The hell rabbits are getting on John's nerves.

English version

Yall remember that one scene?

Photocards are all done! Will be posting all of them over the next few weeks!

Theyll be available on my store beginning of February 🧡

All will be as it should be part 1

Clockwork prided himself on order.

On cogs that turned when they were meant to turn. On grains of sand that fell exactly once. On timelines that behaved themselves and did not—did not—develop bad habits like paradoxes, fractures, or speedsters.

He hated the Flash family.

Not personally. Oh no. Personally implied effort. This was professional loathing. Centuries of it. They treated time like a racetrack and then had the audacity to be surprised when it splintered under their feet.

Most of the time, Clockwork fixed it.

He sighed, rewound, clipped a branching possibility here, nudged a causality there. Clean. Efficient. Tedious.

This time, however, Barry Allen—bless his chronically impulsive heart—had done something irrevocable.

Clockwork froze the timestream and stared.

“No,” he said flatly.

Danny Fenton was not supposed to die at five. He couldn't stop it. It had to happen.

The accident—the accident—was cataloged, indexed, and filed neatly under Age Fourteen: Ghost Portal Activation / Half-Death Event. A controlled disaster. A survivable one. A boy old enough to understand rules, consequences, and secrecy.

Instead, a speedster’s careless temporal wake had nudged the Fentons forward. Five-year-old Danny had toddled into the lab on the wrong day. Pressed the wrong button. Been in the wrong place at the wrong moment.

The portal had activated.

And Danny Fenton had died.

And lived.

Clockwork fast-forwarded.

The screens before him filled with ruin.

A child who couldn’t control his phasing, screaming as he fell through floors. A boy who went invisible when frightened and never came back. Government containment. Dissection tables. A pair of parents who loved their son so much they would tear him apart to understand him.

Jack and Maddie Fenton were good people.

They were also catastrophes waiting to happen.

Clockwork watched timelines collapse like dominoes.

“No,” he repeated, sharper now.

He rewound.

With a gesture, the Ghost Portal vanished from the Fenton basement as if it had never existed. Solder cooled. Blueprints turned blank. The connection to the Zone sealed so thoroughly even the Observants would nod in approval.

In this timeline, the Fentons would never touch the Infinite Realms.

Then Clockwork turned to the boy.

Five years old. Small. Flickering between states like a broken light. Green eyes glowing faintly in the frozen air.

Danny Fenton needed to be raised right.

Clockwork watched.

He watched foster systems fail. Watched heroes try and fail to be parents. Watched well-meaning people recoil from glowing eyes and impossible abilities.

He watched until he found someone who had already died.

Someone who had been dragged back from death by rage and grief and an iron refusal to stay down.

Someone who knew what it was to be unwanted. Broken. Angry. Alive anyway.

Jason Todd.

Crime Alley, Gotham City, was a nexus of pain and persistence. A place where tragedy didn’t end people—it forged them. Jason was older now, rougher, freshly returned to the world and still figuring out what that meant.

Clockwork rewound just enough.

He erased a few memories.

Jack’s laugh. Maddie’s arms. A lab full of humming machines.

What remained was warmth. A sense of home without a face attached.

Then Clockwork placed the child carefully on the cold pavement of Crime Alley.

Right in Jason Todd’s path.

The boy hiccupped, went briefly transparent, then solid again. His eyes glowed green in the dim light. He clutched a too-big hoodie around himself and looked up at the approaching footsteps.

Jason froze.

“…what the hell,” he muttered.

The kid looked at him like he was the sun.

Clockwork watched Jason kneel without thinking. Watched him take off his jacket. Watched him swear softly as the kid phased through his own hands and then burst into terrified tears.

Clockwork saw the way Jason didn’t flinch.

Didn’t run.

Didn’t look away.

Instead, Jason pulled the child close, solid or not, and growled at the universe like it had personally offended him.

“Okay,” Jason said, voice rough but steady. “Okay, little man. I got you.”

The timeline stabilized.

The gears turned smoothly once more.

“All will be as it should be,” Clockwork whispered.

And faded away.

part2

🦇 My 20 Favorite Batfam Fics of 2025 🦇

Last year was easily the most eventful (in a good way) years of my life so I read less fic than I have in the past, but I will not let that stop me from annual tradition of celebrating my fav fics of the year! You can also check out my 2023 and 2024 lists. As always, this is a way to express gratitude to fandom creators, so please leave a kudos and kind comment if you enjoy any of these fics! There are thousand of Batfam fics that came out in 2025 (literally 25k fics in the batman fandom) and I of course only read a small fraction of them, so I am definitely leaving many greats off this list. But here are some Batfam fics completed in 2025 that I especially adored. Tried to include a range of characters but Tim is my fav so he will be popping up a lot. Be mindful of the tags (although rest assured all have a hopeful or happy ending) and happy reading!

+5 WIP I’d love to see more of in 2026!

Have a great 2026 (or as good as you can with the state of the world) and happy reading!

Boys will be boys)

I haven’t been on this app in a while, but I know a Black man, Keith Porter, was murdered by ICE on New Year’s Eve (Rest in Power) in Cali. Just one of the countless Black people who’ve been murdered by ICE and other agents of the state.

I log back into this app and see the conversations around the white woman, Renee Good, who was just recently killed. And I can’t help but notice the stark difference in circulation of news and boosting of stories between both of them across this app…

Shit has BEEN happening to Black people across administrations and is currently happening to Black people under this administration, and is met by crickets. Yet when it starts touching white people, I see real anger start being felt from the gen pop followed by amplification and co-opting of Black terms and memorialization… I stg it takes everything in me to give af about yall.

"Friends and family of the 43-year-old man who was fatally shot by a Department of Homeland Security agent in Northridge on New Year's Eve gathered on Sunday to demand accountability and hold a candlelight vigil for their lost loved one."

YOU KNOW WHAT WOULD BE A REALLY CUTE IDEA?

Hear me out, De-Aged Dani and Dan - with Mom!Danny and GhostKing!Danny in one, but okay, hear me out. We always had Danny legit wide-awake and carrying his kids, and the people summoning him see him with kids, and immediately understand what is going on, and just feel bad or coo at the kids.

But hear me out, Danny is full on-knocked out cold and actually legit needs some sleep. Jazz is there with him, tucking him into bed whilst she studies for her exams in College, watching over the kids for a bit.

But then Danny gets a summons he can't answers, and the kids having the brilliant idea to answer the summoning instead! They both get summoned, pretty much ignore the situation and declare themselves as the children of the Ghost King and being all grand ... despite being toddler-sized, and such. (They do NOT look human in the slightest.)

They basically say their mom is asleep, and they are here to answer in his stead instead!

The misunderstands that could occur is AMAZING. One option is that the group (Justice League, Batman, or otherwise) thinks that these are the kids of Pariah Dark and they just yanked his kids.

Just some cute lil' fun stuff~

Here’s the opposite story, though. With apologies because I don’t have the book in front of me, so I may get some details wrong, but I read this “Irena’s Children“ by Tilar J. Mazzeo.

Irena lived in Warsaw during the Nazi occupation, and dedicated her life to rescuing Jewish children from the Ghetto, and her story is complicated in a lot of ways but - well, this story isn’t actually about Irena, per se.

It’s about a bus driver.

It’s about a day when she’s traveling across town by bus with a very young Jewish child, and partway to their destination the child looks up and asks a question - in Yiddish. and the whole bus goes quiet, because everyone knows what that means. And Irena thinks, okay, we’re going to die here today.

And she’s running through her options - all of them bad - and suddenly the bus stops, and the bus driver announces that there’s been a mechanical failure and the bus needs to return to the depot immediately. Everyone off, please.

And she stands and goes to get off the bus and the driver says - not you two. Sit down. So she sits down as everyone else leaves, because, well, what else is she going to do? the options are all still bad, at this point.

and when the bus is empty the bus driver says,

“Where do you need to go?”

And then he drives them as close to their destination as he can, and lets them off, and drives away. And Irena lives, and the kid lives, and they never cross paths again.

So a janitor got three people killed, and a bus driver saved two lives - not to mention all the other lives indirectly saved because Irena was able to continue her work.

I think about that almost every day now, to be honest.

We can’t all be Irena. I couldn’t be Irena. She was in a unique place with very specific skills and connections that let her do what she did. I am just one mentally ill librarian. I can’t be her. But - I can be the bus driver. Or I could be the janitor. Because it doesn’t matter what your job is. It doesn’t matter who you are. In a world like this, every single one of us has the opportunity to do massive harm or massive good. We can save lives or end them.

And that’s scary. but it’s also very comforting? at least for me. Because at the end of the day it means this: no matter of how small and helpless and unimportant you feel, you’re never powerless in the face of great evil.

You can choose to be the bus driver.

This feels extremely relevant these days, and on this post in particular.

as someone who remembers the patriot act and all the conversation surrounding it, it's a bit... of an experience being able to remember how many people pointed out that Terrorist was a politically convenient term which could be used to dehumanise and legally strip the rights from someone and that eventually all this would be used internally. and the response was 'nuh uh only browns with funny headgear are terrorists'. and then two decades of 'fighting age males' being blown to pieces at weddings because they might have, maybe, looked at a terrorist once. A week ago a head of state is black bagged in the middle of the night by the US for being a 'narcoterrorist'. And now an unarmed, random woman - white, citizen - is gunned down by jackboot thugs and before her body is cold she is, of course, a domestic terrorist.

If you are reading this, you need to know that the moment the US state needs to kidnap you, the moment a drone pilot decides you're in the wrong place, the moment you are bleeding to death on the sidewalk, you will be a Terrorist. Because anything can be done to a Terrorist.