This is a place to post og work, fics, ideas, and snippets! Iâm a chronic multishipper and will always do my best to tag ships and fandoms.
I use Scrivener to write.
Iâm currently writing for:
OG Novels (SCP/New Weird style stories.)
DP x DC
I have/may also write for Marvel, Star Trek, and FFXV.
My Ao3 is PaperPuffin! You can find my finished work there!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Various fic(lets) not on Ao3.
See @clockwaysadmin for a full list of backburner wips. Due to the new post editor and having been shadow banned, I'm no longer tagging people but you can subscribe there.
And you can find my art on @clockwaysarts or my catch all main is @clockways.
No obligation at all, but if you enjoy my work, I am self-employed during the summer & I do have a ko-fi!
Gaaahhh recently Iâve been unmotivated to draw, but I find I have an easier time doing things when itâs for others or I have external motivators. Any sketch requests from any of your fics? Time for YOU to vote this time >;)
These are some of the fics of yours that Iâve read:
đ Damianâs pet pit demon
đ° another red
đ running in the family
đ museum heist
đ Danny in metropolis
đ disabled Danny
đcurls
đ Like Betta Fish Do
đŚShadow of a bat
(idk when Iâll finish this but id like to at least send you a sketch or something within a week or so)
I love reading all your stories. Iâm sorry to hear youâre not feeling well again :(
I hope you get some rest, feel better again soon, and that this helps a bitâşď¸
Oh oh, that's such a lovely offer!
I think right now... Damian's Pet Pit Demon or Danny in Metropolis.
masterpost please no editing, I know this has issues, I tried to read over most of it but I've had a migraine for days now and today learned I didn't get the jobs so--yeah not in the mood. But I hope you all enjoy this. I hammered it out in bits and spurts.
Danny doesnât rust Gotham on its word alone. He has no doubt that what Gotham feels is real, but Gotham wouldnât be the first parent to understand the situation with their children wrong. Wouldnât be the first parents to go to war only to destroy their own.
While Gotham does rile against Dannyâs insistence that he needs to check matters out himself, it still gives him permission to explore its streets. That permission is important. Danny could certainly hold his own, he was no mere ghost or specter, but the fight was unwanted. It iiis much easier to let Gotham open up a little tear in the fabrics of its reality and simply step through it.
He stumbles right into wall.
He clutches at his chest.
It hurts.
It all hurts.
In the caves with Dami, it doesnât hurt so much. The pain was still there, of course it was, it was something that he could never let go of, but in the caves it was muted by the rough stone and the pool of green. Here there is none of that. Here Danny is truly alive. Or as alive as he has ever been since theâŚ
Danny shakes his head. It feels like his brain is sloshing against the inside of his skull. Bones, they were overrated, really. At least he (or Gotham) had the forethought to make sure that Danny came out clothed. He smooths his hands over the lapels of the coat and the vest under it. Definitely Gothamâs doing. Danny didnât think he had ever worn anything so fancy in his life.
Well, half-life.
The alleyway that he steps out of may have been next to a theater, but by the boarded up windows and smell of piss, it has obviously seen better days. He stands under the unlit marquee, looking up at the graffiti and fallen letters. Thereâs something beautiful about the decay of it, as much as the space is steeped in tragedy.
Danny tucks his hands in his pockets and starts off. Where? He isnât sure, really. Danny trusts that Gotham will keep him moving in the right direction as long as he listens to it. And Gotham hums with information. Stepping onto its streets is like stepping into a bee hive. Danny follows the energy as it ebbs and flows, leads and warns. He trusts it.
Which is why itâs extra insulting for Danny to end up with a knife pointed at his throat and his hands raised.
âI told you, I really donât have anything on me,â Danny says calmly.
âBullshit! Who the fuck doesnât carry at least their phone anymore?â The knife waves with the words. âHand it the fuck over!â
âCursing wonât make something magically appear,â Danny says. He probably should get an identity again. What year was it?
âOr I say what I fucking want to and fucking gut you so I can loot your body!â
âThis body really isnât worth that much effort,â Danny says, with as much of a shrug as he can do with his hands raised.
âFuck yââ
Before the thug an even lunge, a mass of shadow drops between them and Danny. Fora moment, Danny is convinced that itâs Gotham, for all that Gotham is the one who led him there. It feels like Gotham, with the same deep love for the city and the same chasm where the little bird once was but⌠this one is alive.
Danny takes in the caped figure with no small amount of wounder. They feel like the honored dead, but they clearly live and breathe and ache. Their fist pulls back, ready to strike the cowering thug. Danny rests his hand on the arm. âI think making them piss themselves with fear is enough.â
Both the thug and whatever this creature is turn to incredulously look at Danny. He just offers a smile and a shrug. He plucks the knife delicately from the thugâs hand and flips it closed. âNow, maybe you should promise not to do this again since youâve gotten to keep your face intact.â
âY-yeah! S-s-shur! I, um, Iâm s-sorry mister Batman, sir! I just⌠things have been really tight and my brother is still sick from the last fear gasâyeah. I, um, will just be going!â The thug says, jutting a thumb behind themselves. When neither Danny nor âBatmanâ move, they turn tail and run.
After watching them disappear behind a corner, Danny turned and smiled at the looming specter. (He tucks the knife into his pocket.) âThank you, Batman, for your gallant rescue.â
âHn,â the Batman utters. He pauses a long time before saying, âYou shouldnât be out here this late.â
âAbsolutely not. I believe I will be heading right home,â Danny says. The Batman looks at Dannyâs hand, pale and slender against the dark, still on his arm. Danny holds up his hands and steps back. As the Batman aims some sort of gadget at the grungy architecture, Danny adds, âand I am sorry for your loss.â
Thereâs another long look before the Batman flees like the hounds of hell are on their heels, rather than just standing on a random street corner in Gotham. Danny watches until they vanish and then slip into the shadows himself.
He has a great deal to talk with Gotham about. He hadnât understood that this about a little specterling. That changed things. Complicated them. Made them clearer.
@amaralie, @crystalshard
Key, a room that holds the smell of smoke in the curtains, and the warmth of long evenings spent in good company.
Yellow, the smell of rosemary
cw for basic dirty talk and fade to black at the endt. It is Constantine, atfer all. (I am very, very migrained today. Please no editing or concrit, I know there are issues <3)
John wakes up in that room again. Itâs been enough times now that he doesnât panic about it. Hell, he even lets himself linger in the bed for awhile. The sheets are that over washed sort of starchy, but the pillow is soft enough. The curtains are still drawn. Light peaks around the edges of the heavy fabric enough though John knows that thereâs nothing but endless void behind them.
He had made the mistake of looking the first time that he had ended up in this place.
John throws the sheets off and sits up. His long limbs feel endless for a moment as he stretches before he snaps back into his aching, (mostly) mortal body. The smell of the room, of endless visitors and days, has him craving a cigarette. Sometimes heâs lucky enough that thereâs a pack on the bedside table. Today is one of them. He peels the seal open and taps out a fag from the pack. The first inhale makes him wistful; this brand went out of business twenty years ago.
He sits there long enough that he has to tap a solid bit of ash into the soot stained ashtray. He wants to stay longer. Schrodingerâs cat and all that.
Maybe he should just go look.
He grabs the pack and the room key from the bedside. The key has a battered plastic tag that feels right in his hand. He thinks the room is number twenty-one, but it hurts to look too long at it. The key itself is different with each glance.
The cigarette is just balanced between Johnâs lips, stuck there so that he can toss on the robe over the boxer briefs that he has on. He wears it mostly to have a pocket to stash things in. It also helps stave off the chill of the halls.
Every door looks exactly the sameâyellowed oak wood set into even more yellow wallpaper. Thereâs no decoration other than the hall sconces. The way the light pours out of them is fragmented and shifting. Every so often a door is cracked open, held tight by the chain. Thereâs something there behind those doors. Other ones too, sometimes, when John knows heâs being watched from behind a peephole. Johnâs careful to never look back.
He just smokes his cigarette, lighting the next off the old butt of the last, and keeps walking down the hall. Heâll get to where heâs going eventually, wherever that may be.
Thereâs one place heâs hoping for more than the other.
He just keeps walking.
Finally, suddenly, heâs come to a set of brass and glass doors. The thick fog of condensataion on the doors make it impossible to see through. It doesnât matter, John knows what will greet him as he pushed both doors open. A smile plays on his lips and in his voice. âHello, handsome, howâs the water?â
âJust about the same as always. Too fucking green and weirdly warm.â
John eyes the pool as he walks around the outside of it. His steps sound sacrilegiously loud against the tiles, but what is his whole fucking life but being sacrilegiously loud?
âIt is very green,â John settles for saying.
The other makes a noise that manages to sound sarcastic as he sets his book aside. âGreen is sorta its most defining trait.â
âHum⌠nah, mate,â John says. He braces his arms on either side of the plastic pool chair as he leans down. âI would go with other worldly first.â
âEverything is other worldly here, Hellblazer.â Those sea-glass green eyes meet Johnâs steadily. âIncluding you and me.â
âYet you wonât tell me your secrets,â John points out. The words are a whisper and nearly cut off by the kiss that follows. Itâs as much a kiss John starts as one that John meets in the middle. He lets himself enjoy the taste of it before he pulls back just enough to get a look. âWhat are your secrets, Dan?â
Dan rolls his eyes, but itâs mostly an excuse to look away. âIâve told you, you really donât want to know.â
âOh but I do, lovely. Iâm curious,â John cajoles as he straddles the chair and Dan. Dan is likewise in a robe, but only with swim trunks on underneath.
Tiny, yellow swim trunks.
Dan runs his hands up under Johnâs robes. He has the calloused hands of of a craftsman, and his thumbs are rough where they rub against Johnâs hip bones.
âCuriosity killed the cat,â Dan says.
âBut boredom killed it quicker,â John sings back.
âOh, well, if boredom is what you wanted to avoidâŚâ Dan purrs. His grip tightens, keeping John held down as he arches up.
John hums happily. He would rather understand what Dan is, but ever visit he learns a little more. Whatâs so wrong about having some fun at the same time? âIâll learn your secrets.â
âNot if you want me to keep fucking you.â
John laughs. His cigarette is tossed somewhere over his back in the direction of the pool and his robe to the side after. Just some fun, first. Other worldly messes after.
I still don't know what to do with how fast some of y'all are to react to things. Itâs good! Nice. Just at distinctly at odds with my imposter syndrome.
Not that I'm not greatly enjoying the things I'm writing right now, but I'm missing writing with a plan and having a big moment to lead you all too. Itâs a very different type of creating.
Not that I'm not greatly enjoying the things I'm writing right now, but I'm missing writing with a plan and having a big moment to lead you all too. Itâs a very different type of creating.
I really wanted to get you all a bit today, darlings, but it was a day of being mostly asleep to try and chase away this weather migraine. Maybe tomorrow will be better.
Hi! Any chance we could get the emoji set on admin updated? Not sure what all the latest options are <3
I'll try to make a fresh post for it soon! Though admittedly part of this poll was to be a little more ???, because that's fun sometimes.
I've got that multiple days long weather migraine going on, and I focused in on zine art today, so I'm out of spoons to work on anything precious. All these are lower risk, if that makes any sense.
Nature is incredible, you can really see just at a quick glance how these evolved to speak together in rhyming riddles while performing a spooky dance, laughing at you because they're The Wee Creatures Three and you will Never Get Their Key.
@clockwayswrites I will never again see a bittern without thinking of Birdritch Danny.
Imagine if the first time Danny Birdritched, he hadn't feathered yet. Or some convoluted AU of an AU where it's 14yo Danny Birdritching out in Gotham.
Just, think of how much more funsettling it'd have been if, in the Bat's first interaction with him, all of Birdritch Danny's extra weirdness (plus the innate weirdness of birds) hadn't been hidden by the full feathered fluff.
masterpost please no editing, I know there are issues, I am in migraine land and all my joints hurt. ty <3
Barry raises his chin up defiantly at the look he was getting. âNo, I canât just put them down.â
âI didnât ask,â Bruce says, voice monotone.
âYou were thinking it,â Barry says. He clutches the armful of the blob ghosts to his chest.
Several purr in response.
Bruce doesnât sigh, but thereâs the implied sigh in his words. âYou donât read minds, Flash.â
âI donât need to be able to read minds to know what youâre thinking right now,â Barry argues. âThe little guys are traumatized! They were just stuck waiting to be made into paste.â
Bruce stares back silently from behind is cowl, judging.
âCan we not?â Wally snaps. He clutches his own blob ghost tight enough that it squeaks and quickly relaxes his grip. Well, not his, blob ghost, just the one that has found its way to him. âSorry. I shouldnât haveâŚâ
âHey, itâs alright,â Barry says, voice carefully softened. His comforting victims voice.
It rankles.
âIs it?! Because I think what it is, is that theyâve got part of our family here in a fucking tube to keep experimenting on! What I think it is, is that he never really made it out!â
The noise in the room quiets at his out burst. Dick is looking from across the room with worry in every line of his body. Barry isnât looking at him at all.
âFlash,â Bruce says, voice firm.
Wally hunches his shoulders. âThat was unprofessional, I know.â
âYou donât have to stay in this room,â Bruce offers instead of ripping into Wallyâs outburst. âIf you wish to stay on site but away from here, there is a boardroom.â
âI⌠yeah. Iâll goâI can get some waters and stuff for it too for everyone. Maybe these little guys will settle in too,â Wally says. He has to stumble through the words, but itâs better to have something to do. âAnd Iâll stay out of the way until I calm down.â
âFlash. Both of you,â Bruce says. They look to him, of course they both do. Bruce just commands attention. âThis is understandably hard. It will be for your whole family. Focus on making sure your family is alright. If we need your expertise, we will ask, I promise you that.â
After a moment, Barry nods. âIâll try to settle the blobs in the boardroom so that theyâre out of the way.â
âThat would help,â Bruce agrees.
âAnd Iâll try to keep the younguns away,â Barry says with a sigh, because that was a whole thing.
âKeep them to the boardroom if they donât stay away. All of them,â Bruce advises. âWonder Woman and Zatanna are speaking with some of the ghosts, and Constantine is making sure that the building is safe from realm bleed. Until we know matters are secure, Young Justice need to stay out of the way and as a group. I am counting Afterimage as part of that group.â
Barry nods. âWeâll make sure they know that.â
Wally thinks theyâre both was more confident in keeping the kids contained than they should be, but doesnât open his mouth. (Heâs still feeling a little hysterical.)
âBoardroom is this way,â Barry says and zips off. The little ghosts hang on easily for the whole walk, even through the super speed. In fact, the ghosts seem happier after the trip.
Wally sets the ghost he had been holding down on the table. Itâs sleek and dangerously black in the bright, white room. Wally hates it. He hates this whole place. âI, um, saw some paper boxes in a copy room. They might be good for these little guys. Iâll justââ
He leaves before Barry can say anything back.
The copy room is empty. Thereâs a pile of papers that have been briefly lit on fire that still stink of smoke, but no one is trying to deal with looking through them yet. It lets Wally sit down. His head down drops down between his knees and his hands wrap behind his neck. He breaths in.
There was another Danny.
He breaths out.
They still didnât know if there was a consciousness there.
He breaths on.
If there was, had Danny know anything outside of this torment?
He breaths out a long, slow breath.
One piece at a time.
One piece at a time and backed by their family: by Barry and Iris and Bart. But theyâre also by their extended family of heroes: by Bats and Supes and the Amazonians and everyone else. This would be hard, but they would handle it together.
âAlright,â Wally says to no one. He stands with a stretch, all the way up on his tiptoes, and then shakes it out. Heâs feeling a lot better as he grabs the empty paper boxes that were waiting for recycling. Thereâs less than he wants, but the little blobs do seem to like being squished. And it was at least something. âOne piece at a time.â
