gets applied to Spidey.

Just like everything else with Peter, he is a regular guy. Other superheros represent what we should aspire to be, but Spidey represents what we can be. He cares for every life. He hopes to give everybody a second chance. But if someone asks for it, Pete will beat their fucking skull in.

When his cop/detective friend Jean DeWolff was murdered, he hunted the man down and physically fought his way past Daredevil to kill the guy and ended up beating him within an inch of his life. When Kingpin got May shot, Peter broke into his prison, effortlessly beat him to a smear, and then promised that when May died, not if, he'd come back and finish the job- violently. There are just countless instances of him deciding "I'm actually going to kill him now totally" with Norman. Most notably of course is the glider incident, which Peter didn't actually go to with the intent to kill (weirdly enough despite Gobby killing his fiance). However, he took pleasure in beating him senseless and wasn't exactly broken up by the final thud.

Peter's a guy who meets every situation with the intent to help someone. He tries to find every opportunity to help another person, even someone who's trying to kill him, even if it's at his own detriment. He's not a perfect manifestation of morals and purity. He's just some guy. Some guy who cares a whole lot for people. And that makes it all the more special when he does help someone. When he talks a girl off a roof, or inspires a kid to be better than the system set him up for, or befriends his own rogues. It all feels so much more personal. This is just a person, one of us. Someone who fails more often than not, who makes bad jokes and gets angry and feels hate and love and pain all at once and most of all, someone who tries his best no matter what.

[s0fter-sin]

ghost stares at the ceiling, chest heaving in a harsh pant; sweat ice on his clammy flesh and soaked into the sheet he restlessly kicks away.

ears still ringing, his fingertips blindly drift down to trail along his vivisection scar. he half-expects blood to smear in their wake. his own line of solomon, who ordered him split in twain; half of him given to a grieving mother and half left with the grieving to be.

just for both his broken halves to be rejected.

what did it make him that his mother grieved him more than she loved him? that she begged to be relieved of him more adamantly than she begged to receive him? why did his worth spill out with his drawn blood? why was his pain lesser than hers?

his hand flexes, digging into the raised scar like it’ll part beneath his fingertips to plunge into his mangled insides. no one knows the cruelty of reforming the halved; his name, his being, not nearly as important as his body when he was stripped from himself. no one knows the pain of healing and understanding losing pieces of yourself means losing your value along with them.

how many more pieces did he have to lose before he was halved once more? before his very presence incurred grief so strong it was better to be rid of him than cradle his bloodied remains?

did the infant fight himself? did he age always at odds with himself; his halves never truly whole? he hopes he wasn’t, that he was spared the loss of self; the fear that one may be welcomed over the other.

who will he lose when the inevitable comes? when he’s ripped apart again? simon? or ghost? is it better to be cursed with choice just like his mother or live with an aftermath chosen for him? does it matter if in the end, he convinces himself there was nothing of him left to lose?

his head lolls to the side and the wild buck of his chest slows. he watches johnny beside him, his face lax with the rare peace of sleep; his cheek squished against the pillow, his lips pursed as long breaths escape him.

johnny. soap. never torn asunder but two all the same.

he carefully reaches out and ghosts his fingers along the jagged scar on his chin. even in sleep, he presses into his bloodied touch. he’s never fled his half-flesh, never shies away from his gore as it spills unbidden from his cleaved torso. he holds on where his mother let him go; cups his stomach to hold his insides in place and never minds the blood that drips through his fingers.

simon will never let him become his own solomon and cannibalise himself. he will never let him question which half of him has more value; which pieces he can afford to lose before he’s cast aside.

ghost’s soap. simon’s johnny. his.

whole, in any incarnation.

[futuristichedge]

He should be at the club!!!