#as i post this at 2am

[mylifeingotham]

[biboomerangboi]

Saw something about Hua Cheng always being able to sense his ashes so he can always sense Xie Lian and I just think it adds a hilarious take to him giving Xie Lian his ashes. Like yes it’s a beautiful and romantic ghostly tradition but there is something so funny about him given them to him the moment he has to leave so he doesn’t lose him again after 800 years of searching like someone tagging a bird to track their migration habits. He is not taking no fucking chances.

[swugflower]

Brucie Wayne gets interviewed and the question who, expect Batman, is his favorite Gotham hero.

After some awkward moments of silence, he blurts out that it’s Spoiler. Since she is the only one from the main active team that isn’t his kid and this way he avoids picking a favorite.

Meanwhile, the group chats explodes into chaos instantly.

[pencilscratchins]

atla renaissance pt 3 calls to me like a siren

[cozylittleartblog]

New Family Speedrun 00:09.12 (World Record Not Clickbait???)

[zillychu]

assorted brainrot from like 2 months ago

[astraystayyh]

hyunjin with glasses and a tiny ponytail brainrot

fluff and kissing and Hyune is too pretty and suggestive in the end (so mdni)

also can you tell I'm obsessed with the imagery of hyunjin and lipstick stains????? this is a recurrent theme atp

you're sitting on the bathroom countertop, knees tightly hugged to your chest as hyunjin brushes his teeth next to you. it's a bit silly, you admit, to watch in silence while he completes the most mundane tasks. but every second spent not looking at him feels like a wasted one to you.

"put this on for me?" he suddenly asks, his golden necklace dangling between his fingers, a sweet smile brightening his face. you nod, as hyunjin hands you the dainty chain and turns his back to you.

you swiftly clasp the necklace in place, before letting your fingers trail across the nape of his neck. "your hair's gotten longer," you remark, as you gently brush your hand through it.

"mm. do you like it?" he asks. and by the grin that can be heard in his voice, he already knows the answer to this.

"i do. very pretty," you whisper, as you gather a small section of his hair and twist it into a tiny ponytail. hyunjin turns around once you're done, and you pull him closer by the hem of his black cashmere shirt.

he's standing between your legs, strong, toned arms are on either side of your body as you tuck away some strands of his bangs, framing his face with them.

his eyes soften once they finally meet yours and you grin sheepishly at the impromptu hair updo, "you should put your hair up more often."

hyunjin tilts his head to the side, bringing his face closer to yours in the process. and you're suddenly blushing, profusely. you can't help it, not when he looks this pretty, his leg nudging your thigh every now and then. "it seems like you love my hair too much," he pouts, gently taking off your glasses and placing them on the bridge of his nose.

"does these fit me too?" he questions, his thumb rubbing featherlight circles on your bare knee. you can't speak, words elusive as your eyes run wild over his face.

you don't know exactly how you ended up this way- caged between his arms and dazed by how perfect he looks. you didn't even know that a tiny ponytail and a pair of glasses would affect you this much. but he's dizzying, in the most delicious way, and you suddenly don't want him to go out anymore.

"what? cat got your tongue," he smirks, as he grazes your cheek gently. the contrast between his mocking words and gentle touch puts your body on overdrive. it feels like a flame is blazing across your skin and yet you're floating in cold water.

"excuse me for being attracted to my boyfriend," you finally respond, tucking strands of his bangs behind his ear. "you can't really blame me, can you?" you chastise, your lips grazing the corner of his mouth. "not when you look like this."

"like what?" he giggles, before pressing his rosy lips onto yours.

"too pretty," you whisper against his mouth and he smiles onto the kiss, his hands finding your waist and holding it gently.

"i know how to make you prettier though," you grin secretly and he cocks an eyebrow at you in response. "close your eyes, for me. please, hyune?"

hyunjin knows he might run late if he doesn't leave in a few minutes, but he can never say no to you. so he closes his eyes, letting darkness surround him as he hears you rummage through a nearby drawer.

after a few, quiet seconds, you make hyunjin stand between your legs once again. your warm hands cradle his face, and then you press the softest kiss onto his lips. then his cheeks. his forehead. and the corner of his mouth. you kiss the tip of his nose and he goes to remove his glasses, but you stop him. "leave them on."

hyunjin's eyes are still closed, as your hands trail down his chest, before curling around his neck. that's where you place your next kiss, right where his pulse is wildly beating. you then move to the sensitive skin under his ear, and you can feel the goosebumps running across his body. "seems like I'm not the only one affected here."

"I never claimed not to be affected by you," he shrugs, and the sincerity of his statement makes the butterflies in your stomach surge ten times fold.

"open your eyes," you finally say, moving hyunjin to the mirror next to you, quiet giggles escaping your lips. there, he finds your red lipstick imprints all over his face, down the curve of his neck. soft kisses scorched into his skin, sealed in there forever.

"see, this is the prettiest you've ever been, baby."

hyunjin shakes his head, before standing in front of you again. there is a fond smile on his face as he runs his thumb across your red lips, where your lipstick is surely smudged by now. "you know i need to go out, right?"

"this should send off anyone who'll try to talk to you."

"as if I'll ever look at anyone else but you."

"you can't keep saying things like this and expect me not to pass out."

"then what should i do?" hyunjin smirks down at you, as you wrap your legs around his waist.

"you should stay home and ruin my lipstick even more."

"will the glasses stay on?" hyunjin muses, as he finally picks you up, his hands holding your thighs securely. you won.

"they will."

"and the ponytail too?"

"mm.." you run your fingers through his hair, tugging at it gently. "it will."

"i should've never asked you to help with my necklace," hyunjin chuckles as he leads you to your bedroom.

"why, do you regret this?" you question playfully and he shakes his head, lowering you onto the bed gently.

"no. not even a little bit."

[somegrumpynerd]

Just one more for Sans rest day, @undertalethingems made a great list of drawing ideas and I really loved the one of him and Alphys going to a museum to nerd out so I drew them into my local museum

[confessedlyfannish]

Writing Prompt #12

Bruce is reading the paper when the pour of Tim's coffee goes abruptly quiet. It would be hard to pinpoint why this is disturbing if it wasn't for the way the soft, tinny sound the vent system in the manor makes cuts out for the first time since being updated in the 90s. The pour, Bruce realizes, has not slowed to a trickle before stopping. It has simply stopped. And there is no overeager clack of a the mug against the marble counter or the uncouth first slurp (nor muttered apology at Alfred's scolding look) immediately following the end of the pour.

Bruce fights the instinct to use all of his senses to investigate, and instead keeps his eyes on the byline of the article detailing the latest set of microearthquakes to hit the midwest in the last week. Microearthquakes aren't an unusual occurrence and aren't noticeable by human standards, which is why this article is regulated to page seven, but from several hundred a day worldwide to several hundred a day solely in the East North Central States, seismologists are baffled.

Bruce had been considering sending Superman to investigate under the guise of a Daily Planet article requested by Bruce Wayne (Wayne Industries does have an offshoot factory in the area) when everything had stopped twenty seconds ago. That is what he assumes has happened (having not moved a muscle to confirm) in the amount of time he assumes has passed. His million dollar Rolex does not quite audibly tick but in the absolute silence it should be heard, which confirms the silence to be exactly that—absolute.

While Bruce can hold his breath with the best of the Olympian swimmers, he has never accounted for a need to remain without blinking without being able to move one's eyes. Rotating the eyeballs will maintain lubrication such that one could go without blinking for up to ten minutes. But staring at the byline fixedly, he estimates another twenty seconds before tears start to form.

These are the thoughts Bruce distracts himself with, because he doesn't dare consider how Tim and Alfred haven't made a (living) sound in the past forty-five seconds. About Damian, packing his bag upstairs for school after a morning walk with Titus that was "just pushing it, Master Damian".

There is a knife to his right, if memory serves (it does). In the next five seconds—

"Your wards and guardian are fine, Mr. Wayne," the deepest voice Bruce has ever heard intones. For a dizzying moment, it is hard to pinpoint the location of the voice, for it comes from everywhere—like the chiming of a clocktower whilst inside the tower, so overpowering he is cocooned in its volume.

But it is not spoken loudly, just calmly, and when he puts the paper down, folds it, and looks to his right, a blue man sits in Dick's chair.

He wears a three piece suit made entirely of hues of violet, tie included. He has a black brooch in the shape of a cogwheel pinned to his chest pocket, a simple chain clipped to his lapel. Black leather gloves delicately thumb Bruce's watch (no longer on his wrist, somewhere between second 45 and 46 it has stopped being on his wrist), admiring it.

"You'll forgive me," the man says with surety. "Clocks are rather my thing, and this is an impressive piece." He turns it over and reveals the 'M. Brando' roughly scratched into the silver back. He frowns.

"What a shame," he says, placing it face side up on the table.

"Most would consider that the watch's most valuable characteristic." Bruce says, voice steady, hands neatly folded before him. Two inches from the knife. To his left, there is an open doorway to the kitchen. If he turns his head, he might be able to get a glance of Tim or Alfred.

He doesn't look away from the man.

"It is the arrogance of man," the man says, raising red eyes (sclera and all) to Bruce, "to think they can make their mark on time."

"...Is that supposed to be considered so literally?" Bruce asks, with a light smile he does not mean.

The man smiles lightly back, eyes crinkling at the corners. He looks to be in his mid thirties, clean-shaven. His skin is a dull blue, his hair a shock of white, and a jagged scar runs through one eye and curving down the side of his cheek, an even darker, rawer shade of blue-purple.

The man turns the watch back over and taps at the engraving. "Let me ask you this," he says. "When we deface a work of art, does it become part of the art? Does it add to its intrinsic meaning?"

Bruce forces his shoulders to shrug. "It's arbitrary," he says. "A teenager inscribes his name on the wall of an Ancient Egyptian temple and his parents are forced to publicly apologize. But runic inscriptions are found on the Hagia Sophia that equate to an errant Viking guard having inscribed 'Halfdan was here' and we consider it an artifact of a time in which the Byzantine Empire had established an alliance with the Norse and converted vikings to Christianity."

"The vikings were as errant as the teenager," the man says, "in my experience." He leans back in his chair. "I suppose you could say the difference is time. When time passes, we start to think of things as artistic, or historical. We find the beauty in even the rubble, or at least we find necessity in the destruction..."

He offers Bruce the watch. After a moment, Bruce takes it.

"The problem, Mr. Wayne, is that time does not pass for me. I see it all as it was, as it is, as it ever will be, at all times. There is no refuge from the horror or comfort in that one day..." he closes his hand, the leather squeaking. And then his face smooths out, the brief severity gone. He regards Bruce calmly.

"You can look left, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce looks left. Framed by the doorway, Tim looks like a photograph caught in time. A stream of coffee escapes the spout of the stainless steel pot he prefers over the Breville in the name of expediency, frozen as it makes its way to the thermos proclaiming BITCH I MIGHTWING. Tim regards his task with a face of mindless concentration, mouth slack, lashes in dark relief against his pale skin as he looks down at the mug. Behind him, Bruce can see Alfred's hand outstretched towards the refrigerator handle, equally and terrifyingly still.

"My name is Clockwork," the man says. "I have other names, ones you undoubtedly know, but this one will be bestowed upon me from the mouth of a child I cherish, and so I favor it above all else. I am the Keeper of Time."

"What do you want from me?" Bruce asks, shedding Wayne for Batman in the time it takes to meet Clockwork's eyes. The man acknowledges the change with a greeting nod.

"In a few days time, you will send Superman to the Midwest to investigate the unusual seismic activity. By then, it will be too late, the activity will be gone. They will have already muzzled him."

"Him."

"There is a boy with the power to rule the realm I come from. Your government has been watching him. The day he turned 18, they took him from his family and hid him away. I want you to retrieve him. I want you to do it today."

"Why me?"

"His parents do not have the resources you do, both as Batman and Bruce Wayne. You will dismantle the organization that is keen on keeping him imprisoned, and you will offer him a scholarship to the local University. You and yours will keep him safe within Gotham until he is able to take his place as my King."

This is a lot of information to take in, even for Bruce. The idea that there could be a boy powerful enough to rule over this (god, his mind whispers) entity and that somehow, he has slipped under all of their radars is as frustrating as it is overwhelming. But although Clockwork has seemed willing to converse, he doesn't know how many more questions he will get.

"You have the power to stop time," he decides on, "why don't you rescue him? Would he not be better suited with you and your people?"

"Within every monarchy, there is a court," Clockwork. "Mine will be unhappy with the choice I have made," he looks at Bruce's watch, head cocked. "In different worlds, they call you the Dark Knight. This will be your chance to serve before a True King."

Bruce bristles. "I bow to no one."

"You'll all serve him, one day," Clockwork says, patiently. "He is the ruler of realms where all souls go, new and old. When you finally take refuge, he will be your sanctuary." He frowns. "But your government rejects the idea of gods. All they know is he is other. Not human. Not meta. A weapon."

"A weapon you want me to bring to my city."

"I believe you call one of your weapons 'Clark', do you not?" Clockwork asks idly. "But you misunderstand me. They seek to weaponize him. He is not restrained for your safety, but for their gain."

"And if I don't take him?" Bruce asks, because a) Clockwork has implied he will be at the very least impeded, at worst destroyed over this, and b) he never did quite learn not to poke the bear. "You won't be around if I decide he's better off with the government."

"You will," Clockwork says, with the same certainty he's wielded this entire conversation. "Not because he is a child, though he is, nor because you are good, though you are, nor even because it is better power be close at hand than afar.

"I have told you my court will be unhappy with me. In truth, there are others who also defend the King. Together we will destroy the access to our world not long after this conversation. The court will be unable to touch him, but neither will we as we face the repercussions for our actions. I am telling you this, because in a timeline where I do not, you think I will be there to protect him. And so when he is in danger, even subconsciously, you choose to save him last, or not at all. And that is the wrong choice.

"So cement it in your head, Bruce Wayne," the man says, "You will go to him because I tell you to. And you will keep him safe until he is ready to return to us. He will find no safety net in me. So you will make the right choice, no matter the cost."

"Or, when our worlds connect again, and they will," his voice now echoes in triplicate with the voices of the many, the young, the old, Tim, Bruce's mother, Barry Allen, Bruce's own voice, "I will not be the only one who comes for you."

"Now," he says, producing a Wayne Industries branded BIC pen. "I will tell you the location the boy is being kept, and then I would like my medallion back, please. In that order."

Bruce glances down and sees a golden talisman, attached to a black ribbon that is draped haphazardly around the neck of his bathrobe, so light (too light, he still should have—) he has not felt its weight until this moment.

Bruce flips the paper over, takes the pen, and jots down the coordinates the being rattles off over the face of a senator. By his calculation, they do correspond with a location in the midwest.

"You will find him on B6. Take a left down the hallway and he will be in the third room down, the one with a reinforced steel door. Take Mr. Kent and Mr. Grayson with you, and when you leave take the staircase at the end of the hallway, not the elevator."

The man gets up, dusts off his impeccably clean pants, and offers him a hand to shake.

"We will not meet again for some time, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce looks at the creature, stands, and shakes his hand. It feels like nothing. The Keeper of Time sighs, although nothing has been said.

"Ask your question, Mr. Wayne."

"I have more than one."

"You do," Clockwork says. "But I have heard them all, and so they are one. Please ask, or I will not be inclined to answer it."

"What does this boy mean for the future, that you are willing to sacrifice yourself for him?"

There is a pause.

"So that is the one," Clockwork says, after a time. "Yes. I see. I should resolve this, I suppose."

"Resolve what?"

"It is not his future I mean to protect," the man says. "It is his present."

"You want to keep him safe now..." Bruce says, but he's not sure what the being is trying to say.

"I am not inclined," Clockwork repeats, stops. His expression turns solemn, red eyes widening. In their reflection, Bruce can see something. A rush of movement too quick to make heads or tails of, like playing fast forward on a videotape. "Superman reports no signs of unusual seismic activity. With nothing further to look into, you let it go in favor of other investigative pursuits. You do not find him, as you are not meant to. He stays there. His family, his friends, they cannot find him. His captors tell him they have moved on. He does not believe them, until he does. He stays there. He stays there until he is strong enough to save himself."

Clockwork speaks stiffly, rattling off the chain of events as if reading a Justice League debrief. "He is King. He will always be King. He is strong, and good, and compassionate, and he is great for my people because yours have betrayed his trust beyond repair. He throws himself into being the best to ever Be, because there is nothing Left for him otherwise. We love him. We love him. We love him. My King. Forevermore."

The red film in his eyes stall out, and Bruce is forced to look away from how bright the image is, barely making out a silhouette before they dull back to their regular red.

"I am not inclined," Clockwork says slowly, "To this future."

"Because of what it means in the present," Bruce finishes for him. "They're not just imprisoning him, are they."

"They will have already muzzled him."

Clockworks is right in front of him faster than he can process, fist gripping the medallion at his neck so tight he now feels the ribbon digging into his skin.

"Unlike you, Mr. Wayne," and for the first time, the god is angry, and the image of it will haunt Bruce for the rest of his life, "I do not believe in building a better future on the back of a broken child."

"Find him," the deity orders, and yanks the necklace so hard the ribbon rips—

Clack!

"sluuuuurp!"

"Master Timothy, honestly!"

"Sorry Alfred!"

[strangerathecinema]

silly community textposts pt. 1

[whathorselegs]

So we all know this scene, right?

And we know how Dazai tries to handle it by pretending to be a scared kid and Chuuya interrupts him to challenge the guy to a fight, because I have been thinking about these tactics recently.

Dazai is not really mafia at this point, this is his first mission. He's still somewhat naive to the world of gangs, even if he's witnessed it, he's not lived it like Chuuya has. This tactic of acting like a scared little kid, definitely feels like something Dazai pulled when trying to get away with things around regular adults. I mean, look how easily he turns on those tears, it's practiced, he's used to it working.

He's responding to what the guy is saying, he calls them "kids" and looks confused as to why kids are here. Dazai then selects the defenceless innocent act as a way to get out of being held at gun point and possibly get information.

He's used to this kind of thing working, but the fact is, if Chuuya hadn't interrupted him, it most likely wouldn't of. Because Dazai doesn't know the type of enemy he's up against, he doesn't know these people are willing to cross the line and harm kids yet.

Look at these panels closely. The panel before Dazai starts faking crying the gun is pointed directly at him,

whilst he starts his crying act in the panels previously mentioned, the gun is still squarely on him, and afterwards

In the top panel it is still pointing at him, until Chuuya speaks. His tactic isn't working. The enemy never wavers or lowers his gun, he either doesn't believe Dazai or doesn't care.

Chuuya sees that. He sees the gun still pointing at Dazai. He looks annoyed in the first panel above because this man, as far as he knows, is pointing a gun at an innocent kid.

And as soon as Chuuya speaks, the gun shifts to him. Chuuya, King of Sheep, protector and shield. A boy so used to defending those weaker than him, he smiles when he's able to get the attention of a man holding a gun. As far as Chuuya is concerned at this point, Dazai might as well be as defenceless as the rest of The Sheep. Sure, he has his ability No Longer Human, but what good is that against a grown man with a gun? So Chuuya defends him the same way he defends his friends.

And he makes sure to keep that attention on him whilst he tests this man. Yeah, we know he puts his head to the gun to transfer his ability, but I also think it's important that Chuuya waits in this moment. He doesn't just take this guy out because of a perceived threat, he waits until it's confirmed. Chuuya doesn't throw the first punch because Chuuya doesn't start fights, he fights back. Just like The Sheep said, he hits their enemies back a thousand times harder.

Dazai complains Chuuya interrupted him here, but Dazai was completely out of his depth in this moment. Chuuya didn't ruin his plan, he saved his life.

[fakakta-art]

More Baking Show Bruce nonsense. Part 1 and the Post I stole this from

[biboomerangboi]

Hua Cheng essentially cockblocking himself for possibly all of eternity will literally never not be the funniest thing MXTX ever wrote.

Xie Lian was pretty much completely in love with him the second he saw those lanterns (and completely oblivious about it) and then we get the wonderful first kiss underwater moment and Xie Lian is basically drawing hearts around Hua Cheng every time he sees him. While like quietly dying cause he literally has no idea what to do with it. Like at this point he doesn’t even really understand that he is head over heels totally gone for this man.

Until Hua Cheng is like I have a beloved I just haven’t won them over yet. Which he thinks is perfectly reasonable because his self esteem is the worst and he doesn’t understand how he could have won Xie Lian over yet. (He’s only on step 22 of his Marrying Dianxia 3000 step Master Plan ((that he debates throwing out on a regular basis because he doesn’t deserve to even dream about wanting Xie Lian)). So course he’s like yeah I have this wonderful noble beautiful beloved I just haven’t won them over yet wink wink nudge nudge.

But Xie Lian is like oh of course obviously I don’t deserve nice things and fuck I actually wanted him so badly I’m actually in love with him and now I will resign myself to never being happy for his sake. (Their combined self esteem is truly a so low it’s a hole in the ground which is hilarious because they think the other person is to good for them and unattainable forever because they literally have the same neurosis.) So he starts boxing up his feelings forever constantly wanting Hua Cheng and feeling guilty about it and literally dying inside because he wants Hua Cheng like he’s never wanted anyone.

Like essentially books 3 and 5 only happen because Hua Cheng has now cursed them both by saying he has a beloved because Xie Lian believes he isn’t wanted and therefore any nice thing Hua Cheng does is just him being nice and not Hua Cheng pulling out steps 23-34 of his plan thinking he still hasn’t won Xie Lian over. (He has he so has but he shot himself in the foot so badly it’s painful to read).

Like thank the Gods Hua Cheng is so unhinged and created the cave of 10000 Gods cause Xie Lian would literally be at his own wedding to Hua Cheng still convinced he wanted someone else and this was in fact a thing they were doing to solve a case together otherwise.

Like he needed something that unhinged to put 2 and 2 together otherwise he never would have caught on he’s Hua Cheng’s beloved. Meanwhile Hua cheng is like 🥺 he’s going to think I’m a weirdo now and I’m only on step 50 of the plan 🥺 like the two of them wouldn’t have been fucking nasty 2 books ago if he just kept his mouth shut and didn’t cockblock himself so violently.

[violadvis]

JORDAN LI & MARIE MOREAU GEN V | S01E05 'Welcome to the Monster Club'

[inklore]

JOEL IS SUCH A SAP AFTER SEX.

To keep you from pulling away from him after you’ve both come, he’ll grip the back of your neck, his palm rough and hot against your sweaty skin, his nail digging into the skin of your hip to keep you in place. 

“No, not yet," he’ll say in that ragged voice he gets when he’s just got done fucking you. When he’s just finished coming inside of you, both of your chests heaving, bodies spent and exhausted from fucking. 

Joel taking his time with you. 

Manhandling your body into different positions—your legs on his shoulders, hands at your hips to lift you off the bed because he knows your legs shake from the spots he hits when your hips are at the right angle. His cock driving deep inside of you, the tip pushing against that sensitive spot against your walls that has his name pulling from your lungs like he’s choking it out of you. 

Your ass in the air for him, his palm on your back to push you further into the mattress because he loves watching you grip the pillow, loves the incoherent noises and drool that’s muffled into the plush cotton as he thrusts his cock into you at a relentless pace. Leaving bite marks on your shoulder, teeth imprints, he runs his tongue along later. 

Your tits in his hand as you ride him. a hand around your throat as he feels the tremble of your legs the closer you get to coming. The exasperation in your breaths and moans as you pump yourself down on his cock. 

“That’s it, that’s it. Take from me, baby, take all of it.” He grunts as you come on his cock, squeezing and clenching around him enough to make his release hit head on with yours, a deep grunt tensing him forward as he comes inside of you. 

And after all is said and done, he just wants you pressed against his chest. 

The fingers at your hip refusing to let you move from him, the palm at the back of your neck pulling you down so your mouths meet in a passionate kiss that leaves you even more breathless, and yearning for the intimacy that always follows fucking. 

The gentle loll of the afterglow that Joel fucking loves. 

Your head on his chest, his face pressed against your head. Fingers rubbing against your back. “Just stay right here,” he whispers. Soothes. Pleads. 

[cali]

thank you tipsilon you will keep us warm