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#prompts are closed
shanastoryteller · 3 days
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Happy Valentine's Day <3 been trying to catch one of these for years, love your writing! Anyways, hades or dealer's choice! :P
a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20
“Hey,” Zagreus says with a level of forced casualness that has Achilles instantly suspicious. “Can you help me something? It won’t take long.”
Hades isn’t at his desk and won’t notice if he’s missing from his post from a couple minutes. Zagreus tends to handle defying his father himself rather than dragging others into it.
What’s more concerning is that Nyx is missing as well. Anything that Zagreus is attempting to hide from both of them isn’t anything good.
Thanatos and Megaera have simultaneously relaxed and are more on edge, avoiding Hades without trying to make it look like they’re avoiding him. Luckily, their king is preoccupied with his wife, and likely thinks it’s some form of lovers spat that he has no interest in getting involved in.
Hades is a smarter man than he, because he says, “Alright, Prince,” and follows him into his room rather than continuing to do the smart thing and staying out of it.
Curiosity isn’t what killed him, but it certainly hadn’t helped.
He isn’t expecting to be shoved through Zagreus’s mirror. There’s more than muscles behind the shove, since those he’d be able to escape from, but it feels like his limbs have been bound together until he’s stumbling into a place that shouldn’t exist and falling into arms as familiar as his own that he never thought he’d feel again.
Achilles would think he’d died, except he’s been dead, and he hadn’t gotten this lucky.
“Hey, stranger,” Patroclus says softly. “We were going to – but Zagreus said it would be easier to show you.”
“What?” he manages to tear his eyes away to look around the room, sees marble walls and colorful rugs and what looks like sunlight streaming through the windows. “Is this Elysium?”
He smiles, a small upturn of his lips that’s closer to a smirk than anything else. Achilles had dreamed of that expression. “Not quite.”
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musicprincess1990 · 1 year
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3 and 19 from the trope pairs list please! 😁👏
3: Bed-sharing; 19: Godparents. Taken from this list, and as much as I want to keep taking prompts, I'm going to have to close them, I just don't have my writing juices flowing right now.
But anyways, welcome to Angst Central! Proceed with caution. 😉 I am SO sorry I’m getting to this so late, but I guess better late than never?? Anyway, hope you like it!
~*~
Open Arms
Sherlock kept his eyes trained on the prone form of his best friend as the machinery beside his bed kept track of his vitals.  The quiet but steady beep of the monitor was both reassuring and a nuisance, as was the occasional puff of air through the oxygen tube.  Across the room, just outside the microscopic window, a light snow had begun to fall, and though Sherlock was not one to believe in signs or portents, he couldn’t help but wonder if it was an omen.
The door to the hospital room opened, but Sherlock didn’t turn, already knowing who it was.  A moment later, a hand softly touched his shoulder, and then its owner spoke.  “He’ll be fine, Sherlock,” said Molly, her voice as gentle as her touch.  “John is too stubborn to let this keep him down.”
“I wish I shared your optimism,” he answered, his voice low and gravelly.
She let out a sigh, then sat beside him on the tiny, uncomfortable sofa.  “You heard what the doctor said.  The procedure went well, his vitals are good, he’s breathing better every minute—”
“What if she’s wrong?” he asked, not taking his eyes off his injured friend.
“They’ve been very thorough, Sherlock,” she reassured him.  “They’ve run every test imaginable, if they do anything more, he’ll start to glow in the dark.”  Sherlock scowled at her terrible joke, but in fact he appreciated her trying to lighten the mood.  In a more serious voice, she added, “He’ll be well taken care of, I promise.  And we need to take care of Rosie until he’s healed.”
The mention of their goddaughter, who was currently in the care of Mrs. Hudson and blissfully unaware of her father’s current state, gave him considerable strength.  With a deep breath, he nodded his head.  “You’re right.  Best not keep Mrs. Hudson from her ‘herbal soothers,’” he said with a wry grin.
Molly beamed.  “There’s the Sherlock I know.”
With one last look at John, he allowed Molly to lead him out of the hospital.  The snow had increased a bit, leaving very few cabs on the roads, so they instead took the tube.  By the time they reached Baker Street, exhausted and emotionally spent, a layer of white at least two centimetres deep coated every surface.  Molly wordlessly held out a hand for Sherlock’s keys, and he handed them over, leaning against the jamb while she unlocked the door.
Mrs. Hudson greeted them cheerfully but was clearly as exhausted as they were.  Molly lingered for a quiet chat, while Sherlock gathered a slumbering Rosie against his chest, picking up the nappy bag on his way up the stairs.  She hummed sleepily, her hand closing over the lapel of his Belstaff, and he hesitated mid-step, afraid she’d woken, but she only sighed and shifted a bit before settling against him again.  Sherlock set her on the centre of his bed while he set up the travel cot in the corner of his bedroom.
As he finished the task, Molly appeared with a somewhat bemused frown.  “Why have you set it up in here? There’s more space upstairs in John’s old room.”
He didn’t answer immediately, his ears warming and likely turning pink, though thankfully that wouldn’t be visible in the darkened room.  “I… didn’t want her to be alone.”
Molly’s face softened, and for a moment, she looked as though she might start crying.  Please don’t, he silently pleaded; he was in no shape to comfort anyone at the moment, he’d undoubtedly muck it all up.  He was relieved, then, to see Molly smile in the next moment.  “That’s very thoughtful of you, Sherlock,” she complimented.  ��It’s… unnerving, at times, waking up alone.”
As ever, Molly saw right through him, to the secrets he kept even from himself.  Without another word, she crossed the room and dug through a drawer until she found an old pair of pyjamas.  “Give me a few minutes to change, I’ll be back.”
Sherlock found himself unable to speak, only nodding in response.  Molly left the room, and a moment later he heard the bathroom door close.  He dazedly grabbed another pair of pyjamas, just tying the drawstring belt when Molly returned.  He swallowed against a wave of desire that washed over him at the sight of her wearing his clothing, and not for the first time, he questioned whether he’d made the right decision all those months ago.
After Sherrinford, Sherlock had taken a few days to sort out the crumbling debris of his mind palace.  He had hundreds upon hundreds of repressed memories, and all the emotions that came with them, and he’d been more than a bit daunted at the prospect.  At the end, though, everything had been sorted and catalogued, every thought and feeling… including those for Molly.  She’d been a central figure within his mind for years, but as the dust settled and he revisited his newly reconstructed mind palace, he finally understood just how central she had become.
She was everywhere.  In every room and corridor, even those she had no business being, such as the wing dedicated to his childhood and adolescence, there she stood.  Sometimes, she wore her lab coat and a familiar ensemble of her usual frumpy clothing; other times, the little black dress she’d worn one Christmas, complete with curled hair and red lips and ridiculous silver bow.  But always, always, she was there, watching him with those wide brown eyes, as if waiting, wondering what he would do.
What would he do?  Well, he didn’t know himself.  All he knew was that she mattered to him, more than she could ever know.
In all his years of chasing criminals and solving mysteries, he had never been more frightened than those three minutes.  He was terrified of losing her, of never seeing her eyes, hearing her awful jokes, working alongside her in the lab or the morgue, or sharing a cuppa as they kept an eye on Rosie.  Even as she said the words, and her life was saved—and then, when it became clear she was never really in danger to begin with—the fear remained.  He feared he’d already done too much damage.  After years of being dismissive or outright rude toward her, compounded with being forced to make her expose her heart in perhaps the worst three minutes of his life… how could they ever hope to repair that?
And yet, somehow, they had.  Molly, true to the person she had always been, had accepted his apology and explanation without question, and agreed to rebuild their friendship.  She did not, however, say a word about anything more than friendship, and Sherlock took that as a sign she was no longer open to more.  He’d felt some disappointment, but also relief, as he’d never attempted a romantic relationship—well, a real one.  Friendship, however, he was comfortable with, and it was more than he’d expected from her, so he accepted it without question.
But now…
Now, here she stood, all warm and soft and utterly, breathtakingly beautiful.  Even in the borrowed pyjamas that were far too big for her frame, she was absolutely radiant.  And as he watched her scoop up the still-sleeping Rosie, cooing softly as she laid her in the cot, his desire for her became more than simply physical.  He wanted love, he wanted family, he wanted… God, he wanted to spend forever just wrapped around her, doing absolutely nothing but being with her.
He loved her.
And he was finally ready to do something about it.
Molly ruffled Rosie’s blonde curls before straightening and smiling at him.  Sherlock barely noticed his own movements, only realizing he’d stepped toward her when he came toe-to-toe with her.  Her brows pulled together in a frown, her confusion evident, and he was tempted to press a kiss to her forehead to smooth them out.
“I love you, Molly,” he said, the words tumbling out in a low, breathless murmur.
For a moment, shock flickered across her eyes, followed by… sadness?  She gave him another smile, but he could see it was forced, strained.  “I know you do, Sherlock… I know we’re friends.”
“No,” he shook his head, lifting his hands to her face, cradling her head between them.  Molly’s eyes were wary, anxious, and his stomach twisted with guilt.  Of course, she misunderstood him, she had no reason to believe he meant it.  When she glanced away, he shook his head and gently swiped his thumbs along her cheekbones.  “Look at me, Molly… see me, the way you always do.”
“Sherlock—”
He let one thumb slide over her lips, the softness of them driving him mad.  His eyes followed the movement, before he dragged them slowly back to hers.  Sherlock opened himself to her, letting every ounce of his feelings—all those complicated little emotions—show in his face as he willed her to believe.
“I love you,” he repeated himself.  “Please, Molly… please see that I meant it.  That I mean it.  I’m… I’m rubbish at this,” he half growled, frustrated with his blundering.  “I’d be a shit boyfriend, you know I would.  I’d forget to call or text, I would spend days away on cases, I haven’t the slightest inclination toward conventional courtship, and I really don’t see the point in marriage, and—”
“Sherlock, stop,” she cut him off with a quiet firmness.  His eyes found hers again, and to his surprise, they were wet with tears… but she was also smiling.  Molly’s lips trembled as she grinned up at him, her left hand reaching up to brush at the hair on his forehead.  Sherlock’s heart thundered in his chest at the contact, and he waited in breathless anticipation for her next words.
“Whatever gave you the impression that I wanted conventional?” she asked.  “I fell in love with you, didn’t I?”
There were no words for the feeling of relief, joy, and affection that rushed through his every vein.  He couldn’t have said who moved first, but suddenly, their mouths connected, and the sensation was at once everything he’d imagined and nothing he’d ever expected.  Her lips—soft, delicate, definitely not too small—teased at his with assuredness, and she left him wanting more, severing the contact all too soon and blessing him with a smile that outshone the sun.
“Come on,” she whispered, her hand sliding into his, and she led him toward the bed.  For a moment, he panicked, but sensing the direction his thoughts had taken, she added, “We don’t want to wake Rosie.”
Sherlock glanced at the cot where their goddaughter lay, oblivious to all the tension crackling in the air around them.  That tension eased, however, as he turned back to Molly, still wearing that sunny smile and waiting patiently for him.  He crawled under the covers and into her open arms, and the last coils of his anxiety were soothed away, all but forgotten.
~*~
I have a soft spot in my heart for Sherlock and Molly just cuddling and falling asleep together. I tend to write that A LOT, and I’m not sorry. 😁 Thanks again for the prompt!
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kitthekazoo · 1 year
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Hi guys! Quick update, as y'all know most likely, I'll be making a pretty big move next month and because of that, I'll be posting a little less as I'm packing and getting everything set up. That also includes your prompts in my inbox. Prompts are closed, and are officially on hold until I'm settled in. Thank you for your understanding and patience!! 💙
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ikiprian · 1 month
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Mr. Fenton is a competent teacher. Almost too competent.
If Mr. Daniel Fenton had any more than a BS (with a minor in education), Tim would’ve flagged his profile as a potential Rogue. That’s the way of most charismatic academics, at least in Gotham. (Got a PhD? Instant watchlist.) Instead, he’s Gotham Academy’s newest celebrity, as a young, passionate, out-of-towner substitute while the chemistry teacher’s on maternity leave.
Tim gets the hype. Fenton seems to genuinely love teaching, and is invested in the welfare of the student body. He hands out bananas during exam week, hosts a “study habits seminar” each month to coach effective learning strategies, and the third time Tim falls asleep in his class, he even pulls Tim aside to ask if he’s doing okay. With all the late work he accepts and the protein bars he sneaks Tim, he’s every teen vigilante’s dream teacher. He could’ve been Tim’s favorite.
In fact, Mr. Fenton was Tim’s favorite. Up until Tim walks into Mr. Fenton’s chemistry classroom for a forgotten textbook, an hour after the final bell.
On the board where tallied scores for today’s review game had been kept, “THE CHEMISTRY BEHIND DR. CRANE’S FEAR GAS: ANXIOGENICS, NERI’S, & YOU,” is now scrawled. A detailed diagram of the human endocrine system projects in front of a small crowd of adoring and attentive students.
Fenton is wrist-deep in the skull cavity of an anatomical model. A short tug, and out pops the brain.
It’s plastic. It’s fake.
Tim identifies the nearest emergency exit.
Fenton turns to the door, and in the dark classroom with the projector illuminating half his face, his eyes almost seem to flash red. “What’s up, Tim?” he asks. His friendly grin is too big for his face. “I didn’t know you wanted to join the Just Science League!”
[OR: Danny’s a science teacher at Tim’s school. Gotham’s a pretty wild place, even for someone who grew up a superhero in a ghost-infested town, so he takes it upon himself to start a club teaching kids how to manage themselves in the event of a crisis. These Gothamites are pretty hardy, but a little extra training never hurt anybody! And he suspects one of his students might be a teen vigilante, like he’d been, back in the day. As a senior super, it's Danny’s duty look out for him! Surely, this is the subtlest and most appropriate way to give the kid pointers.]
[Tim immediately assumes supervillain.]
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charlietheepicwriter7 · 2 months
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The Joker was apprehended, sitting on the ground as Batman guarded him, but the kid--"Bruce Wayne's newest ward, how tragic! Hehehe!"--was nowhere to be found. Nightwing and Red Hood desperate searched the warehouse until a shuffling noise grabbed their attention.
A kid, black haired just like the kid in the Joker's broadcast, crawling out of a pile of boxes. "Is it over?" the boy asked quietly.
Nightwing guided him to the only exit, unfortunately walking past the boy's own kidnapper. "Yeah, kid. It's over. Come on-"
Like a shot, the boy rushed the Joker and kicked him right in the balls.
The Joker wheezed like a dying squeaky toy. Red Hood froze. Nightwing immediately snatched the boy up by the armpits, but all that did was give the boy the height to attack again, punting Joker in the jaw. The clown went down and cracked his head on the floor. He did not get back up.
There was a moment of silence before Red Hood roared with laughter, his helmet distorting the sound.
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nerdpoe · 3 months
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Lucius Fox is in the drive thru for some coffee, and like. He's just. He's had a time, okay?
He's stuck on some equations in regard to the amount of torsion a joint would go through if it's half in his dimension and half in another, and it's driving him up a wall.
He's been up for like forty-eight hours, he's tired, he's thirsty, he just wants a coffee, and also how to solve this dilemma.
He doesn't expect the barista in the drive-thru he's ranting about the engineering issues to actually provide decent feedback, and give him a few alternatives.
So he rushes to the pick-up window, not even caring to order, to look at this godsend of a barista.
It's a scrawny kid with black hair and blue eyes, looking startled. Boy can't be more than eighteen.
He asks what college the kid is going to, or plans to go to.
To his absolute horror, the kid-Danny, according to the nametag-says he can't afford college. That he'd had a stint in highschool where he just hadn't been able to focus, and his parents had spent every penny they had on their own inventions.
So that was why he was a barista; because if he worked there for four years, they would offer tuition assistance.
Which.
No. No no no no no.
Lucius pulls around to march into the store, Bruce Motherfucking Wayne already blearily on his phone.
He is getting this kid, and any friend of his, into college.
If Bruce won't foot the bill, he will.
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ghostbsuter · 6 months
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"Hey constantine, who's that?" Someone asks and Connie looks down at Danny, blue eyes staring back at him.
"My coworker."
"He's my dad."
"What?"
"What."
Who knew John Constantine would gain a ward, one being such a little mischievous bastard with bright eyes and good heart.
He certainly didn't.
Nor did he expect the stabby Robin to get into a heated argument with his ward, gesturing to his form next to Batman and spit venom.
"But‐ Damian! Look at him! I can fix him!" Danny argues back and Robin, so done with this, rips his mask off and—
Oh.
They have the same face.
Connie looks at Batman, nervous what the reveal will change.
("I don't care if you can 'fix' him, danyal! Return to Father, to me!")
Batman stares back.
("Connie is dad shaped! I chose him myself, damian! Leave me and my choice alone!")
The day will only get longer, it seems.
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r3ynah · 1 month
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Family of Distinguished People.
So like what if, the Fenton family is just a family full of heroes, villains, and vigilantes. like.. just imagine a long line of people that had or has contributed to the world somehow. Like the Fenton parents as Supervillains, Jazz as a Vigilante, Danny as Hero. Dani just decides to travel not too interested, but does help with her family if needed, Dan does the same thing.
BUT WHAT IF joker is actually a close relative of the Fenton Family (ex. Uncle, Cousin,Family Friend) and like he's just there all happy with his (found)family during family reunions, birthdays and shit.
And the batfam are just like so confused and stressed to why the joker goes missing once a month.
While Joker is literally having a game of Monopoly with the elementary kids at amity park (the kids couldn't bother, they've saw scarier things they handled scarier things) cue Joker giving the kids a hundred dollars because he lost.
This is just one of my what if prompts, that i got locked up in a vault. Might delete this later who knows.
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petite-phthora · 2 months
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Dp x Dc prompt #4
After discovering weird energy readings coming from the Pit located underneath Gotham, Batman decides to check it out.
Arriving at the scene with Robin, the first thing they notice is not any escaped Arkham rogue or Assassin from the League like they had been expecting.
No, instead, next to the pit sits a random exhausted-looking guy. Next to him are studying materials which he seems to be working on, and he’s also holding a straw that’s dipped straight into the Pit, occasionally taking a sip.
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hypewinter · 3 days
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During a press conference for the newest Justice League member, Phantom, a reporter asks him "Do you have anything to say to all the children who aspire to be like you?"
Phantom looked at the reporter puzzled before saying, "Children wanna be like me? Why? I'm a bad influence."
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shanastoryteller · 2 days
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ROSES ARE RED, AND THIS IS BEDONKS
CAN I PRETTY PLEASE HAVE SOME PERCY AND TONKS 🌹💖
“What’s going on with Percy?”
Kingsley looks ups from his paperwork to find Amelia looming over him. Not exactly a common occurrence, since he’s well over a foot taller than her. “Brooks?”
“Merlin, don’t speak to me about Percy Brooks,” she says, pulling a face. She’s the one who brought him up! “Weasley.”
He blinks several times, rolling through Arthur’s children until he lands on the appropriate redhead. A bit uptight, considering his parentage, but Molly can fret with the best of them up until she gets fed up and settles matters with her wand. “I could get Tonks in here, if you want.”
“Do they know each other?” she asks in interest. “They were in different houses, and a couple years apart.”
How does she know that? He knew that, but it was against his will. “Tonks is dating him. Or trying? I’m not totally clear on the specifics despite her best efforts.”
He hadn’t anticipated how much work it would take for him to dodge a trainee determined to complain to him about her love life. It speaks well of her future in the field, at least. Or poorly of his own abilities, but he’s fairly confident in those, so he’s comfortable giving her the credit here.
“Great, a harassment case waiting to happen for our department,” she says dryly.
He rolls his eyes. “The only person he’s complaining about it to is Tonks. Who takes it as encouragement. Which, considering the cause and effect, it very well might be.”
“That’s what I’m talking about,” Amelia says. “What’s what this kid?”
Kingsley is lost again. “Can you get a little more specific?”
“Crouch’s department has become efficient, and dare I saw, effective over the last couple months. It’s certainly got nothing to do to with Crouch, since he’s been useless for nearly a decade. The only thing that’s changed is Percy. Who attends every meeting, claiming Crouch sent him to take notes, and then memos and policy get signed and sent out of Crouch’s office when I know for a fact Crouch is too busy harassing me to do his damn job.”
He tries to avoid the obvious answer because it’s the most ridiculous. “You think it’s him?”
“Who else?” she returns.
Well. “Do you… want me to arrest him?”
“What good would that do?” she demands. “The department is operating smoothly for once. I want to know what his deal is. Is he loyal to Crouch? Plotting against us? Just really passionate about bottom thickness?”
Not according to Tonks.
Uhg.
If he was alone, he’d bang his head on his desk until he’s unable to remember what Tonks’s voice sounded like and then maybe he’d know peace.
“Everyone’s got to start somewhere,” he says. “You’re noticing. Maybe that’s what he’s after.”
“I’m noticing because I notice everything. He’s taking significant steps to ensure people don’t notice. How’s he supposed to get promoted that way? Or transferred?” She shakes her head. “He’s doing it for a reason. Do me a favor and find out.”
Why can’t she ask him something simple, like hiding a body or burying evidence?
Now he has to spend his lunch break listening to Tonks talk about her not-boyfriend.
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Halloween prompts year 2 day 10
Danny groaned, blearily raising his head from the nest of blankets and pillows he had made in his apartment. He had smelled something strange.
Something strong enough to wake him from his sleep. Danny got up and stumbled to the front door, cursing his luck for getting a fever so soon into his interdimentional road trip.
Peering out of his open doorway he saw a little kid shivering in the cold, badly hidden behind two trash cans in the mouth of an alley. Danny didn't think twice. In fact he didn't think at all. It wasn't uncommon for an Omega to smell a child who didn't have the scent of another Omega on them and immediately claim that child as thier own, and seeing as his home dimension had exclusively Omegas...let's just say there's a lot of drama in family court and a lot of laws pertaining to this.
So of course the next thing Danny knows is that the kid was bundled up inside his very soft and comfy makeshift nest before Danny passed out.
For the next week Danny had this mysterious fever and he acted like a parent on autopilot, barely conscious as he instinctually cared for the little boy. He made them food and cut them up into tiny bits to feed his baby and if it was handfoods like pizza rolls or sandwich triangles, Danny would hold him in his arms and rock his back and forth, humming softly as his child ate.
Eventually his heat ended (note that omegas from his world don't have heats, they don't have alphas and so they don't even know what a heat is) and Danny was very surprised he has a child in his house. But he and the baby are very emotionally attached to one another. When Danny asked what the little kids name was (and man this kid was little) the kid stared at him in the way little kids do before muttering the world "Clone" followed by what sounded suspiciously like a serial number.
Danny decided, nah. His kid now. Sucks to be the bioparent cause Danny doesn't wanna share.
Somewhere in the city, the bats were freaking out. They had raided a lab and discovered not only had one of them been cloned, but the clone had escaped and no one knew where it was. Cue panicked parental frenzy.
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maomango-doodle · 4 months
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Tumblr media
"And I hope you die, I hope we both die."
(Lyrics : No children by The Mountain Goats)
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ikarakie · 1 year
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it's corroded coffin's first, proper world tour. they've skyrocketed into the public eye within the last few years, and they couldn't be fucking happier. it's all so amazing, so surreal.
they get to indiana. the crowd is electric, the venue bigger than any of the bars or crappy hole in the walls they used to perform in. eddie steps to the mic nearing the end of the second half of the show.
"indiana, it'a a fuckin' pleasure to be with you tonight." he says, a bit lowly, into the mic. screams fill his ears, thousands of smiling faces. but he's after one in particular. "i'm gonna need your help for a minute here, guys." he motions for the lights to go up, grabs the mic from the stand and crouches close to the barricade, squinting.
"i've got someone out there, mixed up in the crowd." he can't help the fond smile as he says it. "and i wanna find him before this next one. take a quick look around ya, if you're next to a guy about my age, fluffy brown hair, big brown eyes, probably in a preppy little outfit and glasses, give me a scream."
everyone's looking this way and that, eyeing the people around them. thirty seconds later there's screaming to his left. eddie crosses the stage, peers into the crowd. the big screens capture the moment he spots him; his eyes go bright, there's a crooked lovesick grin on his lips.
"hey, sweetheart." he coos into the mic. the crowd bursts into cheers and whoops and chatter. the camera cuts to someone at the barricade, having been pushed forward by others. he's exactly as eddie had described, leaning against the railing and smiling up at the star. for a few seconds they gaze at each other like they're the only ones in the room.
then eddie blows him a kiss, which he catches. eddie laughs a little, brings himself back to center stage. picks his guitar back up and settles mic back into the stand.
"this next one," he begins, adjusting the stand slightly. "is something you haven't heard before." there's unmistakable moisture gathering in his eyes. "i wrote the lyrics entirely myself. it's- it's for those people in my life who i couldn't be here without." his eyes stray back to where steve is, watching him with a watery smile. "those who were there, in '86. who pulled me back up from hell. the bravest fuckin' souls i ever met in my life." he takes a deep breath. hears the rest of the fuckers scream from the VIP area, dustin's voice unmistakable.
"this, my dearest indy, is 'knights of the upside down.'"
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ghost-bxrd · 1 month
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Prompt:
Dick is thrown back in time to a couple days before his past self is scheduled to leave on the mission to space, the one during which Jason will die.
Past Dick gets a very frantic and concerning phone call from someone claiming to be his future self, begging him not to go on the mission. And for some reason he‘s supposed to keep an eye on Jason? What the hell is that about? They’re not that close…
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dumplingsjinson · 8 days
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List of “presenting: an overthinker” prompts
“Do they actually like me?” 
Mind racing with a million thoughts about the possibility of things, and being scared they’ll actually happen, even if they are irrational as all hell. 
“So I… You know what, don’t worry about it.” “Are you sure? Because when you say that, that makes me worry more.” 
“I don’t know if I can do this.” 
“Do I even deserve any of this?” 
The constant need for reassurance, and even that isn’t enough to keep your thoughts at bay. 
Feeling the need to apologise for something you didn’t even do wrong.
Sitting in your anxiety and muddled up thoughts for hours when you don’t get a reply from that one person in a timely manner; wondering if you’ve fucked it all up with whatever you’ve said.
Reaching out to them multiple times and making your spiral worse when they stay silent on you.
It gets to the point where your overthinking feeds into your already growing anxiety, overwhelming you and eventually drawing tears out of you.
It gets so bad to the point where your chest feels tight, you feel numb and the world around you eventually becomes a monotonous blur because you’re too focused on this one thing you’re overthinking about. 
The rational subconscious of yours tries to drag you back to the side where things are okay and it’s really not that bad because it really isn’t that bad, but that small, irrational part of you takes ahold of you and continues to anchor you down.
You try to redirect your thoughts and it works for a bit… But then you eventually come back around to those thoughts. Sometimes, redirecting doesn’t work so you end up drowning in your own head.
Wondering if you’re being annoying by reaching out, even though you’ve been holding yourself back quite a lot, knowing you’re not being too much at all. Far from it, in fact. 
There are days when you so desperately wish you can escape your brain. Crawl out of your own skin, be someone who isn’t… Whatever the fuck this is. 
“I don’t want to be too much. I don’t want to need constant reassurance. It’s as suffocating for you as it is for me, maybe even more so, because I’m living in my own head, constantly. And it’s not something I can fucking just get out of overnight.” 
“I need to end this for my own good.” 
Drowning in your own never-ending spiral of negative thoughts. 
“Do you even care? Do you still love me? Does any of this even…”
“I’m sorry that/I hate that my brain is wired this way.” 
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