“are U Okay?” No I Need More Money

Guys, I'm re-reading the outline for one of my books (my favourite book, that I've been writing for YEARS), and this is so funny to me.

'She smiles a strained smile, and goes to bed. The next morning she makes a plan where she decides to pretend to have a Talent, in plants. This is not a good plan.'

I LOVE IT, I LOVE MY PAST SELF

DP x DC Prompt

Danny was sent to the DC universe to save him from the GIW and the Fenton's by Clockwork

Doesn't know what to do here, but as an Experienced Vigilante:tm: he takes note of all the INexperienced vigilante's causing more danger than they realize.

Danny takes it upon himself to act as a low level villain so he can secretly train these vigilante's to be stronger. One day, a Bigger Villain decides to Fuck Around and Find Out.

All his "enemies" realize Danny could've folded them anytime he wanted when he effortlessly defeats the Big Bad.

Little Katsuki being the worst and I mean the WORST at trying to express his feelings for little Izuku and as a result, he ends up making the poor green kid cry and run away from him every single time.

Then Masaru and Mitsuki pick him up from school and the blond boy is tearing up, but at the same time frustrated and angry until his father asks what's going on.

"Deku doesn't like me!"

After asking more about the other kid, the Bakugos realize it's that sweet boy with green curls whose mother is one of the kindest people on earth.

"You mean little Izuku!" Masaru says with a smile. "Don't worry, I'm sure you'll make friends with him in no time!"

"I WANT HIM TO BE MY BOYFRIEND!"

"That's my brat!" Mitsuki starts laughing, prompting Katsuki to get angrier until Masaru intervenes.

"Maybe you should tell him how you feel."

"I DID! HE DOESN'T LIKE MY LETTERS!"

"Let me see those, brat."

Katsuki gives them the pieces of paper that have the most ominous, weird messages that a little kid can come up with. All of them written in red ink.

I'll take your heart, Deku.

I'll make your heart explode, nerd.

You won't be able to escape from me.

Masaru remains silent for a couple of minutes while Mitsuki ends up on the floor dying of laughter.

Little explosions are coming from Katsuki's hands and he's about to start yelling, but Masaru stops them both in time.

He then promises to help his son with the letters.

After reading a cute letter, Izuku agrees to be Katsuki's boyfriend, although none of them know exactly what that means, but they hold hands all the time now.

Katsuki even thanks his father after that and Masaru almost cries out of happiness.

Maddie but like Olivia octavius from spiderverse

OK I have this idea.

Danny Phantom and justice league crossover except the JL are convinced that Danny and Phantom are two different people. They assume it’s like a Dr Fate or an Exhantress scenario except more consensual and stuff. And because Danny offhandly said that one time he’s separated into Danny and Phantom but fused back at the end of the day, they further believe it.

They also met both “identities.” Fenton was a sort of shy more awkward teen but seemed more resourceful and technologically-based. He slouches and he’s your every day average teen aside from all the ghost bull. Now Phantom? He was braver, he was sassier, he always leapt first into danger. Our of the two, Phantom is the more immature one.

Of course, this is because of years of identity hiding that Danny has a difference stance. And as Fenton, he had to be more resourceful since it typically meant he didn’t have time to transform to Phantom. There’s more strategy. He’s reckless as Phantom since he knows he can take it. Often enough, he doesn’t need to rely on tech and is in high-hostility events that he needs to save people.

This misunderstanding carries on until someone in the League has a question on ghosts and wants Fenton’s input.

“Hey, can you tell me about ectoplasmic weapon cores?” Barry asks. The latest villain has this glowing weapon that Barry swears smells like ectoplasm. (Don’t ask why he knows the smell. They don’t talk about that incident.)

Phantom is startled out of his daydream. “Oh-? Uh- Ectoplasm weapons? Yeah I can tell you-“

Misunderstanding the confusion as stupidity, Barry goes, “Is it okay if I have this, um, conversation wi- Could you transform to Fenton?”

Phantom furrows his brow. “Why? I can answer whatever question you have like this.”

Barry doesn’t know how to explain that he doesn’t trust Phantom’s expertise compared to Fenton’s. A fairly wild thing to think when Phantom was the ghost between the two.

“It would… help me more if you were Fenton?” Barry tried to articulate.

Phantom, far too bewildered and damn exhausted, gives up and transforms. Some energy returns as he no longer needs to maintain ghost form. Barry visibly relaxes and rattles on what ectoplasm can do within a weapon.

It’s when Danny’s staring up to his bedroom ceiling, hours after the event, that he thinks up why it happened.

“Oh Ancients, Flash hates ghosts.”

———

Further after misunderstandings are cleared ->

Danny nudges Superman. “Can you believe that Flash thought I was two separate beings? Like Fenton and Phantom weren’t the same person?”

Superman blinks. “You’re not?”

“I-? How did you not know!?”

“You don’t have a heartbeat as Phantom!”

“I can stop it when I’m human too!”

“I thought it was a ghostly side effect!”

-

Danny flops on the couch of the JL lounge room. “Both Supes and Flash thought I was some Etrigan type with two people in the same body. I can’t believe their that stupid.”

Green Lantern, there for the complimentary fruit gummies, looks at Danny confused. “Wait- what do you mean?”

Danny death stares Lantern. “Don’t tell me- Do you think Fenton and Phantom are different people?”

GL, unwilling to admit that he was wrong, lies, “Of course not. They’re the same person in the same body. Everyone knows that.”

Danny continues staring until GL breaks (damn those creepy eyes).

“It’s your fault for tricking us,” GL accuses, still unwilling to back down.

Danny just groans that these were the people who were earth’s protectors.

-

“Aquaman, who do you like better: Fenton or Phantom?”

“Why, while I enjoy Fenton’s company, you are our main companion in battle and-“

“Stop there, you don’t know that we’re the same person.” Danny was too frustrated to even ask. “Fenton is just my secret identity.”

Aquaman blinks the same way Superman did. “A ghost doesn’t need a secret identity.”

Danny thinks he’ll scream. “Neither does Superman, yet he does.”

“But you don’t need one. I- Could I have this conversation with Fenton? He can explain this better.”

The argument continued the same way with the others.

-

“Hey Bats, you know-?”

“Yes. Hostage situation in Coast City. Be there within the next ten minutes.”

-

Wonder Woman pets his head and says, “You always have a warrior’s spirit, young one. That about you never changes.”

Danny tears up a little.

New York City ballet production of Midsummer Nights Dream

now that i’m free to yap about 1-800-GOTHAM without my a/ns being ridiculously long, deep dive into why i wrote things the way i did! if people want, i can go even more in depth, but for now, a quick paragraph for each reblog.

first, scarecrow. i did my hardest to make him real scary and intimidating but almost in a clinical fashion, mainly since he's a psychologist. i know he typically targets specific fears someone might have, but let's just say he was going for a mass fear control situation. everyone is scared of suffocating, anyways.

i also had him purposely not use his fear toxin because i think it's not the most important part of his character. he's a psychologist, he's a genius of fear, and he's very intelligent. scarecrow is also my favourite rogue and it sucks to see him always sidelined, his fear gas being the only thing used. he's SCARY. i hope i did him justice.

I keep reading so many Peter Parker in Gotham AU fanfics, and I got the worst idea ever

As most start outs go in these fics, Post SM:NWH Peter ends up in DC universe Gotham

Only difference? The Joker in this DC universe is actually an alternate version of Norman Osborn.

I know this sounds so dumb but like,,, imagine it. May died trying to help Norman, and Peter nearly threw away his morals to avenge her death by killing Norman himself. Now he's faced with another version of Osborn who is so much more fucked up, who's been through so much shit, and all Peter can see past that shitty clown make-up is the poor man who needed help who his aunt died trying to help. The man who went to FEAST knowing Peter could help. The man who one second was scared of everything including himself, and the next was laughing uncontrollably, even through the punches Peter pounded into him.

What if Peter decides Mays death won't be in vain. That even if this isn't the same Norman Osborn, he's going to help him and he won't die trying like May. He's going to avenge her death the right way.

Then cue the Bats freaking the FUCK out because???? As much as they beat the shit out of him, Bruce had spent years trying to help him, then this homeless and totally adoptable kid shows up out of nowhere and is breaking past the Joker and to the real man trapped behind it all?????

guys i LOVEEEE PJO, but. if I see ONE MORE FIC of Annabeth & Percy calling each other “Wise Girl” & “Seaweed Brain” throughout the entire fic i’m going to commit myself to a mental hospital. PLEASE. THEY HAVE NAMES. USE THEM.

THIS IS A LIFE-OR-DEATH SITUATION! THEY DONT NEED CUTESY NICKNAMES ON THE FIELD.

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!"