#god i'm so jazzed

[caterjunes]

went to a garage sale and bought a yankee screwdriver for ONE DOLLAR holy shit. i've wanted one of these for literally years but not enough to justify spending $30-60 on one!

[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!"

[keferon]

“Mistakes on mistakes until” ch 69 spoilers below!

Ahahahahahahah here I go again

Mistakes on mistakes until until I can draw Jazz with my eyes closed

I woke up, checked my phone, woke up for real and decided that whatever plans I had for this day yeah no they can wait a little bit kfkgnfk

Also. Consider listening this while reading. Or don't who am I to tell you what to do~

[ampleappleamble]

set entirely within the Living Lands!

takes place shortly after Deadfire!

dynamic rock-paper-scissors combat requiring weapon switches!

context-sensitive ability and spellcasting button!

skill trees instead of classes!

no romances with your companions!

[gravelsong]

FUCKINGBDHDJSNDJAK HI HI HI HI I'VE MISSED YOU HIIIIIII

Ooooh my god how long has it been since Jazz has been in ANYTHING. And how long has it been since he's INTERACTED WITH SOUNDWAVE IN ANY WAY

[spacedace]

Here, have a snippet of the Jason & Steph sibling bonding portion of the DP x DC AU I wrote 10k words for since last night in a haze of post sickness/burnout creative burst, featuring some Anger Management because of course it does lol

(I call it a snippet but it’s like...3k words lol)

Trigger Warnings because most of this snippet focuses on them running around Crime Alley and shit that goes down in it: references to drugs, overdoses, domestic abuse, child endangerment (if I miss anything let me know and I’ll add it). Nothing expliciet or details but they are things mentioned as happening because, well, Crime Alley.

-

Spoiler shifts subtly from foot to foot on the rooftop, hands open and ready at her side as she split her attention from watching him and checking the street below for signs of trouble. Her gaze was sharp on the girls working the corner, tracking for any hint that the man talking them up was making any of them uncomfortable even as she made sure Jason didn’t suddenly dart across the ten feet between them to strike out at her.

“George Conrad.” He said, satisfied that his sudden breaking of the silence didn’t make her jump though did catch her attention fully, fingers twitching warningly towards her belt. He nodded his head down to the street and the large man rummaging through the bag he brought with him. More of the girls had huddled up around him. “Not a john. Not even from Gotham.” He explained, shifting to walk over to the edge of the roof, giving her his back as he did. “His son Kyle ran away from home while George was oversees and ended up working the streets. George tracked him down once he was back in the states a few years ago but by the time he made it here Kyle had been killed.”

She moved to join him at the ledge, still leaving space between them but not enough for his guns to be as effective. Smart, vigilant, but still with a soft enough heart to stop and listen to one of the many tragedies that played out in Gotham’s darkest streets.

“What happened?” She asked, eyes softening on the big man in question as he started handing out ziploc bags. Jason knew very well what they held, and wondered if Spoiler could make out the finer details from the distance they were at. Sandwiches, granola bars, water bottles, condoms, clean needles, wet-wipes, little travel sewing kits, over the counter pain meds. Anything and everything George had ever been told would be appreciated or useful by the sex workers he spoke to.

“Overdose.” Jason answered, grateful that the distorter built into his helmet disguised the tightness of his voice. Memories of a cold body on the floor, stiff and waxy with distant glassy eyes. “Got mixed up with the wrong person. Boyfriend. Not a big player but,” He shrugged and knew that Spoiler would understand. It was how a lot of people got mixed up in sex work when they wouldn’t have normally. Boyfriend that promised the world, the painful fall into being pressured to sleep with said boyfriend’s friend, then another, then another. “One of Daisy’s boys was a neighbor and figured out what was going on, Daisy helped get him out but it was too late by then.”

Below one of the girls, younger than the rest - an adult, because he wouldn’t allow anything else in his territory, but still new to the scene - surged forward to wrap her arms around the old man. George gave her a gentle pat on the back, pushing her back gentle to dig out a card from his pocket. A list of numbers for her to call, shelters and organizations that could help, his own number in case she ever needed anything. “They chipped in for a funeral for him. Gave George somewhere to go and mourn. He’s been here ever since, trying to look after them all. He works as a bouncer at Daisy’s these days but he always does the rounds when he isn’t working.”

“People never get this part.” Spoiler mused, voice going soft and distant. “They always think the Alley is just…” She waved a gloved hand, “Trash and monsters. They can’t seem to get that there’s more. Just…people. Some really good ones even.”

He smiled behind his mask. There was a reason she was the one of the whole Bat Clan he’d decided to trust with this.

“Come on.” He said, waving her after him as he began an easy run that’d let them both move easily from rooftop to rooftop. Spoiler hesitated a moment, but at length followed, quick and quiet as she darted from shadow to shadow in his wake.

They spent the following couple of hours meandering around Crime Alley at an easy clip. Squat roofs and rusted fire escapes, narrow streets and dark corners. Pausing to jump in and handle anything that popped up or at particular spots of interest where he’d point out places and people. The chop shop run by the ragged gang of teens and children some of the gangs had been angling towards that needed looking after. The homeless encampment nestled between the grimy apartment building Daisy O’Neil had taken over to run her business out of and the tiny, almost forgotten pauper’s cemetery. The usual roosting spots for the drug dealers, the gambling dens, the little family owned cafe that had the best Tantuni at midnight and even better Turkish coffee at the crack of dawn.

It was as they perched on top of this last one, tucked back in the shadows away from view as Spoiler devoured the freshly made Lokma that Mrs. Solak insisted on making fresh for them when they stopped by that the question finally came.

“So what exactly is all this?” Spoiler asked, popping another of the sugary, honey covered Lokma in her mouth. He’d shoved the container Mrs. Solak had given to him over to her after eating only a few, knowing she was going to try to steal them anyway if he didn’t. “When you said you needed my help with something in Crime Alley, I was expecting…I don’t know, drug runners or something.” She popped another golden dough ball in her mouth, cheeks round as a chipmunk and voice muffled as she said, “Not a tour of the place.”

Jason let his head fall back on the brick of the rooftop entrance behind them, eyes scanning the glittering horizon of the Gotham skyline, trying to sort out his answer. He had talked about how he was going to do this with Jazz, practicing what he was going to say, what he wanted to reveal, what outcomes he could expect from the whole thing. When he left he’d felt confident about it all, riding high on the warmth of Jazz’s kiss and the fluttering thumps of little legs kicking against his hand. Now that he was here though he felt lost as to how to begin.

“I’m hanging up the mask.” He finally said. It wasn’t quite like the first time he’d said it out loud, in the privacy of his apartment, curled in bed with Jazz, only brave enough to whisper it in the dark. There wasn’t that rush of anxiety and relief that had hit him at finally saying what had twisted over and over in his head for weeks leading up to that moment. Now there was just the settled feeling, the certainty, the surety of being on the path he wanted to be on. “I wanted to ask if you’d look after my territory me when I do.”

Spoiler gaped at him. “Wait, seriously?”

He almost laughed, he settled on giving her a lazy smile. “Seriously.”

With her masked pulled down so she could eat her treats he could see her wide eyed, disbelief on her face easily. “Why?”

He gave a shrug, aiming for nonchalant. “This used to be your territory for awhile, right? You’re from here, you know the Alley and the people and how it all works.” He felt his smile go softer, “I trust you to be able to keep it safe.”

Spoiler’s - Steph’s - expression softened at that. “That’s…thank you.” She glanced out the same way he had before, face caught in something bittersweet. “I…I hated this place growing up. I still do, kinda. I think everyone that lives here does. But I still missed it, it’s still…still home.”

“Yeah,” He agreed, mind turning over his childhood. The constant fear and hardship. Living rough even when he did have a roof over his head. His father’s heavy hands. His mother’s slow wasting. Crime Alley was a complete shit hole, one where the worst of the worst tended to gather. But it wasn’t all monsters. There were good people too, just trying to scrape by. Old George wandering the streets handing out necessities to working girls and boys. The Solak family and their little shop, giving out the left overs to the street kids and homeless. The Nightingales, crammed into their two bedroom apartment, just trying to get by. “I knew you’d get it.”

They sat in silence for awhile. Steph chewing over his request and her Lokma, Jason lost in memories of the past and wistful dreams of the future. At length the blond next to him bumped his shoulder with hers, head tilting at a questioning angle. “I…I really appreciate what you said, about why me.” She said, awkward and touched in equal measure. “But…I was actually wondering why you were stepping back.”

He was ready for that question, he was. He’d initially just wanted to leave it at none of your fucking business but Jazz had - wise as ever - pointed out that he was asking her a favor, and a big one at that. He might not be comfortable with the rest of his family knowing everything - or anything - but Steph at least deserved an explanation as to why he was asking her to take over his territory.

“You tell anyone this, and I will kill you.” He started and then cringed internally because that had not at any point been something that had come up in his practice conversations with Jazz. Oh well, any more ooie-gooey feelings talk and Steph probably would have thought he was replaced by a pod person or something. “I’m seeing someone.”

The faintly alarmed look the blond vigilante beside him had melted away in an instant, replaced by a sly, mischievous grin. Hellion. One whiff of gossip and that’s all it took. “Ooooh, Big Bad Red Hood has a heart after all.” She crooned, ignoring her earlier reticence to get too close and leaning dramatically against his side. “Who is it huh? Anyone I know? Ooh, is it someone in the Outlaws?”

He was reminded of before he died, suddenly. Of teasing Dick over his latest crush over a beautiful red head that could kick his ass like a proper annoying little brother. In an echo of that moment so many years ago, he shoved Spoiler off in the same way Dick had done to him, rolling his eyes at her dramatic squawking as she nearly dropped her treat to disguise the small smile that wanted to curl at his lip. He swiped at the container lazily, a feint at stealing it back that resulted in a brief scuffle that ended with him popped a few of the Lokma in his mouth as she tore the container - that he had given to her in the first place - away, holding it close to her chest like a precious treasure.

“No, no one you know.” He answered at last they finally settled down. He paused for a beat, gaze turning back to the city as he added. “She’s a civilian.”

Spoiler looked considering at that, chewing at one of the last of the Lokma thoughtfully. “So what’s going on then? You do a face reveal and she asked you to quit the vigilante business?”

“No.” He said, taking a small, steadying breath. Better to just rip off the bandaid. “She’s pregnant.”

Spoiler went still beside him, laughing eyes shuttering and face falling into a neutral mask as she stared at him. After a long, long moment she gave a small, unreadable little, “Oh.”

Jason fought the urge to fidget. Oh. It could mean so many things. Oh shit. Oh no. Oh how nice. Oh boy I can’t wait to tell Bruce about this. That last one, admittedly, was unlikely. Spoiler was on good terms with most of the Bats and Birds but she and Bruce had long had something of a rocky relationship. No where near as bad as what he and the old man had, but still enough that she was probably the very last person to willingly go hunt Bruce down to share all the details of Jason’s private life unless she thought it particularly necessary.

The silence stretched on. And Jason knows what silence does to a human brain. Four seconds of quiet during a conversation after saying something registers as rejection, caused feelings of anxiety and apprehension, even caused the same signals in the brain as physical pain. Prolonged silence and steady attention at the same time caused an urge to fill the quiet, to speak and keep speaking until the other person says something. It was something Bruce taught him, guiding him along in his Robin days on how to perform interrogation and get the person they were questioning to spill their guts.

He was taught too how to outlast that silence in situations where he was being questioned. Both by Bruce and by the League - though the interrogations that he was meant to resist under their teachings had far more than long awkward silences to contend with. He knew how to clamp down on that instinctive drive to keep talking when faced with stillness like this.

And yet, somehow he could stop himself.

“I just…I think about being a kid and my dad going to work,” He said the word with appropriate amount of vitrol, “And then never coming back. Him dying in jail and it just being me and my mom trying to scrape by. Or…or with Bruce. Knowing that I was always going to place second to the Rogues and the city. I just…” His head dropped back on the brick behind him, eyes closed and throat tight. “I can’t do that to my kid. I’m going to be there. I’m going to make sure they’re safe and happy and that they don’t ever have to worry about if their old man is coming home or not.”

It was a nightmare he’d been having, since the morning he and Jazz crowded over a couple of pregnancy tests and saw the results. Dying out in the gutter and shambling home as a ghost to see the grief he left behind. Jazz crying, a child who’s features he could never make out standing in the doorway the way he would stand at the entrance of the cave when he was too injured to go out with Batman. Waiting in painful silence and burning tears to find out that his father was dead.

“I’m not…I’m not cutting out of the life completely.” He said, trying to focus past the squeezing in his chest, trying to force the conversation back into a conversation rather than him just pouring his bleeding heart out to a blank wall. “I’m going to talk to Babs, see if she’d be alright with me helping with some of what she does, or get something similar setup solely for the Alley. I’m going to keep tabs with my guys on what’s going on and work with them that way. And if there’s anything big, obviously you guys can call me in, I’m not just going to sit back if there’s a city wide threat or worse, I just - “

There were arms around him, suddenly. Warm and strong as they wrapped around him, a face pressed into his shoulder, his nose tickled by blond hair.

He sat there, frozen for a long moment before slowly, lifting his own arms to return the hug. Steph gave him an encouraging squeeze. “I get it.” She said, voice whisper soft and almost lost as she spoke into the leather of his jacket. “I think…I think if I’d been older, if I was more able to keep her…I think I would have done the same thing.” There was a faint sniff as she finally pulled away. She wasn’t crying, but her eyes were bright with tears. “I’m happy for you.” She moved to gently head butt him, “And I’m honored to take over watching over this shithole of ours.”

Jason gave a watery laugh, not even caring that he was crying as he scrubbed away some of the tears that had burned down his cheek. “Thanks Blondie. Steph.”

She rocked back on her heels, arms crossed as her expression turned suddenly serious. “I do have one condition though.” At his look the seriousness melted away into an exuberant grin. “I want to meet this mystery woman of yours. Wait!” She brightened, “Two conditions! I want to be there when you finally tell B and the rest! I am not missing the look on their faces when you tell them!”

He rolled his eyes and shoved her, sending her tumbling into the container of Lokma and sending the remaining fried dough balls rolling across the grungy roof. Steph squawked, dropping to her knees before the thoroughly ruined sweets as dramatic as if it was her one true love laying dead before her. “They were so young, so innocent!” She wailed, throwing her head back as if to howl at the sky in mourning before snapping back to him, finger pointing at him accusatory. “You! This is your fault! I will have my vengeance!”

The rest of the night was spent darting from rooftop to rooftop in an echo of the game of tag he used to play with Dick and Babs years ago. Tackling each other and fighting without actually aiming to do real damage. Only pausing to jump down to the street or through a window here and there to knock some heads together.

By the time he was heading to the Dead Man’s Hand so he could walk Jazz home - or whisk her off to his safehouse, if he was lucky and she was able to duck her siblings for the day - he felt lighter. Steph would look after the Alley, the people he protected. He’d work with her over the next few months, get her integrated with his lieutenants and make sure she was familiar with the ins and outs of his little slice of Gotham, make sure she was as ready as she could be to take over for him.

[araneitela]

Me staring at test results: It makes so much sense for her, but if I don't specify or elaborate, then we end up with the fanon take. Ugh, how do I easily explain that if you look at the word 'sex' through a much more old-fashioned lens instead of the modern one, that you'll get a vastly different picture of it?

/takes angycat.png typing to my tags

[slashingdisneypasta]

For the fic sentence thing, I thought of these sentences for different characters (you don't have to do all of them of course, I wanted to give you a choice and also not flood your inbox more than I already have 😅 I hope that's ok. Though if it isn't, you can just ignore this)

Norman Nordstrom

He found it amusing when you, gently, ordered him to sit down while you made tonight's dinner, as if he hadn't been living on his own and caring for himself all these years.

Freddy Krueger

You were just walking down the halls of the very familiar boiler room, an amused smile on your face as you felt the air behind you shift erratically, right where you knew that Freddy was 'sneaking' behind you.

Jennifer Check

"Are you sure I need all this?" You asked as your friend added more cosmetics to the shopping basket, "I don't wear makeup that often anyway... Wait, are you using this as an excuse to shop for your own makeup?"

Inkubus

You did find him pleasant company, really! Even if he did look at you... That way... But it's not like he was anything more than a charming- albeit way too smooth- guy you knew.

Slenderman:

"You stress yourself too much." You state- not in a playful tone that would imply you had other things in mind, but a genuinely concerned and slightly frustrated tone, "C'mon, let's get a cup of tea, or take a walk through your forest. You love your forest!"

Chick Hicks (Human)

"Wow, your car is pretty impressive." You commented with a smirk, before leaning against the front of the car foxily, "Do you use it for just the races, or can you make use of it on your downtime too~?"

Randall (monster or human, you decide)

'Really? He has to bother me on my lunch break too?' You thought while rolling your eyes once Randall approached you.

Psycho Weasel (human or toon, you decide)

Everytime without fail, whenever his friends managed to 'bring' you here, those crazy eyes of his would follow your form no matter where you went.

Cruella De Vil

She stopped dead in her tracks when she heard that song- the only successful song Anita's spouse had managed to write, that was about her- and you singing along with it on the radio.

Ok I better stop here. Holy moly, it was harder than I thought to configure 1 sentence for a whole narrative XD

But anyways, even if you don't write these (which is totally fine!) I hope you at least got a kick out of these sentences ^^

These are great sentences XDD Much better then the ones I added!! 🤣🤣🤣 Thank you so much, these are fantastic prompts to work with!! I did them all- because- I couldn't resist XD

Also most of these exceed the sentence limit by one or two 😅Sorryy...

As if he hadn't been living on his own and caring for himself all these years. With Norman Nordstrom

He found it amusing when you, gently, ordered him to sit down while you made tonight's dinner, as if he hadn't been living on his own and caring for himself all these years.

So he did not sit down, he instead followed your footsteps into the kitchen- so silently, apparently, that you did not hear him. You jumped under his touch when he found you at the stove, and wrapped his arms around your middle; Tucking his chin over the top of one of and watching unseeingly, silently, over one of your shoulders.

You quickly relax under Norman's familiar, strong touch though, and feel the warm and fuzzies envelope you just like his arms that you know perfectly well could hurt you so easily- but instead make you feel safe. With a gentle smile, you just continue to cook the steaks and the broccoli, listening to the sizzling sounds with him and relaxing against his warm body until they're good and cooked, and you turn your head to whisper to him how its done and he can wait at the table if he wants.

"No," he just says, gruffly, turning stubbornly to collect plates and cutlery for the both of you. "Not leaving."

Right where you knew Freddy was 'sneaking' behind you. With Freddy Krueger

You were just walking down the halls of the very familiar boiler room, an amused smile on your face as you felt the air behind you shift erratically, right where you knew that Freddy was 'sneaking' behind you.

What is he doing??? you ask yourself, exasperated and bemused at your doofus' antics and almost tempted to ignore him- he's been hiding from you for hours, only giving you a sense that he's near every now and then to keep you on your toes as you wander the maze of a boiler room... just like this. You shouldn't turn around- you shouldn't play right into his hands- his games... but god damn it, you cant help it!!

"Fredd- oh for fucks sake, get your burnt ass outta the shadows, I am not gonna fall for this again you toothpick-fingered, melted-cheese-face looking- "You're just building up to call him a bitch, when you turn back in the direction you were walking again and come face to face with the smug, smirking bitch. It takes your breath away, surprised at the sudden appearance. "- Oh."

"Yeah,... oh."

Wait, are you using this as an excuse to shop for your own makeup? With Jennifer Check

"Are you sure I need all this?" You asked as your friend added more cosmetics to the shopping basket, "I don't wear makeup that often anyway... Wait, are you using this as an excuse to shop for your own makeup?"

"Needy, am I using this as an excuse to shop for my own makeup?" Jennifer asks, not even paying a whole lot of attention to your concerns, even as she picks up your hand and draws a cute little heart on it with a tube of tester lipstick.

Needy, the one pushing the trolley, gives a tight smile, a tired sigh, and a blunt nod to you as you stand there with your hand stuck in Jennifer's grip.. "Yeah, she is."

"... oh you bitch- You do not get to share our curly fries when we hit the food court."

Even if he did look at you... That way... With Inkubus

You did find him pleasant company, really! Even if he did look at you... That way... But it's not like he was anything more than a charming- albeit way too smooth- guy you knew.

... right?, you think, looking hopefully at the little adorable koi fish in the pond you're kneeling next to; awaiting guidance from them. "I mean- I'm too busy for a guy," You whisper this part out loud followed by a very nervous chuckle, sprinkling a few food pellets to the fish as offerings. "So... I can just ignore this- him- cant I?? Surely... "

Feeling crazy, talking to koi, you give a frustrated sigh and lay down in the grass beneath you by the pond; Closing your eyes and trying to clear your mind of thoughts... about him... him... aghhh!

Little do you know, of course, Inkubus is there right then, with you- leaning against the side of a tree just out of sight, and thinking how abominably adorable you are... thinking you could ignore him.

C'mon, let's get a cup of tea, or take a walk through your forest. with Slenderman

"You stress yourself too much." You state- not in a playful tone that would imply you had other things in mind, but a genuinely concerned and slightly frustrated tone, "C'mon, let's get a cup of tea, or take a walk through your forest. You love your forest!"

"I don't have time for a cup of tea," he snaps back, the tentacles on his back practically flying they flick around so much; The irritation clear in his body language. "I have some teenagers to kill."

"You wont kill Jeff and Liu... they're too valuable as manual labour- you need them."

"Oh no I don't- I have you."

The way your jaw absolutely drops, at that, causes Slender to stop his flicking for a moment - if only a moment, - and release a sound somewhere akin to a low, staticky, inhuman chuckle.

Foxily. With Chick Hicks This is a prequal to his section in This Smexcerpts post.

"Wow, your car is pretty impressive." You commented with a smirk, before leaning against the front of the car foxily, "Do you use it for just the races, or can you make use of it on your downtime too~?"

"I can use this whenever I want! Why, baby?" Chick swaggers up to you, setting his feet on either side of yours so his body is right up against yours and he's looking down at you; a mischievous look on the older racer's face that just matches the twinkle in yours, "Didja have an offer for me?"

You know this is probably not a good idea - Chick Hicks does not have the best reputation, and he seems to act just like how the tabloids show him, unlike the other racer's you've met today, - , that you should just finish flirting with him and leave it at that- let that be the story you tell when you're searching for bragging rights... But his warm body against yours sets you alight and you desperately want this man, now; Any way that he'll have you... take you... use you.

So, flashing a dangerous smirk, you slither your arms up over his chest to link around the nape of his neck, playing with the short, brown hair there. "Hm, no~... Do you have any for me?"

He has to bother me on my lunch break too? With Randall Boggs *Note- This one is linked up to This set of Dark Drabbles. I feel like that may be what you were going for??? I dunno, but there it is, now XDD 😅

'Really? He has to bother me on my lunch break too?' You thought while rolling your eyes once Randall approached you.

Ugh... Pouting, and feeling sick to your stomach now because he's back and he's taking your hand in his as he sits down next to you, and he's so close... you can feel his breath on your face as you huph and lower your lunch; Defeated. "Do we have to do this now?? I really wanted to enjoy this rot dog... "

He gives a chuckle, eyes flickering to the paperwork in front of you that you were gonna do while you ate- like he's entitled to know what you're up to- like you're truly in a relationship with eachother. "Sweetheart this is lunch, this is exactly when I'm gonna get cosy with you- get used to it, and maybe eat when you get home if I really turn you off your lunch... "

Eyes downcast, you cringe in on yourself, away from him. "... I want you to leave me alone, Randall... "

"That's not going to happen, doll, so keep quiet and give me a smile~ "

Those crazy eyes of his would follow your form no matter where you went. With Psycho Weasel

Every time without fail, whenever his friends managed to 'bring' you here, those crazy eyes of his would follow your form no matter where you went.

Greasy disgusted you- he would take great pleasure in being the one to hold you down while one of the others tied you up; With the canvas bag over your head you couldn't really see whoever it was touching you... but Greasy had his calling cards, including wandering hands and groping.

Smartass hurt you ears, yelling at you, and yelling at the others too.

Then Stupid was a real problem- once he got a hold of you, you were not getting away.

Wheezy stank, and if you ever got lung cancer you would blame him, but to be truthful he never really went near you- his problem was staring, those slate grey eyes would make you feel cold just feeling them on you... but still, they were nothing compared to Psycho.

He was the one you worried about, the one that caught your attention; the way he looked at you, but never ever came close to you, was different... you kind of wanted him to come near.

The only successful song Anita's spouse had managed to write, that was about her. With Cruella De Vil

She stopped dead in her tracks when she heard that song- the only successful song Anita's spouse had managed to write, that was about her- and you singing along with it on the radio.

When you turned to look over your shoulder and see Cruella standing in the kitchen doorway, the words to the song die on your tongue- your hands no longer washing dishes. Quickly though you switch that shocked look on your face in with an awkward, yet smug grin; Giving a jaunty little shrug. "Its catchy- and so true."

For a good moment, she just sneers at you; Looking like she's about to snap for your insolence in her own home... then her eyes disappear up into the back of her skull in that cool, intense way you love- quite used to your insolence (Sometimes, its a good thing after all). "Whatever- I'm just too busy to worry about the influence Rufus' dumb little tune might have right now-- Did my package arrive at all, today, or do I need to pay that postal office a visit?"

[heartbeetz]

I wish liking fat wasn't seen by so many people as an inherently "weird and sexual" thing. I wanna be able to make posts about it without feeling like I'd have to hide them on my nsfw. Like my ideal body type for myself is bearish and I'm not there yet, so I like thinking about my f/os rubbing/patting my belly, complimenting me when they notice I put on a little extra weight, making sure I eat enough to be fat n happy (in the literal and figurative sense), etc... but people are so weird about it that I get self-conscious. It kinda blows.

[mintacle]

What I need:

Jason Todd in his slightly messy but homey kitchen at 7am watching the sun rise out his window. Hair messy from sleep and wearing boxers and a t-shirt, slight chubby belly (dadbod), just a bit unshaven, leaning his chin on one hand as he slowly drinks his morning tea/coffee.

[silverselfshippingchaos]

.

[tsuncda]

so am i right or am i right in my assertion that bridgerton doesn't actually do character work, it just rebrands it's main characters before their season begins and tries to recontextualize them as poor little meow meows.

[theinfinitedivides]

what do i have to do to get Joanna Newsom fans to listen to Shabaka and his recent solo debut album Perceive Its Beauty, Acknowledge Its Grace. what do i have to sell who do i have to bribe pls brethren he is right there

[kulvefaggoth]

Did you guys know there's a type of demon in the Bayonetta universe that are born when animals, normally pets like dogs or cats wander into hell and manage to survive long enough?

...anyway here's how Commander Biden can still win:

[micamone]

"what's your music taste" brother spotify just recommended the fucking hokey pokey to me. i wish i knew

[themagical1sa]

"i like you and i blame you for making me feel this way" he said

i still think about it