(Art Is By The Amazing @dahtwitchi. This Is A Freeform Collab With No Real Goal)

honestly the longer I’m in fandom the more I think the really Important question isn’t “what do you ship” but “how  do you ship” 

there are people who will enjoy anything as long as it’s technically about their ship, people who only want to see their faves Broken and Bleeding, people who only want fluff, people who only want to explore the canon interactions more, people who only want to throw canon interactions out the window and build something Brand New , people who *only* crack ship, people who want the tropeiest fic and people who only want to see the tropes burn 

and any one person can be every one of those and more about different ships 

  it’s all Very Complicated 

During the AIDS crisis it was not uncommon for queer couples to adult adopt each other so they could make medical decisions or be allowed to legally inherit.

If gay marriage gets repealed, this whole country is going to become Alabama.

Be gay, do crime, get those benefits.

(Art is by the amazing @dahtwitchi. This is a freeform collab with no real goal)

SugarTobi laughs under his breath as he immediately obeys the order when his elder self grabs his wrist, stilling his hand. The eldest Madara calls him a good boy and he almost falls then and there from sheer habit. He swallows thickly, tries to turn his attention back to his other selves, "Right..." He moves his hand from gvTobi's cock and instead begins to gently rub over the man's muscled stomach.

The youngest Tobi is shaking, whimpering slightly as he obediently swallows the fingers and...oh-! He gags slightly, but this is the farthest he's ever..."Good boy," SugarTobi whispers to him, and the youngest opens his eyes slightly, stares at gvTobi with complete devotion. (His head is so, so quiet like this. He only has to obey and nothing more, he doesn't have to listen to the ever present buzzing of his own thoughts)

gvTobi is doing marvelous with the youngest of them. SugarMadara purrs at his older self's hands in his hair, and there is a sharp sense of pride as he sees his Tobi struggling to avoid sinking into his own state of bliss. "Such a good boy; he's trying so hard. Yours is a natural at this. Has he ever put you under?" Personally, SugarMadara has only gotten an approximation of what the complete sense of trust feels like. He and Tobi had tried a few times, but nothing had ever clicked for him.

"He truly could be a remarkable dom." SugarMadara murmurs to himself, very much hoping both Tobis from his world will be inspired by the display of easy confidence. He shivers at the pleasant sensation as the oldest Madara tugs his hair again, asking about his own abilities. SugarMadara grins at the challenge. "I think you will find that we are both exceptionally talented in the oral arts. Are you asking for a demonstration?"

He seems to pay no attention to the fact that his younger self is dipping lower into his trousers, his smooth leather gloves teasing their way to his erection. The younger Madara might have a bit more issue with deepthroating fingers, but he would learn quickly.

Speaking of learning, SugarMadara turns his attention back to the Tobis as the youngest there makes a garbled noise of bliss. He watches carefully, ready to step in if needed.

The fingers press in again, going further. The youngest Tobi grips the other's wrist with both hands as if it's the only thing keeping him standing as he takes it all and then...He isn't sure what it was, but something tips him over the edge. He starts choking messily, forgetting to breath properly as his orgasm hits him, tears reflexively forming as he gags.

Sometimes I really love being an old fuck and remembering when Tim Drake was just a clever kid who was part of a loving middle class family living in a brownstone in Gotham City. The parents were gone often, but that's why he was in boarding schools. He only followed Batman around to take pictures when the guy was crashing out and Tim needed proof to bring to Dick.

The fanon zeitgeist has mushed him around a bit and now he's seen as an abused little stalker who lived alone in a mansion because his parents are so neglectful.

And you know what? You do you, boos. Your writing and art and everything mean something to you. You go ahead and use this little guy to work through whatever it is that you're struggling with in life. Make him hurt so the hugs feel better. Combine your special interests and make that au that only three people will understand.

It'd be wild to do a study on writers and their Internet search histories. Not secretly or anything, like, they'd sign up for it, clearly.

Writing fic is wild bc this is an incomplete list of things I've had to look up for fics in the last couple weeks:

Best universities for psychology degree

McCarthyism

WikiHow wedding planning

Sunrise times in New Jersey

When were long-distance phone calls invented?

Whiteboards

1950s pajamas

Fucking LOVING this energy, yes, thank you, this is a great take on a classic trope!

Jason would be so frustrated. He's kept his secret identity, but at what cost? I can only imagine the ribbing he'd get from his team once they find out, let alone the other Bats.

Now I'm thinking of the next inevitable invasion where all hands are on deck and half the League is wondering why Jason is still dressed as the Red Hood and the other half is wondering if the Bats don't know that that's Jason.

My favorite fic trope is the "JLA meets the batfam because they arrested Jason as he was undercover and now the family is coming to pick him up" one, but imagine. Jason gets arrested by the JLA while undercover, and is brought in for questioning, but before any of the batfam members even notice that he is gone, Green Arrow walks into the interrogation room.

"It's okay, Superman, you can let him go."

"Green Arrow, Red Hood is a wanted criminal on the JLA:s most wanted list-"

"What? No, no he isn't, that's just Jason."

Superman stares. Jason stares too.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me, that's just Jason, my son-in-law. You can let him go."

"...your son-in-law is the Red Hood?"

"No? Jason's not the Red Hood, he is just dressed as the Red Hood. He's in a mercenary group with my son, he does that. It's pretty easy to dress up as someone who doesn't show their face for a job. Jason's no Red Hood, let me tell you that. Or I guess I don't have to tell you that, since you've already arrested him."

Jason's not really sure if he wants to murder Oliver or not.

Superman stares. Oliver raises a brow.

"So? Can I have him back, please, we have a family dinner today and we're already a bit late."

"...sure."

Jason gets let out. Oliver throws an arm around his shoulders as they walk towards the zeta tubes.

"I hate you, Queen."

"You're welcome, kiddo."

JLA does leave Jason alone after that, though, because every time they see him outside of Gotham, they just go "oh that's just Jason dressed up as the Red Hood again, move on" and Jason doesn't know if he should be annoyed or not. It does make his work easier, but at the same time, it somehow feels like an insult.

I love this, I love this, I love this, I-!

This is my favorite kinda thing. Taking accepted canon and asking yourself, "but what if Unreliable Narrator? What if fronting?" Taking fanon interpretations and tilting them sideways a bit, looking at character traits from a different perspective.

And crossovers are just so much damn fun to do this with! The rules of engagement change around. The timeline becomes more of a suggestion. There is resting potential energy in every interaction!

The idea that John Constantine uses his rumpled, chain-smoking, tired lech of a person as a work uniform? Genius. Brilliant. Machiavellian.

Batman's disguise is being stupid. Superman's disguise is glasses. John Constantine's disguise is business casual fatherhood.

I am so excited for more of this! I've not seen this be explored before!

I love love all your writings!!

I like your depictions of John Constantine.

I'd like to see you write the sad trenchcoat persona as just that a persona in the same fashion as how Brucie Wayne is a persona.

Maybe he's been the de-aged Danny/Dannies father for years and is an actual functional adult. The sad trenchcoat is just used to keep people from calling on him to frequently because he's a dad and has dad-like things to do.

He could help tim with the time stream thing, like 'oh, yeah that does look like Bruce. Alright kid pack a bag we're going in the time stream I know a guy. No Nightwing I'm not joking this looks like solid proof'.

Maybe Bruce has a oh shit he's actually competent and could kill me, that's hot moment. (Kids I have found your other father, help me get him home)

"I would love to offer more of my time to waste on monitor duty, but I have a previous engagement. A particular fit lady needs help getting her dress on the floor. The cloth always gets stuck on her horns. " John leers, wagging his eyebrows at the grimaces his words cause.

He takes a puff of his cigarette, inhaling the smoke like a drowning man. He never smokes at home, not with Danny's sensitive lungs or Dani's general disgust at smoking, so he only had the chance when called away on missions.

Plus, Danny was trying out for ballet soon, and he wasn't going to ruin his son's chances of being a star because of his own poor habits.

It helped that the rest of the heroes believed he was consistently pumping nicotine into his system. Rather irresponsible for the hero to publicly commit frowned-upon activities - at least in the States. Back home, no one cared that much.

It didn't matter that the Justice League was a global team; the main hard hitters and founders were nearly all American, and they tended to uphold those social expectations, either subconsciously or not.

One more reason why they shouldn't bother John, he can't have him smoking at a big awards ceremony or seen going through an entire pack of cigarettes mid-fight. Oh no.

John Constantine was one of the best magic users of this universe, but he was a last resort. There were plenty of other magic users like Zatanna, Dr. Fate, Zatara, or even Etrigan that came to mind first.

John was likely too busy drowning his misery in bottles or the arms of any willing partner. That's what they all thought.

Or more importantly than what he wanted them to think.

"Well, this has been a time." He announces, snapping his fingers to open a portal to his house. "But I have to run. My lady needs a knowledgeable hand to help her-"

"Enough," Batman growls. Though he has complete control over his emotions, John can tell he's irritated by the meaningless detail. He smirks as the hero waves a hand, "Just go."

He offers the rest of the meeting room a cheeky two-finger salute as he struts out, letting the portal close behind him so his trench coat flares dramatically. It's a nice view, he's sure, but it's also unnecessarily showy, and he is sure at least three pairs of eyes are rolling at his exit.

A chuckle escapes his mouth, straightening from his slouch to properly stand straight and bend it far enough to pop. Goodness, his act always leaves him with a sore upper back; maybe he shouldn't hunch over so much, even if he was playing the part of a no-good punk.

John only had a few seconds to shiver at his own thoughts- he was a punk. A real one! He was in a band!- before he heard the tell-tell sign of a rapidly approaching double set of footsteps echo down the hall. He scrambles to fling his lit cigarette into a water portal, chucking the pack for double security, while summoning a random suitcase from thin air.

All that's left is his rather eye-catching coat, a little too worn down and old to work well with his well-put-together outfit underneath. Without it, John has a clean, pressed white shirt, a respectful tie, and a pair of slacks that make more than one head turn as he walks.

All in all, he looks like the office businessman his worthless father always wanted to be.

John throws off his coat over a chair at the same time the door is thrown open with a pair of excited yells. "Welcome home, Dad!"

A grin stretched across his face before he could think about it, feeling his heart swell at the sight of them, as he knelt down, arms open wide. Two tiny bodies slam into him without a second of hesitation, nearly knocking John backwards.

He lets out a soft grunt as Dani's arms attempt to wrap around his left arm and right shoulder. She clashes against Danny, who's trying to bury himself into John's right side, little face squished against one of John's pecs, like a bunny burrowing into the snow.

"Hello, my little lambs!" He gushes, squeezing the kids close. "How was your day with the House of Mystery? Did you two behave?"

"They were angels," Black Orchid confirms, gliding into the room at a much slower pace. They had their regular, impassive expression on their faces, but John could tell that Orchid was happy with the kids by the way they gently tapped the tops of the children's black hair.

"Dad! Dad! Now that you're home, can we please go get my new ballet shows?" Danny begs, bouncing on his toes.

For a moment, John doesn't see his son, but rather his own blue eyes staring up at his father, when he was also five, begging to join Lily, the next-door neighbor, in beginners' ballet class.

His father had beaten him nearly to death for wanting such a girly interest. It was the last time they spoke about it. It was also the last time John ever bothered asking to start new hobbies.

"Dad! Dad! Can I do Karate?" Dani asks then, snapping John from his memories better left buried, as she presses her check against her brother's in an attempt to get John's attention. "I want to break a board with my fist!"

He gives the children another squeeze, laughing at the squeals he gets. "Of course you can do karate, little lamb. We're going to get your brother his shoes, and then I'll find a gym that offers the classes at the same time."

"I already provided that service." Orchid cuts in, holding a flyer for Flying Graysons' gym, founded and run by the eldest Wayne in Gotham. "I took the liberty of signing Danny up for a class with Casnadra Wayne, and Dani will join Duke Thomas's class. It starts in a week."

"Plenty of time to go get them everything they need and a new book series for our bedtime stories," John announces, loosening his arms so his children can cheer and bounce up and down in excitement. His knee is starting to cramp up, but he ignores it so he can hold his kids.

It's moments like these, so small and mundane, that John is grateful he thought of his persona. When he first learned how to use the magic he was gifted, he always made himself available for any crisis.

This was before the Justice League days, so anyone who sought him out was familiar with the occult world. He adored helping, and he built an incredible amount of skill and knowledge in magic, but soon John was facing disaster after disaster, dragging his exhausted body from one place to another.

Those who came searching for him never cared. They wanted John to jump at the drop of a hat. He tried for years to always be ready, always be willing, but years of isolation and desperate battles tried him to the core.

Then he took in Danny and Dani, finding the pair of babies in a basket at the feet of the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep. He had gone to investigate the legends of the famous King Pariah Dark, only to find what he assumed were originally sacrifices, well and truly alive.

Their names were attached to their feet with a letter written by a Jazz Fenton begging the two to grow and live well. She had died to save them. In her honor, John kept their names.

Daniel "Danny" Fenton and Danielle "Dani" Fenton. He often wondered what Jazz had been to the kids, with their identical last names. It is a question he will never get the answer to.

They could have been no older than five months, but when they opened their eyes and reached up for him, John realized he no longer wanted to be the go-to man of magic.

He wanted to be their father.

To discourage people from calling him away from his children, John created his persona of a man barely honorable enough to join a team. Over the five years of his raising his kids, his reputation plummeted until only Batman called to him unless absolutely necessary.

It was a breath of fresh air. John had fought for too long and too hard. He was retired now, just like his band days, the days when John would speed off to save the world were behind him. He only stepped in if a friend asked for a favor.

He had other priorities now.

The best part? The Justice League would never know that.

"Dad!" Dani screamed into his ear, making him grimace.

"Inside voice, darling."

"Sorry." She twirls her fingers, a nervous habit she picked up from John, before brightening up "I'm just super excited. Orichad said Mr. Bruce Wayne will be at the gym! Do you think he'll sign my Wayne Space shirt?"

Ah, yes, the man who was funding some space program or another. He only knew about this because his twins adored anything to do with space travel, as if though he couldn't just teleport them to a different planet.

"I'm sure he will, darling."

hot take: 

Gloin is the sexiest dwarf by dwarf standards.

Kili is the sexiest dwarf by elf standards.

Thorin is the sexiest dwarf by human standards

& Bombur is the sexiest dwarf by hobbit standards

Part of this is having fun looking up people from media you've never touched before! Like, shit, I do not expect a lot of people to know of one of these motherfuckers.

Also, squinting at the mutuals list and trying to figure out who'd be interested in a chain letter meme who isn't already on it. Like, what's the friendship level vs interest level?

Ayo @asknotbug, @spicy-apple-pie, @mentallyunawareofpapaya, @pearlescentpearl

Not me having some kinda type... Who shall I tag? I think I wanna tagggggg... @mybugsmybugsmybugs @mexicangela @lunar-years @biscuitboxpink but no pressure!! I just thought it would be fun!

My immediate reaction was "No, leave that old man alone; he is an angry gem who encourages children and has high standards for adults who claim to be professionals" and then I realized how Batman coded that sentence was and needed to sit down.

And then I remembered that he also has an estranged brother who has attacked him, or threatened his family, I think, maybe? And now I'm vibing with the concept of Gordon Ramsay having a vigilante alter-ego in the DC world.

I've given enough angst lately. Have something amusing:

Chef Bernard Dowd on Hell's Kitchen.

Imagine it, please. Imagine Tim gripping with bloody hands to the shreds of his self-control, trying not to physically attack Chef Gordan Ramsey for yelling at Bernard for fucking up the risotto.