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inkskinned · 6 months

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the problem is that being single is seen as the consolidation prize, and not the natural neutral state of being-a-person. at the end of the movie or the book or the poetry, there is a person waiting for you at the altar, and they love you. if the play is a comedy, everyone gets married. the metaphor is about how you are not-whole. the metaphor is about how everyone is going to be happily-ever-after. the metaphor is that romantic love is the most important resource on the planet, not just all-love. all-love is not a thing, that is a disappointment. the treasure is not the friends we made along the way. the treasure is the girl you landed.

the metaphor is that you cannot be alone, that means you are broken. are you getting over someone? that is acceptable, you can be getting over someone, but not for long. you must be single because you would rather not be single. you must be single and looking to not-be-single. you must want to date, eventually.

friendship and community are never seen as being equal-to or even-better than romantic connection. that person is your one! you need to find them. you need to hunt through the sand particles until you can shift out some kind of gem. this is regardless to your own experience of the beach and the sun. you need to be somewhere with someone.

if you are taking this time alone to heal, that is so sad. everyone gives you this little pitying look. the understanding is that you are not actually happier than you were before you were single. it is seen as a sort of pity - oh, you are choosing yourself, making yourself the priority? - that isn't quite right. you must mean that you are making yourself ready for the right person. you are just laying the bed better this time. open up your heart. you'll find them, we promise!

what do you mean you're really-truly genuinely-very happy? you are probably misremembering what it was like to be in a relationship. and besides, once you meet your person, that time will look grey and bland and wasted. your person is the only way for you to see in color. so what if you have taken this time - for the first time in your entire life - to actually-for-real do the fucking work. you can be proud of yourself, sure. but the way we need to know that you got better is that you get a partner. you're healed enough for the next bad part!

people don't choose to be single, they just say they're choosing to be single - they actually mean "nobody wants to date me." it doesn't matter how many people you have gently rejected or how many times you've talked it over carefully in therapy. what matters is that you are single, and by all accounts - that means you are something worth our pity. your successes and life all seem pale in the sunlight. sure, you have done amazing things and finally found your way in life. what matters is that there wasn't a person in the room with you while you did it.

you want to tell them - that's the whole thing. i didn't know how to be alone in the room. i didn't know how to handle the silence. every moment was so sharp, and i kept choosing the wrong way to close the door. i have spent my entire life in the empty well, living in the ricochet of someone else's cruelty. for once i have built myself a ladder. for once everything i taste is all mine, every bite of sunshine and laughter. i have learned how to sleep out in the open with my memories. recently, they have started to purr.

your father rolls his eyes. listen. this isn't about you. i just want a grandchild in my future.

#writeblr #i actually didn't want a girlfriend before nat #and my dad recently said to me - raquel. i don't approve of the promiscuity #1. i am 30.#2. i had casually dated about 4 people over 18 months.#3. i do believe he was just mad that i get more girls than he ever did #i had to look this 60 yr old deacon in the eye and say. okay so i have a girlfriend first of all im just not tellin yall about her #and secondly.#OKAY???? OLD MAN I DONT EVEN LIVE HERE WHAT ARE U GONNA DO ABOUT IT #briefly considered asking nat if i could pretend we were a one night stand kind of a thing

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sleepyhighslvt · 2 months

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I really need to use those stress balls on your chest for a bit.

Come here and use these..

✨️ squishy stress balls ✨️

#haha #anons <3 #bd/sm community #k!nk blog #sexy titts #late night posts #free use slvt #18+ blog #natural titts #big tiddy committee #big tiddy gf #thick vibes only #nsft ask

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lunalucas-world · 4 months

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The trans girlfriend you always wanted sweet little princess 🤭🥰

#trans nsft #trans pride #mtf trans #trans woman #transfem #transgender #transgirl #transisbeautiful #transmasc #18+ content #classic cars #thick ladies #date night

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qveerthe0ry · 5 months

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Slipped Through

Summary: There is one tiny, silly little caveat to Joel’s insane, old man endurance. Word Count: 2,182 Pairing: Joel Miller x F! AFAB! Reader Rating: 18+ Explicit Warnings: 18+ mdni, p in v sex, cowgirl, oral sex (m receiving), dirty talk, premature ejaculation, frottage, no use of y/n

If one thing is for certain in the post-apocalypse, it’s that Joel Miller fucks.

You find this out a few months after he and Ellie settle in down the street from you.

He’s handsome, built like a brick shithouse, all bulky muscle from years and years of hard-fought survival. He’s also shy. Everyone else in Jackson thinks he’s aloof, rude, scary.

But not you.

You see the same scars on his skin, the same clenched jaw and stony gazes as everyone else. But to you, he’s just a tired, scared, sad man in need of some TLC.

He gets it, too.

It took a while for him to warm up to you, your timid advances, your dropped hints. But as soon as he let you in, it was like a forest fire, one single spark caught by the wind and engulfing everything in flames.

He fucks.

He’s been around a few decades and it shows. His stamina is incredible. He can fuck you for hours without stopping, make you come on his cock over and over again until you’re begging for him to give in to his release.

He takes you from behind, while you’re on your knees or while you’re his little spoon. He takes you while you stare up at him on your back, a hand between your bodies to put delicious pressure on your clit.

Once he even took you up against the wall with your legs wrapped around his waist. Only once, though, because he had to call in sick for patrol, and Tommy wouldn’t let him rest until he told him what he’d done to pull his back so badly.

He’s incredible. A selfless lover, so focused on making you feel good, his orgasm always second (or usually third or fourth) to yours. And he’s sweet, he calls you pet names and kisses you breathless and hands out praise like it’s expiring. He cleans you up after, and fetches you water, and holds you and strokes you until your shivers are gone and your breathing is back to normal.

You have no complaints. But. There is one tiny, silly little caveat to Joel’s insane, old man endurance.

He cannot keep it together when you ride him. With a gun to his head, you’re pretty sure he still couldn’t last long enough to get a solid session in with you on top.

It’s not a bad thing, per se, but you like riding him. You enjoy taking a bit of control, letting him relax and ease his back after a long day. But he just… can’t last.

Joel’s cock is in your mouth. You love this part. You love breathing in the mixed scent of homemade soap and Joel’s natural smell as you nuzzle the wiry hairs. You love looking up at him and seeing his aroused grin and dark eyes staring back down at you. You love the way he feels so hot and thick against your tongue. You love getting him sopping wet so it’s even easier to take his girth when he fucks you. You love the feeling of his huge hand on the back of your head, tangling in your hair.

“God damn, baby, you suck dick like an angel.”

You love that too— the praise, the wicked shit he says that completely negates how shy and timid he is outside of the bedroom.

You hum around his cock and take him deeper. You’re never able to take him all the way, but when he nudges the back of your throat, you make swallowing motions and feel yourself contract around the thick head of his dick. His hand tightens in your hair, almost painful but not quite.

“Jesus, your mouth, darlin’. Criminal.”

You hum again, and arch your back like a dog in heat, aching to feel him stretch you open.

“C’mon, give me your pussy, baby.”

His words are grunted, and maybe it’s a little mean of you to suck the life out of him before you plan to ride him. You think you like it, though, just being a little mean.

He makes to move when you finally pull your lips from around him, but you hold him steady with two hands on his broad, sweaty chest.

His pretty brown eyes widen in question, and his hands grab your hips hard as you hover over his cock, but he doesn’t say anything.

He wants to. You can tell. His jaw clenches and his eyes fog over a bit as he looks down at your soaked center. But he stays silent as you line yourself up, stroke him through your folds a few times before letting his cockhead catch on your hole and sink in.

The deep groan he lets out sounds pained. You coo at him, remove one of your hands from his chest to run through his silver curls.

“Fuck.”

It’s gritted through his teeth, clenched together so tight you’re afraid they’ll crack. When you’re fully seated, you wiggle your ass and clench around him.

“Baby,” he whimpers.

“Thought you wanted my pussy? Don’t you like it, Joel?”

You lift up until he nearly falls out of you, and then fall right back down. A sound escapes your mouth, deep from your chest as you rise and fall again, throwing your head back at just how deep he reaches at this angle.

His fingers grip your hips even tighter now, bruising and stinging. His breath whistles violently through his nostrils, stuttered and heavy.

“Like it too much, darlin’, please.”

You spare him for a second, grinding down in his lap, swiveling your hips to help him simmer down. You rake your nails across his scalp in what you hope is a soothing gesture, but you can’t help the way you clench around him as you watch him struggle underneath you.

Seconds pass as your hips grind out the smallest circles against him. His breaths are loud and warm against your nose and cheeks. He looks incredible like this, at your mercy, your devilish grin reflecting in his inky, wide pupils.

His grip loosens the tiniest bit, and you watch his jaw clench and unclench as he squeezes his eyes shut.

“You can take it, can’t you? For me?”

You pout and rock your hips slowly, all the way up and back down, reveling in the familiar stretch and friction that’s torturous and not quite enough. You feel his chest expand with a shuttery gasp right under your palm, broken and ragged, and it makes you just that much wetter.

“Sweet christ, the mouth on you tonight.”

His tongue pokes out to wet his red, bitten lips. When his eyes open back up, they’re all pupil, black and glossy and shining. Your cunt flutters around him at the sight of him so far gone, undone because of you.

You squeeze your fingers in his hair, tugging, and he winces and you love it, this proud and powerful sensation coursing through your veins. You understand, now, how Joel feels when he fucks you, when you’re completely at the mercy of the pleasure he gives you. Why his lips always seem to lilt into a smirk, why that satiated smile doesn’t leave his face for hours, and why his gaze still feels so hungry no matter how many times you’ve gotten each other off.

It’s addictive.

His face untwists itself as you lighten the grip on his hair, but it screws right back up as you start to bounce on his cock. He curses, and you set a quick pace at the angle that makes you clench around his prick.

“I can’t– Darlin’, I can’t.”

His voice sounds panicked, so you lift up, let him slip completely out of you. You peer down to watch his glistening cock jerk wildly as his hips cant up into nothing. The muscles in his thighs tense something fierce, and you’re sure his nails have broke skin on your hips.

“You can, baby. Just let me take care of you for once. Just enjoy it,” you say.

His breath shutters in something akin to a sob, a warm gust across your heated cheeks. You let your hand trail up to his neck and goad him to break his staring contest with his jerking, weeping cock.

“You’re evil,” he tells you.

You smirk. Your nails scrape over his stomach, the patch of curly hair there and the skin that pulls taut as his muscles strain against your touch.

“I think you like that.”

Your hips tilt to align yourselves once more, and this time you sink down slowly until you’re seated on his thighs. For a moment, he gets a wicked glint in his eyes, dangerous looking. It vanishes as soon as you clench your walls around him.

“You feel so good,” you whisper.

You catch his lips in your own. Distracted, he can’t kiss you back. The tight line of his mouth is frozen as you nibble on his plush bottom lip and rock your hips up and down. His noises are muffled this way, cut-off, like he wants to keep them from escaping. The softest whines, and the most beautiful music to your ears.

You set a rhythm to match, and for a moment you think he’s managed to gain control. His palms are warm and sweaty on your hips, and then your ass, and you’re confident as you rise and fall. You’re working yourself up, too, as his prick supplies a delicious friction to the perfect spot inside you. Like it always does.

But as you gasp and moan with your head thrown back, the calloused palms on your skin turn into sharp nails, and Joel’s sounds falter.

“Off— get off,” he gasps.

You do, rising up quickly, looking down between your bodies to watch Joel’s cock strain and throb in the cool bedroom air. You wait patiently for him to calm down as a second passes, then two, then—

“God dammit—”

Your eyes widen as you watch— in shock and horror and amazement and arousal— thick, white stripes shoot up to paint Joel’s chest and stomach. His abdomen pulls taut and his hips quiver with each wave of his climax.

“Shit—”

You’re frozen in time as Joel shakes with the intensity of it. And he just keeps coming, spurt after spurt making his dick jolt and twitch, until the last of it dribbles out of him and his poor cock gives one last gasping breath.

“Fuck you,” he pants, squeezing your hips, but there’s no heat behind it. There’s nothing at all behind it as he slumps into the mattress, boneless and defeated.

It’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. Which may not be saying much, since your pre-apocalyptic life was fairly short-lived, but it’s the truth.

This man, sturdy and hardened and full of grit, reduced to a mess of a puddle underneath you. You’re throbbing, all because of him, because of what you’ve done to him.

“So fucking hot, fuck,” you breathe.

You give him no chance at all to recover, so overcome by your own needs. You shift your hips and trap his prick between your folds and his stomach.

It’s slippery and perfect, and even the feeling of Joel’s cock growing softer as it presses against your clit turns you on.

Almost as much as his noises, the nearly pained whimpers as you grind against his overstimulated dick, the way he shudders and squirms underneath you. Still, he encourages your thrusts with two sweaty and firm hands on your hips, and the way his fucked-out gaze is focused on you taking your pleasure from him.

Riding the adrenaline high, it takes virtually no time at all for you to reach your peak. Your nails dig into the skin of his pecs and the back of his neck respectively, as you near the inevitable. Your nose finds where his shoulder and throat meet, biting, hiding your whimpers in his sweaty skin. The hiss he lets out and the accompanying jolt of his hips is more than enough to send you over the edge.

Atta girl, that’s it, get what you need.

His voice sounds far away, gritted through his teeth, as you pant against him and ride out the last of your orgasm.

The following silence is quite loud, just heavy breathing and the odd creak of the bed frame.

Joel must feel when your lips fail to suppress a smile against his shoulder, because he responds with a huff almost instantly.

“Real pleased with yourself, huh?”

You giggle, nip at his heated skin with playful teeth.

“I really am.”

He grunts, and you finally lift up to look him in the eyes. He creases his brow and shakes his head at you. But then that dimple you love so much rears its head as he bites back his smirk, and another giggle bubbles up out of your chest.

“Sorry ‘bout that, Darlin’.”

He sounds quite remorseful, looking up at you with those puppy eyes, and you cradle his stubbly cheek in your palm.

“Just gotta train you up, cowboy.”

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #joel x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal smut #joel miller fic #joel miller x you #I've been working on this WIP for like ever and I was tired of looking at it so late night post it is #18+#mdni

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tswiftupdatess · 19 days

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Taylor Swift performs ''Guilty as Sin?'' as the FIRST surprise song on guitar at The Eras Tour in Stockholm, Sweden Night 2! 🎸 x

#taylor swift #the eras tour #surprise songs #acoustic set #stockholm night 2 #may 18

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dumbsterbb · 3 months

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i see u peeking up my skirt

̗ ̗ര́ ̬꤮ ̗ ̗

{links if u want to see more of me}

#dumbsterbb #mine #mini skirt #voyerurism #upskurt #late night tumblr #short skirt #k!nks #k!nk blog #bd/sm kink #perfect butt #18+ only #send dirty asks #submisive and breedable #spicy accountant #egirl noods

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surprisesongoclock · 11 months

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Taylor Swift performs "Out Of The Woods" at Nissan Stadium in Nashville, Tennessee on May 6, 2023.

#taylor swift #the eras tour #out of the woods #1989 #nissan stadium #nashville tennessee #night 18

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heysweetbee · 10 months

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some say it’s magic…

#late night #nostalgiacore #databending #assthetic #glitch art #divine feminine #glitch aesthetic #art #contentcreator #hot as fuck #so hot 🔥🔥🔥#perfect figure #girl butts #18+ only #onlytease #onlyf@nz #onlyfanz #18+ content #18+ post

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sleepyhighslvt · 1 month

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Rub a dubdub ❤️

❤️ Fuck me in the tub

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solbaby7 · 6 months

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Put On A Show

pairing: Rhysand x reader

warnings: smut, exhibitionism, explicit language, some light degradation, i couldn’t help myself guys sorry

Summary: Rhysand brings you along as a plus one to a celebration at the Court of Nightmares and you put on a special show for your High Lord

—

High Lord of the Court of Nightmares.

Lord of Night.

Death Incarnate.

There’s no place for the teasing smiles, the playful jokes or restrained power here. All the things of Rhysand that you’d grown accustomed to was swapped out for that arrogant smirk, the pristine elegance of his attire that exuded centuries of wealth but beyond all of that; his most noticeable accessory was the ebbing darkness that seemed to loom around him. “I’m sorry for how I talk to you down there. I can’t—they can’t see me that way.”

“I promise I won’t take it personally,” You’d told him, meaning it no matter how high your brows shot up when he’d sheepishly handed over your outfit for the night.

If you could call it that.

It was basically see though, soft fabric just barely covering your breasts, criss-crossing at the stomach before settling into a skirt that barely covered your backside when you walked. Rhys had insisted on a little precaution, waving a hand and covering you in tattoos so dark it looked like the night sky was plucked from above and stamped into your skin. The intricate designs didn’t move when you touched them but anytime you’d accidentally brushed into Azriel or bumped shoulders with Mor, the ink smeared. “You marking me or something?”

It was meant as a joke but he’s serious when he answers. “Yes.”

Your roll falls into place when you’re winnowed to the front entrance of the Hewn City and instantly you understand why none of the Inner Circle came here much. The air smelled of mischief; chaos bled from the windows and greed reared its head when the High Lord sauntered through the front doors like he owned the place—he did.

The shift in the room happens quickly, guards dressed to the tee in heavy armor and swords sharp enough to disembowel with one sickening swing; men who’d fought in great battles and devastating wars, bowing to their knees at the sight of him.

This version of Rhysand eats it up, chin high and nose higher as he looked down on each and every person in attendance. Gone was the male with great dreams of peace and prosperity; dreams of a place where people of all types called home without fear of it being ripped from them at any moment.

This version of Rhysand was the fear.

He was the darkness that lurked around at night, waiting and watching patiently for his victims to slip up so he could reach out and capture them in his dark web. “All of this, for me?” The High Lords voice clears across the room easily with everyone so silent, heads bowed and the few who’d bravely raised their eyes to feast on a slice of your skin was met with the silent threat of death by the shadowsinger that followed your flank. “I’m flattered.”

The High Lord sits comfortably in his thrown, legs spread wide and arms lazily spread out on the sides. For the first time since you’d gotten here, he looks at you, beckoning you forward with a cocky little jerk of his head and only when you stand before him does he allow the others to rise. “You sit.” He tells you though, gesturing proudly to the spot on his lap and you resist the urge to see other people’s reactions when you obey.

Despite the dark ambiance, something about the unsettling atmosphere intrigued you; eyes catching over carefully carved dragons with wings that seemed never-ending as it curved around the walls, the crown moulding and ceiling like it was preparing to take flight and burst through the roof. The citizens of the Hewn City, you find are equally as unsettling; groups of people coming up to bow and greet their High Lord, shamelessly taking in the ample curves left on display by your flimsy attire. “Pretty, isn’t she?” The Lord of Darkness questions after a moment, violet eyes fixed on the curve of your spine before settling on the armored male to the left.

The male swallows thickly, his gulp audible when he nods just barely. “Yes, High Lord.”

Rhys hummed in agreement, the back of his hand beginning to trace the curve of your shoulder when you hear some muffled voice coughing out “whore”. The touch leaves and that ebbing darkness grows again, robbing the man who’d dare utter the syllables of his breath. The man’s hands reach for his throat, eyes wide as his mouth gapes open and closed like a fish plucked out of the water and you don’t place your hand on the High Lords chest until the man’s face is a unusual shade of blue. “Aw, let him go. He’s just mad you’ve got me all to yourself,” You lean in closer, voice sultry and a little bored when you settle deeper into his chest. “Poor bastard probably doesn’t even know what to do with his equipment under all that armor.”

Another best of time passes before you hear the desperate gasp behind you and the feeling that washes over you when seeing the part of Rhysand he kept hidden—the all powerful Lord of Destruction ready to ruin anyone in his way.

Lust.

The man is forgotten, carried away by his friends and briefly you notice Cassian and Mor drifting off into the crowd. Azriel remains close by, a healthy enough distance away for you to feel confident enough to grind down on the thick thigh between your legs.

“You should stop that,” The words rumble against your bare back a half a minute later, hands dripping tight at your hips to still the movements. “Unless you plan on giving them a show.”

A brow raises and your neck craned to look Rhysand in the eye, the smirk pulling on your mouth matching the same one he’d seen every time he stepped foot in this city of violence and deviant morals. “Would that please you, Lord of Darkness?”

Rhysand goes still and for a moment you expect him to deny you, hands bracing yourself to get off and apologize when his grip keeps you in place. You can’t look away when he drags your hips on his thigh the same way you had before, inky pupils devouring violet irises when you let out a breathy moan.

It captures attention and you notice Azriel step a little closer—for further protection or to watch you can’t tell and you don’t care to figure it out when a shudder runs up your spine at the delicious drag hard muscles against your clothed cunt.

Your body burns with want when your High Lord grabs a handful of your ass, forcing you to ride his thigh faster, moans spilling out like summons to the dark creatures that lurked about the Court of Nightmares. “You look so pretty like this,” His voice is gruff, raspy and he’s quick to call upon dark power, a cool sensation spreading over your skin where it touched.

“Fuck,” The curse drags on your tongue, eyes clamping shut when your orgasm washes over you, no longer caring about the eyes that burned holes into your body. No doubt every fae or creature alike could smell the scent of your arousal permeating the air but where embarrassment was supposed be was relief.

The bulge in the High Lords pants is evident, a hand sneaking down to cup it through the expensive fabric. “You think the citizens of the Hewn City want to watch their High Lord fuck his girl?”

The sound of a button popping open, a zipper sliding down and a hand settles around your throat. “Deliciously filthy thing, you are.” The top of your dress falls apart and you’re certain Azriel can see everything when Rhysand fished his cock free. “Let’s find out.”

#a court of thorns and roses #acotar x reader #acotar x you #cassian #high lord rhysand #rhys acotar #rhysand x reader #18+ age range #rhysand #acotar x reader smut #acosf #acotar #a court of mist and fury #send asks #rhysand x reader smut #rhysand smut #high lord of the night court #azriel #cassian acotar

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thevoidstaredback · 1 month

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Danny smiled from his place on the clocktower roof. He'd been in Gotham for a while now, two years to the day exactly, but he'd never get tired of the view. Sure, he hated not being able to see the stars at night, but there were worse things. He did make sure to leave the city every night to see them, though.

He liked being up high. It reminded him of, not simpler times, but times when he wasn't as alone. Jazz had made her way to Harvard, Tucker was MIT, and Sam was at Pomona. Danny was nowhere.

They say after he turned fourteen, he died. It, to say the least, wasn't a pleasant or painless death, though it didn't hurt past the initial shock and revival. When he was sixteen, he realized he wasn't aging. Sure, Danny Fenton aged until he was sixteen, but Danny Phantom stopped at fourteen. Good for keeping a secret identity, but horrible for wanting to half live normally.

The day after he turned eighteen, exactly four years after he died, Danny disappeared. He left everything behind and hid out in the one place he'd always said he'd avoid. It was the one place no one would look for him. The one place where he was just another face in the crowd.

Gotham City allowed Danny the anonymity that normally came with death. Instead of just another headstone in the graveyard or a body in the harbor, though, he was just another kid on the streets in a busted hoodie and jeans. No one looked twice and no one asked questions.

In the two years he's spent on the streets of Gotham, he's learned a lot. Survival was something all humans are born with, but growing up with neglectful parents amplified that instinct. Dying and becoming an unwilling hero honed those instincts. Living in Gotham gave him a chance to learn more.

Learning the lay of the land was another thing he learned very quickly. Batman is over all of Gotham except for Crime Alley. That's Red Hood's haunt. Gotham Proper was split into blurry lines and shared between Batman and Robin, Red Robin, Orphan, and Spoiler. Nightwing is over Gotham's sister city, Bludhaven. Signal is the only day shift, so he had the most ground to cover in the least amount of time.

Of course, the Rouge's all had their own territories drawn with hard, barely flexible, lines. Black Mask was really the only one to breach those lines by trying to take Crime Alley, but Red Hood had been keeping him in check.

Learning the rules for each territory and how to interact with each person, Rouge or Vigilante, took time, but he managed. His own experiences had probably helped with that.

The next thing Danny had mapped out was where the neutral stations were. Every territory had them. They were places no one attacked because the important ones have standards. In Crime Alley, it's The Club. In Penguin's area, it's the Iceberg Lounge. Ivy marked off Robinson Park. Etcetera. The Joker is really the only major Rouge without a neutral mark on his map, but that's because he's more of an asshole than the rest. An asshole with standards, but an asshole nonetheless.

Very few of those neutral areas were available to spend the night in. Even fewer we're hiring. So, the homeless population of Gotham City stuck to the streets and back alleys.

However, there were two places Danny knew he could go where he'd be safe from scrutiny if someone looked too close at him. The Club in Crime Alley where all the working girls and boys checked in and reported any Bad Johns or Bad Janes, and The Iceberg Lounge in the richer parts of Gotham.

The clocktower was where Danny liked to spend his nights when the streets were too loud and the lights too bright and the fights too close for comfort. Oracle, who was Batman's eye in the sky and ear to the ground, worked from the clocktower, but he made sure to avoid her. It wasn't easy with what's basically super hearing that he can't turn off, but he found a spot near the very top where he could block out all Bat Business. Plausible deniability and all that.

Danny misses the stars. He misses being able to peek his head out of his bedroom window and name of each constellation he could see. He can't do that in Gotham because of the light pollution that clung to the sky like black mold. It was part of the reason he'd sworn to never go to Gotham.

There are Shades in Gotham. Shadows of people who have died but aren't quite ready to move on. He helps them as best he can, but there's so many that he sometimes feels like he's cutting off a Hydra's head. He gets to see results, though. Some days the parks are more colourful, the clouds have drifted enough to let natural sunlight through, and the graveyards are buzzing with thankful energy.

Danny forwent the thought of trying to get a job a while ago. As far as the world is concerned, Danny Fenton is missing, likely dead. Being dead, in case it wasn't well known, is a legal barrier. Sure, most jobs in Gotham didn't do background checks, but Danny didn't really want to join the Goonion. He's just fine living on the streets.

Ectoplasm is scarce compared to Amity Park, but that's to be expected. Besides, the miasma crushing the city like a weighted blanket was enough to sustain his basic abilities. Food was a bit harder to come by, but, like sleep, he could survive longer without it than a living being can. If anyone were to ever ask - though the likelihood of anyone even finding out - how he was alive, his answer was "Photosynthesis, but for ghosts."

Danny liked being just Danny. No name, no responsibilities outside of keeping himself alive.

Danny Fenton, the loser nerd who fell to the bottom of all his classes, who's obsessed with space and everything in it, who could tell you exactly how long it would take to get from Earth to Betelgeuse and back, is dead. He died the day after he turned fourteen.

Danny Phantom, the hatefully loved vigilante who appeared with the throngs of ghosts, who grew more powerful with every fight, who won more fights than he thought he could because there was no other option, is gone. He disappeared after exactly four years.

Danny just exists. He lives on the streets of Gotham City, staying away from trouble because he learned how to recognize it as soon as he could walk. He loves space and finds every opportunity he can to get out and watch the stars and moon and planets. He likes heights because being up that high reminds him of when he was living and not just surviving. Was there really a difference anymore? He hangs out in graveyards and the docks because the dead are so much more tolerable than the living.

Danny liked being just Danny because Danny doesn't have the world of Infinite Realms and Possabilities on his shoulder.

Danny likes to be able to just be for once.

Storyboard Part 2

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