#ao3 thank you note

[stormsthatrage]

Let's Thank the AO3 Staff

The DDoS attack has me, once again, realizing how much fandom owes to the volunteers at OTW. They truly have provided a safe haven for fanworks, and have allowed our communities to flourish without censorship or judgement in a way that is incredibly important and so, so rare.

Anyway, I sincerely doubt this is going to get enough attention to go anywhere, but I wanted to at least send the vibes out: collaborative thank you note to ao3 staff

Because the staff at A03 is doing something incredible, and they're doing it for free, and sometimes it's nice to tell people you appreciate them.

(Desktop works better than mobile for signing the card)

(Raw link: https://docs.google.com/presentation/d/1dFS4a5iDLc0yjPce67xcSJ1HW0nVFn3WP-oyv64eFoE/edit?usp=sharing)

P.S. I am not a graphic designer, or a particularly technologically skilled person. If this does somehow manage to gain traction, I welcome any graphic designers to improve the card, or people with brains to improve the management of it.

P.P.S. Tumblr gods, if you're listening, please let more then 2 people see this before it gets buried.

[corviiids]

fic prompt: light in a final day of the yotsuba arc timeloop where he loses and regains his kira memories every day (but retains awareness of the loop).

It's not until the fifth time around that Light slips up and answers the question before L's asked it.

L is staring at him.

Light clears his throat. "Sugars," he says. "Right? You were just picking up the bowl."

"Right," says L after a short pause, though his hand is nowhere near the sugar bowl. He plucks two cubes out with his fingers and plops them into Light's coffee, just like he'd asked. "I always forget how intuitive Light-kun is."

Those cold black eyes don't leave him for some time. Light stares at his hands, trying not to think about the yawning hole in his memory. Over the past five Thursday the 28th of Octobers, it's only grown deeper.

--

The traffic officer dies every time. Light's tried to stop it, but there's little he can do. He doesn't know the fellow's name to call ahead on the radio. He's never stuck around long enough for the investigation to complete, so he's never seen the man's ID. The day always resets before then.

He does, at least, manage to prevent his father from being shot. It's Wedy instead. The next time around, Light closes his eyes to his father's pained shout.

On one occasion, Higuchi dies before they can arrest him. L takes up his--

--something. Something. Something, and. They reclaim something from Higuchi every time they get him. It's small enough to fit in L's hands and every time someone touches it they scream. Something. Each time they reach the helicopter, Light reaches across L and plucks the thing out of L's limp hands, and then his memory goes white and the fourth day of the week begins again. It's the thing Kira uses to kill, it's the only important thing he's learned. Why can't Light remember what it is?

On that one Thursday, Light shouts a new instruction and Higuchi shoots himself in the head before anyone can comply. L takes up the something as Higuchi's body bleeds out. Light tugs it from his hands and his memory whites. With the white comes something else: panic, the likes of which Light had never felt, sickness somewhere deep and coiling. He wakes up on Thursday the 28th of October with the heavy weight of a damning failure resting in his gut.

But it's morning again. The sun warms L's pale, sleeping face and lights up the dark blood vessels under his eyes. Light swallows down a gag.

--

"You've been agitated today," L comments.

It's lonely not having a confidant. It's isolating. Light has thought about telling his father, but their relationship isn't confessional like that. He's thought about telling Ryuk, or even Misa, or Aizawa. But then, anyone he told, L would hear it too.

Light isn't sure why he's keeping the loop from L. He has nothing to hide from L. No reason to hide from L. The two of them, after all, are going to catch Kira.

"Did Light-kun--"

"I slept fine," says Light.

L's expression doesn't change. "I was going to ask if you had any questions for me," he says.

That isn't true. "Oh, sorry," says Light. "No, I'm good."

Each time the white fades and he wakes, L is the first thing he sees. Some remnant of the night before draws back hissing from his sleeping face like grease from soap. Light will watch him sleep until the revulsion eases, until it fades, and L's eyes open wide again. The man never blinks. The skin on his eyelids is thin. Light will not get to see them again until they sleep, so while L sleeps, Light watches him and tries to forget everything L had asked of him the day before, and fails.

--

Higuchi enters the office and takes out Matsui's CV. He pulls out a pen and writes the name down, then he leaves. Light is forgetting something.

"It has something to do with the name," he says desperately, casting about. "Something to do with the way he wrote down that name."

L looks at him strangely. "We know that, Light-kun," he says almost gently.

"No," Light says, frustrated. There's something. Something. Deep in the recesses of his memory, there's something he can't find, something that will lead them to Kira. Higuchi wrote Matsui's name and all the tension left his body.

In the helicopter, he snatches at the something like a vulture at dead flesh and the world goes white again.

--

What if, wonders a small voice. What if he didn't pick it up? What if, whatever the something is, Light left it in L's hands? Perhaps the dark would stay dark and Light might be permitted to see his next Friday. It's worth a try, at least. It's worth a shot. The cuffs slap onto Higuchi's wrists and Light lunges for the thing in L's hands once more.

[squorttle-pox]

A message from an AO3 author to fanfiction readers:

If you leave a comment on my work, then I love you.

If you go through my account leaving comments on all my works and every chapter that I update, then I love you.

You will never be annoying. You will never be the exception. I will never not love someone appreciating my work.

If you leave kudos, then I love you.

If you just read my fic, and don't interact, then I love you.

If you scroll past my works and never read them, then I STILL love you.

We are a community, we love each other.

Let's stop forgetting that.

[evidenceof]

i have just said something ridiculous to you

Joe Toye has a nice face, George thinks. Strong nose, strong brows, and a scowl that George realized he liked to earn. Miles deep into 2nd Battalion's march to Atlanta, George Luz hears an Irish song from across their frozen campground.

happiest holidays, @blood-mocha-latte, my hbo war 2025 secret santa baby!! ♡ crossing my fingers and hoping i did their voices/headspaces justice. this present is brought to you by equal parts mary oliver's 'i have just said,' that you love, and toye's atlanta march predicament™. i very humbly give to you my very first luztoye fic.

I have just said something ridiculous to you and in response, your glorious laughter. - 'I Have Just Said' by Mary Oliver

-----------------------------------

December 1, 1942 | 2330 hours Campgrounds, 38 miles from Fort Benning

The butter tastes like nothing on his frozen tongue. George winces at the thin oily film it leaves behind in his mouth after he swallows. Too fucking cold, everything was too fucking cold. A ragged chuckle saws its way through his throat while he watches Perco fight a losing battle against his hard slice of bread. Eventually, he rips it in half, elbow colliding with the tent wall and almost costing them their flimsy shelter. A hundred and fifteen miles and they had to survive off of stale bread and pats of butter.

“The way we live you’d think we’re already at the front of the fucking lines.” Perco’s voice was muffled under a thick scarf. “I don’t know what’s worse. This or shit on a shingle.”

“Come on, we got it made.” George lights a cigarette, and flicks off his lighter in an attempt to sweep away any talk of war. “Sightseeing the backcountry, free food, free clothes. These fuckin’ boots? Babies are the best in General Patton's Third Army, so I’ve heard.” His boot lands back on the cold ground with a pathetic thump from where he lifted it. 

“Aw, shut up, Luz.” Perco shoves him backwards, hard, half a slice of bread still in his hand, but with a grin already plastered on his face.

Just barely missing the tent wall, George regains his balance. “All right, all right. Jeez,” he laughs. He presses his hand on Perco’s head to push himself up, earning him a scowl. “Gonna go find a fire before this thing collapses on us.”

The flap of the tent all but snaps in half when he throws it open. Ice crackles down the drab green canvas like peanut brittle. Outside, cold air smacks against George’s face as he takes in the columns of tents around him that stand frosted and gleaming in the moonlight. The temperature had dropped earlier in the afternoon, but tomorrow promised worse terrain because, as far as George was concerned, God had abandoned 2nd Battalion specifically. Why else would they be the only ones walking all the way to fucking Atlanta? There's thirty eight more miles and not nearly enough bad Sobel impressions in George’s back pocket to last them that far.

With a single drag, he polishes off the remainder of his cigarette. Squinting, he spots Lip and Guarnere in the middle of what looks like an attempt at walking without having to bend their knees. Their frosty puffs of breath mirror the smoke he exhales. He sees Lip’s hand raise to greet him at the same time a bad tune cuts across the field, louder than the muffled grousing from inside the pup tents. Only George whips his head towards the direction of the sound.

“Luz, what’re you up to?” Lip’s voice is firm. George doesn’t see, but he hears the smile in it.

“Better not be doin’ anything fuckin’ stupid. I’m goddamn tired of that pansy chicken-shit officer breathing down my neck all fuckin’ day,” spits Guarnere, digging his hands deeper into his pockets. “Sobel, I mean. Winters ain’t no chicken-shit at least.”

George doesn't expect the polite chuckle from Lip who's quick to follow it up with a stern, “Bill.” At that, Guarnere raises an eyebrow like a demanding child, a look that George knows he never let his ma see. “But he’s right, keep your head outta trouble, Luz. Got enough to deal with while Toye’s relegated to K.P,” continues Lip with a grimace.

George tips his head in the direction of the broken Irish song still flitting in the air. “That him?” The scowl on Guarnere’s face is confirmation enough. “What’d he do?”

“Go ask him if you’re so fuckin’ curious,” Guarnere sneers. “Hey, I’m serious Luz. Give Sobel an excuse to take away passes and I’ll shove a trench knife up your ass.”

George knuckles his forehead to mock-salute Guarnere and gives Lip a wink. “I’ll behave for you, Bill,” he sing-songs. It only takes him a second to quash his finished cigarette under his boot before his feet start moving towards the sound almost involuntarily. He finds Toye hunched over a fire, chin resting on his legs that are folded in front of him. Even tucked into himself, there was something intimidating about his angles. It’s those goddamn broad shoulders of his, wide like no one’s business. Certainly not George’s. He doesn’t recognize the words Joe is singing but the tune’s familiar enough. Once or twice, he found himself straining to hear it in the Toccoa showers. It almost feels like a shame to put an end to it. Almost.

“Thought someone was dying. Your bad singing why they’re making you do this?” chides George, nudging Toye with his boot before he takes a seat on the ground. 

Toye clenches his jaw in acknowledgment, any lingering mirth vanishing from his face. “Luz,” says Toye, already exasperated. George watches him jab the weak fire with a stick. The orange glow casts shadows on his irritated face. Nothing quite like pissing off Joe Toye. He has a nice face, George thinks. Strong nose, strong brows, a scowl that George realized he liked to earn. Even with the darkness under his eyes, Toye looks sturdy.

“Aw, c’mon Toye. Not happy to see me?” His teeth chatter and Toye’s lip twitches into the beginnings of a smile. “Lighten up will ya?”

A gust of wind makes them both adjust their scarves. From under his own, Toye shakes his head before glaring at the stick in his hand. George can see him weighing out the pros and cons of throwing it into the pit. “I did. Look where that got me,” says Toye, eventually.

“Hey, least you’re warm right?” George smiles at him while dislodging a clump of dirt from the sole of his boot to throw in Toye’s direction. When it hits the side of his leg, Toye barely flinches. So it was like that, huh? George digs his heel into the hardened ground, dragging himself closer to Joe. “So what’d you do? You can trust me. Who the fuck am I gonna tell?”

Toye continues staring at the flames like they’d done something to offend him. When he doesn’t answer, George inches forward, tracking cold moisture and mud on his trousers. For a moment he’s convinced Toye isn’t paying attention, but George sees how his eye twitches in time with the sound of his ODs scritching against the ground.

“Toye. Toye. Toye. Joe Toye. C’mon, buddy. Tell good ol’ George,” he says, slightly out of breath as he continues to drag himself closer. 

Bright dots of orange float up into the inky blue night when Toye jostles the firewood with his stick. “Not sure you wanna know, Luz,” he says gravely. “What, you need new source material or something? Running out of punchlines?”

“Me? Nah. Been practicing my Strayer,” says George, grinning. He’s not sure if he imagines the little nod from Toye. “When I get that pitch perfect, it'll last us ’til we ship out at least. You’ll fuckin’ see.” There’s caked mud on the ass of his ODs, he feels it. But now Toye was in perfect prodding distance and that made the journey worth it. With his fist, George nudges him once, twice, but he still looks like a goddamn statue staring at the fire, unmoving. “C’mon Toye. What’d you do?”

Nothing prepares him for how quickly Toye swivels his body towards his. He’s so close that George feels his breath on his cheek when Toye says, “You really wanna know? How about you ask me nice, Luz? Throw in a little favor?”

“Like what…?” says George, schooling his face into seriousness. Were Toye’s lashes always this long? George swears he feels the phantom brush of them against his goddamn forehead. He isn’t proud of the way it makes him miss a beat or causes that slight tremble in his voice. Nothing he couldn’t chalk up to the cold, he thinks. And he fucking would, if anyone asks.

“Like take over with these fires for me, you fuckin’ idiot,” growls Toye in his usual low gravelly voice. The white of his teeth catches the corner of George’s eye, then the pink of his lower lip. Damn. It feels almost too late when Toye thwacks the long stick against George’s chest and he nearly falls backwards. “My arm’s falling asleep.”

Clearing his throat to pull himself together is a decision George regrets immediately. It’s raw and cold like the rest of him. But he can deal with the shards of glass lodged into his windpipe better than the fucking knots that just erupted in his stomach. What was with that? He swipes the stick and turns to face the fire so that Joe is just a smudge in his periphery. From a few feet away, he hears Lieb and Alley laughing mercilessly. The thought of them witnessing all that makes his face burn, but he reminds himself everyone’s huddled in their own pup tents.

Toye's voice, resigned now, floats from beside George suddenly. It’s soft from fatigue. “Kid wanted to know what it felt like,” he says but doesn't continue. 

“What what felt like?” George pokes the fire. There’s a hiss and crackle of wood before Toye replies.

“What it’s like to pick up a skirt,” mumbles Toye, sounding embarrassed, forgiving maybe. “Says he gets nervous easy. He’s a buddy of mine from Dog Company, knew him from Pennsylvania, worked the coal mines together. He’s… you know? All stiff-like. Kinda like—”

“Like Winters?” George answers. “The fuck is wrong with you people from Pennsylvania. You born with a complimentary stick up your ass or what?” George wonders if that was too much, but he hears a huff from beside him—a sound that, from his limited knowledge, is the closest thing Toye gets to laughing. There’s a giddiness in his chest that tells him he’s been wanting to hear that for a while.

“Yeah. Yeah, like Lieutenant Winters,” replies Toye, less grave now. George turns to find him smiling down at the ground almost sleepily. It triggers a fresh set of knots right below George’s belly. It makes sense that the guy would ask Toye, George decides. With a face like that, eyes like that, he could bring home just about anyone he wanted. “Tells me he gets jittery, that friend of mine. Loses his fucking words. Needs practice. Needs advice,” says Toye. 

“Just need a face like yours.” It tumbles out of George’s mouth automatically. God, he wanted to shove one of the burning logs down his throat. But if Toye heard, he didn’t show it. Recovering, George continues, “What’d you tell him?”

Calm as anything, Toye lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “I didn’t. Gave him a little practical exercise and pushed the guy against a wall,” he says with an even voice. From where he’s turned, the fire illuminates only a portion of his face. Even from a partial view, George could tell he wasn’t joking. Unsurprising; Toye rarely did. “Evans saw.”

“So he served you K.P. duty for jostling a guy? Sounds about right.” George laughs, imagining Evans’ prissy frown. “Your broads usually slam you against walls?”

As an answer, Toye smiles, all teeth, and George stops laughing. 

“It was nothing serious. Wanted to see how well he could come up with one of those lines of his in that position. Said he’s been practicing,” insists Toye. A tiny smirk tugs at the corner of his lip at the sudden shift in George’s face. “I was gentle though, but I think that was the problem. I, uh… I think he liked it.”

There was something about the image George couldn’t quite put together in his mind. He frowns. I think he liked it. 

“You shoulda seen Evans’ face. Kinda looks like yours right now actually, but less red,” Toye grins and George fights the urge to hide his head under his scarf. “Ripped my friend away from me and doled out the punishment. But really, the fucking kicker was him telling me to go see the chaplain. Fucking self-righteous asshole.”

“The chaplain? Since when the fuck do you need to—” Suddenly, it clicks in his mind, and he imagines the scene Evans must have walked into that night. Toye resting a hand against the wall beside the private’s face, the incline of his broad shoulders pointing inward, caging him. Gentle . Those big eyes and lashes too fucking close: Toye looking like the very picture of ease. Only in his head, George erases the face of the nameless PFC from Dog Company and replaces it with his own. Toye’s angles leaning towards him, lips inches away from his face, the feeling of his gravelly voice trailing from the tip of George’s nose all the way down under his shirt. He chokes a bit when he says, disbelieving, “No. Fuck, Toye. Nah, that ain’t right. What the fuck were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t,” says Toye tightly and looks up to glare at him. George can’t quite meet his eyes. “I was lightening up, remember?”

This close to the fire, George’s hands still feel like ice. “You’re insane, Joe. Fucking insane,” he says, trying to shake off the thought of Toye being close, peering up at a guy through his lashes like a dame. Suddenly, George’s trousers feel tight and his head was spinning in all possible directions.

“Didn’t hurt him. Was only trying to help. I was gentle, like I said,” Toye says lightly, voice already edged with sleep and without a trace of guilt. “Want a demonstration, Luz?”

“What, so you can get caught again? You plan on being K.P. until we’re shipped out?” George hears the higher register in his voice, and feels the way his heart rams against his sternum. He can’t look at Toye so he pokes the fire instead. A hot splinter flies onto his hand and he lets it sting, steering his full attention to the tiny patch of burning flesh.

Toye’s voice is thick with the lack of sleep, but more importantly is suddenly right behind George’s ear, brushing against the tiny hairs he didn’t know existed there. “I won’t tell if you don’t. I can keep a secret,” whispers Toye. George almost moans, but catches himself. It comes out a fumbling huff instead. The tightness of his trousers stop him from moving away.

“Well,” George tries to say. His zipper brushes against his skivvies and he almost jumps. If not for the jacket, the tented crotch area of his trousers would be on full display. Christ, he hopes Toye’s sleep-deprived enough to forget all this by the end of the march. “I can’t.” 

Toye laughs, fully now. George feels it on his nape, the hahas hitting his skin like long-burning coals. God, it felt good. 

“I’ll try it on you one day, Luz,” says Toye. George isn’t sure if he imagines Toye’s palm resting on his hip. It's too much and he feels like passing out. All the blood from his brain seems pool to right down into his crotch. It was getting harder to think, let alone respond. 

“You’re funny,” manages George eventually. Toye’s breath smells like Juicy Fruit, sweet.

“Yeah? I like surprising people like that,” says Toye, like a purr. When he moves away, Toye keeps the smile fixed on his face. The missing pressure of his hand leaves a cold mark on George’s side. So that was real. The affirmation only intensifies the heat below his stomach.

“You make a habit of shoving enlisted men against walls?” breathes George. It feels too good to keep this line of conversation going, everything in his body says so. But George couldn’t trust himself or his faculties. He was still thinking of Juicy Fruit in his mouth.

“Among other things.” Toye smirks lazily at him, and tilts his head up at the sky. George tells himself it’s the fatigue and the proximity to smoke that makes every word Toye says sound flirtatious. This fucking march had everyone acting strange, especially him.

“You are insane,” he says again, voice trembling. No way in hell was this guy a fairy. Didn’t fucking look like one anyway, all broad shouldered and angular. Nothing about him swished: not his fucking voice, or his fucking hips. Shit just don’t add up like that. But neither did the tightness in his OD trousers that didn't feel like it would disappear fast enough.

“A compliment coming from you, George.” Toye buries his face in his palms. “Fuck, I’m tired,” he says, the words drawn out of him like an exhale.

George watches his body sway slightly, tipping almost imperceptibly in and out of consciousness. “You sleep at all Joe?” Toye yawns as an answer; it shudders through him. He was just tired and spread thin, George thinks, they all were. And that got you acting different, that got you acting abnormal.

“No. But Evans still has it out for me. He’s lurking somewhere,” Toye says, not looking up from where George thinks he’s already fallen half asleep. The sharp angles of Toye’s shoulders droop, sagging under the weight of a second day without sleep. George lights another cigarette, finally, to keep his hands from doing something really fucking stupid like throwing a blanket over Toye and shoving his head onto his lap. Shit that guy from Dog Company can’t do, he thinks, feeling an odd barb of possessiveness while looking at Toye’s drooping head.

“Hey, I got this, all right?” argues George, gesturing at the growing fire.

“Shut up, Luz. I’m not looking for handouts.” But Toye’s voice dips in volume, belying the stubbornness in it.

“C’mon, Joe. You can’t be the only one handing out favors from the goodness of your heart,” George offers something like understanding. From his palms, Toye glances up at him, questioning. He’d look almost offended if he didn’t look so soft.

“Twenty minutes. Sleep. We got thirty-eight miles left in the morning and you look like shit,” continues George. Toye’s gaze doesn’t move away from him. So he stares back, feeling a little selfish, tracing Toye’s dark lashes and pink lips with his eyes. He wonders if they’ll ever get to sit this close again. “I’m saying if Evans comes around, I’ll charm him for ya.”

“Yeah?” says Toye, still looking at George, a small smile hooked on his lips. The sounds of the camp feel like they’ve all but disappeared. “Yeah. You’re good at that.”

His cigarette burns down to the filter but George continues to suck on it, unable to fish it out with his shaking hands that he’s hidden in his jacket pockets. They’re warm now, so it couldn’t have been the cold causing the trembling. He can still feel Toye’s laugh ricocheting on his neck.

Toye breaks their little staring contest and faces the fire. “Fine, twenty minutes.” 

“Sure buddy.” George watches Toye’s chin droop down onto his chest and his eyes flutter shut, lashes twitching. He’s asleep immediately. When he’s sure Toye was out cold, George fishes out a blanket from his pack and drapes the whole thing across Toye’s shoulders with a gentleness he didn’t know he had. “Take as long as you like.”

[virgil-upinthestars]

eddie munson has officially entered the chat

[erinwantstowrite]

y’all dw loki hugged peter so he can’t betray him it is a rule ( trust)

hugs heal everything, especially for peter and dick who's life force depends on them

[kentuckyfriedmegumi]

digital minimeg

from:

[noctispuffin]

Danny Phantom x Dc universe crossover

Hey Guys, I've been captured by the hyperfixation train as you can probably tell what it is from above. I have started writing out a fic and just wanted to post the beginning of what I have here to get a general consensus before I think of publishing it on AO3.

So Long summary short, it's gonna be braindead pairing (Tim/Danny). The general ideas I have going so far are as follows.

Notes/plans for Future chapters: -captured by giw (gonna work on some gore, get that absolute hate going for them, and we all love the autopsy scar) -cosmic/eldritch horror danny (later in fic/Series)

maybe trans danny -ghost cannibalism

revenant red hood

liminal amity parkers

constantine/ soul fragments

ghost politics

coffee Is ambrosia

17yr old danny/ 17 year old Tim Drake

summoning - jl bashing

scarred danny

ghouls Are Trapped By The Bound. -ghouls are the boogeyman of the infinite realms -ghouls feed off the life force of other beings -ghouls use spiders as spies -All realms have spiders/ Spider adjacent creatures.

There will be Oc Villians and Characters later in the Story

So yeah Long post but here is the beginning of chapter 1.

Waking up with a raging headache was not fun. He was dead. Or half dead at least. Headaches should not be an issue. Also, A. He was missing his coffee. B. He was tied to a chair in some… Funhouse? Warehouse?? and C. His. Coffee. Was. Missing.

Now don't get him wrong the tied-to-a-chair thing was rather important but being who he was it wasn't the first time it's happened and it won't be the last. Now the lack of "guys in white" was a bonus, as it means his identity is still intact at least but that doesn't rule out any of the other usual suspects. However, the Funhouse or warehouse… (seriously what's with all the weird clown-themed shit??) atmosphere was at least a little off-putting.

He frowns a bit as he looks out from beneath his bangs at the large area, boxes, and crates pushed out of the way to the sides of the warehouse. Nothing particularly menacing persay… if you could ignore the fruitloop standing 10 feet in front of him in the plum tuxedo with wild green hair, and holding a comically large red button monologuing to a camera.

A Camera.

Shit.

That means he can't just up and leave, even if this is Eisenhower he can't just leave and reveal his identity as Phantom or add any more suspicion to Danny Fenton. The GIW were dumb but they weren't that dumb.

He heaves a deep sigh and decides to at least get this dumb interaction over with.. Maybe he can make this freak knock the camera over cause he's almost entirely sure that the camera is still functioning enough to send out a signal if the red light on it meant anything.

"Freakshow what the hell. Look, We get it circus gothica-" He snaps his mouth shut as the man turns to look at him with a small glare and a deranged smile.

That.

That was most definitely not Eisinhowen. Not unless he somehow managed to fuck up his pale ass face more than it already was.. were… were those scars??!! up his cheeks?!! What the fuuuuck…

"It seems ladybirds and gentle bats that our esteemed guest has finally awoken from his beauty sleep!! What do you have to say to the people of Gotham Young Timothy Drake?!" The man (- the Joker. OH fuuuuuck This is the Joker!!!-) cackles to the camera as he makes a grand sweeping gesture towards him.

Wait, how did he get to Gotham?? -- Not the time.

"who?"

Ok well, that wasn't the smartest response he has ever come up with.

"Wh- What do you mean? Who? WHO?? What is this some sort of knock knock joke?" The clown looks at him and deflates slightly with his confusion before he shakes himself, fixes the lapels of his suit and turns back to the camera with a large smile and a deranged cackle.

"Well, it seems the young CEO has some gal to him! What’s to say I finish this knock-knock joke with a punch line hmm? Better hurry Batsy you know how much I love a good punchline." He giggles with a smile - giggles? seriously?? How much creepier can clowns get-

"Look uh… Joker right? I think you have the wrong person" He starts off, slowly speaking as if he were talking to a particularly unstable ghost. Only to cut himself off at the gun that swiftly appears out of the clown's suit and is pointed directly at his head.

“You have half an hour, Bats. Half an hour before the smart mouth here learns what the taste of good old-fashioned lead tastes like.” The clown's smile just grows ever wider as he takes a few dancing steps towards him.

He feels his mouth pull into a disgusted grimace as the barrel of the gun swings around to tap him on the forehead as the creep gets closer to him.

��Look-” He tries to start again, his view of the camera obscured by the gaudy purple suit and painted face hosting wild eyes.

BANG

He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t. That would be silly. He was already half dead. There is no way that a simple bullet through his frontal lobe, mixing the grey and white matter of his brain together with a burning efficiency and the fury of a fire would kill him fully.. Right? When did he close his eyes?? Fuck this asshole was laughing again..

His blue eyes opened slowly and trail to the sting along his left temple. The gun was aimed just to the left of his forehead and there was some sort of sharp metal rod with a piece of fabric hanging from the end laying along the stinging, and now he was pretty sure bleeding along his temple.

“Hehe! Whoopsies!” The red of the clowns painted smile seemed to crack a bit as he leaned away and waved the gun around, splattering small drops of red blood from the-

Was that a fucking prop gun?! With the whole stick with the bang flag on it?? Wtf…

“This thing just has a mind of its own!” The freakshow look alike turned back to the camera with that deranged smile of his.

“Now as I was saying, As much as i'm sure Mr. Wayne would like for you to come and rescue him, you my little friends have some more important things to be dealing with!” The man strides away and grabs the camera swinging it away from Danny so it could focus solely on what seemed to be some sort of pipebomb- no- time bomb? Bomb. Was attached to a crate full of gas cylinders.

“This is one of many I have set up at certain places in the city. Detonated, of course, by the timer running out. You only have enough time to find and disarm all of them or save the poor soul of this child. See cause if you miss even one bomb, well they all go off. Disarm all of them or None of them!! HAha! Now I'd hurry along. The timer has already begun!!” The joker slams the camera back into place on the tripod so that both Danny and the digital clock behind him are visible.

He keeps his face carefully neutral as he watches the Joker waltz past him to presumably where the exit is located in this mess of a warehouse. He can hear the distant sounds of a door slamming and a large padlock clicking shut before a car starts up and drives off.

Well. This is not how he expected to spend his evening.

Last thing he remembered was trying to put together how much savings he had saved up so he could visit Jazz at college and meeting with his mom and dad for his birthday supper at nasty burger… After that it just became fuzzy and when he tried to think harder his head started to pound and the stinging of his temple seemed to double in intensity. Weird.. Not the current concern though. Time to get out of here. He couldn’t see the clock from where he was tied up but he could assume it probably wasn’t the most gracious amount of time.

He shifted back to lean into the back of the chair and wiggled his hands and fingers to figure out just how tight he was tied up. Tight but not terrible. He still had the normal amount of decreased blood flow in his hands. So, not as tight as the GIW goons like to do them but tight enough to bruise his skin.

Scowling lightly, his left hand phased through the ropes with little issue before bringing both arms around front to wiggle his torso out of the rooms holding him to the chair. His legs took a bit more work from slightly numb fingers to work the knots open and free his legs.

Pushing himself to his feet and nearly falling flat on his face was a surprise however. His legs felt like dead weight. Pins and needles starting in his thighs alerting him to the lack of blood flow to his lower half. His legs were.. Asleep? That was not normal. With his slowed heart rate and half dead metabolism the only times that ever happened was when he was with nocturne and went into a more “dead sleep” as he liked to call it. Usually the ancient would help him wake up before it got that far though..

Letting go of the chair that he had used to catch himself and half shuffling half limping over to the camera he scowled at the older model and flipped the screen so he could see what was being recorded.

A very static filled screen with hints of warehouse at the edges. Perfect. That was normal at least then, well normal for him around non ecto- contaminated electronics. He stepped back towards the chair and watched the static recede with his figure from the camera. Alright, hopefully this works.

“Hey uh.. Look I am not who he thinks I am? I am fine, I'll disarm the bomb here as best I can and then I’ll head out.. It seems like we are by a river? So I am hoping no workers are around but better to get rid of the thing, am I right?” He chuckled nervously, hand coming up to wipe at the beads of blood trailing down his cheek.

“So uh yeah Ill just do that and go? Uhh.. Yeah bye.” He nods a bit as he walks back to it and shuts the camera off.

Alright disarming a bomb.. It can’t be that hard can it? The mess of wires and C4 clay connecting the bomb and the cylinders looked more like a mess of silly string and playdoh than anything. Well it was more intuitive than the wiring his dad used at least.

Alright so that one to there.. That one connects the detonator and the… Right. Ok looks like separating the yellow and purple wires from the timer and the green and red from the detonator and back up detonator should prevent this thing from turning this entire area into a gas covered crater. Hopefully.

Using his fingers he disconnects the first two wires from each other only swearing slightly when electricity races through the wires and singes his fingertips. He sucks on the finger that got the worst of it before turning his other hand invisible and pushing it into the bomb to disconnect the wires hidden within the clay casing without disturbing anything that would set the backup detonator off.

“Fucking clowns… Robbing banks, kidnapping people, and now bombs.. Of all the things that could make me hate clowns more..” He grumbled around his finger under his breath as he observed the bomb closely and used his enhanced hearing to listen for the tell tale buzz of the still live bomb.

Silence.

Good. Now to get the hell outta dodge and figure out a way back to Amity.

And maybe pick up another coffee.

He wiped his fingers on his now rumpled jeans and dirty shirt before walking directly through the wall out to the side of the warehouse.

Tim was a smart kid. Sure he could get a little.. Exuberant, when something caught his attention. But that was normal. Completely normal. So maybe he gets a little sleep deprived now and then and maybe a little dehydrated, but that doesn’t mean anything!

Any person would stay up for 4 days straight to figure out why the riddler changed the font of his riddles to make sure it wasn’t some convoluted plan that meant he was working with some cult or was a clone working as a distraction for something larger!!

So sue him for drinking from a random coffee in the mess of half empty mugs in the hidden study he was working in, that may and or may not (read: definitely was) laced with enough melatonin and benadryl to knock out a horse while he was distracted with a case.

That was 13 hours ago.

Waking up from a sleep like that can always be a little disorienting. So when the silence of the manor finally reaches his muddled mind through the thick fog of sleep he immediately clocks something as wrong and is fighting to wake himself up fully. He narrows his eyes at the cups around him before pushing himself up and stumbling down the halls to the kitchen where he can grab a can of cold coffee from Dick’s stash hidden in the locked minifridge.

A few good sips from that has him at least alert enough to clock once again just how quiet and still the manor is. Now to be fair the manor was always a revolving door for the Wayne family and friends. But the only people who were often living here were him, Alfred, Bruce, and the demon brat.

Even with such a big place like the manor he should at least be able to pick up the tell tale signs of Bruce listening to music while doing paperwork or Alfred moving around the manor cleaning, or even the demon Brat playing with his menagerei or working with his literal arsenal of sharp weapons in his room.

Now, Silence.

Ok so based on his phone he was out for about 13 hours. That wasn’t all that long. He had gone longer without checking in so it's not like B had everyone panicking looking for him.. But where was everyone?

He lifted the cold coffee to his lips again and reveled in the bitter taste for a second before starting off towards the cave. It was probably fine. They were probably just out on patrol and Alfred was probably out doing something or other..

The cave was in a state of pandemonium. Well as much pandemonium as could be considered as such for the bat family. B, Dick, Steph and Damian were all standing staring up at the main computer. Well Dick was holding on to the hood of Damian who looked like he was trying to escape the grasp to get to his weapons and Bruce looked downright murderous. Even Dick and Steph looked pissed off.

The lilting and crazed sound of the joker's laugh echoed in the cavernous space of the cave and his scarred face and lithe body filled up most of the screen. He seems to have wandered in, just in the middle of the Clowns next big scheme. Great.

"Well, it seems the young CEO has some gal to him! What’s to say I finish this knock-knock joke with a punch line hmm? Better hurry Batsy you know how much I love a good punchline."

CEO huh? Wonder who he grabbed this time, he scowls slightly as he takes another sip of the cold drink only to choke as Joker steps aside and he catches a glimpse of himself?!!

He coughs sharply and feels 4 pairs of sharp eyes swing to him. Out of the corner of his eye he can see 3 sets of shoulders relax slightly and 1 set of suspicious eyes immediately start ping ponging between the screen and him as he works to clear his windpipe of cold brew.

“What the fu-” He starts to cough out before being interrupted by Not Tim.

"Look uh… Joker right? I think you have the wrong person" Not Tim starts as the camera tries to focus on them but seems to have difficulty as the picture around him is warped and covered in pixels and static. Even his voice had a slightly warped and staticky quality to it.

Shit. Everyone in Gotham knows not to give the joker sass.

“You have half an hour, Bats. Half an hour before the smart mouth here learns what the taste of good old-fashioned lead tastes like.” The joker cuts the guy off as he takes a few steps towards the man. And man he was.. Damn he looked skinny and honestly not that great from the little bits and pieces he could see of him through the static and distortion but the closer the Joker got to the kid the more the static seemed to open up a bit.

All eyes are drawn back to the Joker as he pulls his revolver from his coat pocket and aims it at what he can only assume is the other boy's forehead. Bruce- No Batman, the cowl and uniform were on. Was already leaping into the batmobile and Robin and spoiler weren’t far behind him. Here’s hoping Oracle had already pinpointed the location this was at, but it was unlikely even B and the others would get there in time to save this kid from Joker's wrath.

“Look-” the kid tries again and he can hear the slight waver in their voice as the Joker obscures the camera’s view of the kid.

He feels his jaw tick as he looks back up the screen, feet slowly carrying him up to the platform to stand just behind Dick as they watch the unfolding scene. The pixelation and distortion of the screen was visible in an almost halo effect around the joker as he stands just in front of the boy. The boy was completely obscured but the joker was perfectly clear.. Well about as clear as an old video camera got. Looked like from the quality like it was an old D90 digital point and shoot.

Not known for having video problems like this though..

BANG.

He scowls looking directly at the screen even as his stomach rolls slightly, expecting to see the blood start dripping down the guys pixelated form and his head to be forced back by the metal pole from which Joker had probably skewered him with his gag gun.

Blood and guts weren’t exactly a new thing to him and his siblings. Especially not in this profession. Not in this town..

““Hehe! Whoopsies!” The lack of blood that he is seeing as the Joker laughs and steps back enough for them to get a quick view of the form before the pixels swarm back in to obscure him.

“This thing just has a mind of its own!” The Joker prattles on as he reaches past Dick to press a few keys on the keyboard and bring up a still shot of the somewhat blurry but probably the clearest view they have had of the person tied up so far. It sits hovering in the left corner as the Joker goes on to prattle about his plans for destroying the city or the bats or whatever in the background.

“Now as I was saying, As much as i'm sure Mr. Wayne would like for you to come and rescue him, you my little friends have some more important things to be dealing with!”

“Mr. Wayne?” he says quietly to Dick who was standing beside him leaning forwards to look closer at the screen.

“Thinks it’s you apparently.” He responds sounding confused himself as he glances between the still shot and Tim with narrowed eyes.

He just shakes his head slightly as he starts running the still shot through the city's databases. He hears Oracle reporting sites of possible bombs to B and the others as Dick stands up and walks off to get on his bike to go help.

“Nightwing you're with Red who I hear is completely fine by the way.” The voice says pointedly as Tim slides a com into his ear.

“Hey it's not my fault you guys thought it was me!” He retorts as he slips into his uniform and starts his bike to follow Nightwing out of the cave towards the docks.

“Oh Noooo It's not like the black haired insomniac who went MIA for half a day definitely couldn’t be the Black haired unconscious insomniac tied up by The Joker of all people.” Jason retorts shortly through the comms as they pull away form the cave. He can see Dick smirk a bit as they make the trip over to the area Oracle sent them.

“Nice to hear from you too.” He snarks back slightly, even more annoyed now, knowing that even Jason was brought in on this. He did not need more blackmail for Todd to use against him. “Why is the walking dead helping anyways. Shouldn’t he be digging his own grave again?”

“Fuck you too replacement.” Comes the annoyed response.

“Enough.” B’s voice cuts across the banter. “While the unknown civilian was unconscious we could see him a lot better on camera. After being unable to contact and locate you we assumed the worst. Focus on your missions. I want all bombs and statuses related to Oracle as they are defused.” The communicator clicked slightly meaning he had been put back to a channel with only him and Nightwing and presumably Oracle if she was still listening, well she was always listening but not the point.

“Did they really look that much like me?” He asks after a few seconds of silent racing through the paved alleys and streets of gotham. The docks on the gotham river weren’t too far off he could smell it in the distance through his helmet. The building they were going to was in Gotham Proper (the lower of course).

“Yeah. They did.” Nightwing responds, his voice slightly strained showing that he was concerned that it really had been Tim kidnapped at the time.

“Huh..” Is all he can respond with as he thinks back to the still shot and pulls his bike to a stop behind Nightwing in the alley across from the building that Oracle sent them.

From the outside it was dark, not exactly clean and obviously uninhabited. The same couldn’t be said for the remainder of the buildings on the street. Light from covered windows and the distant rattle of a cart being dragged showed the life wading through the heavy atmosphere of Gotham lower.

Once Nightwing and him had gotten into the building and had located the bomb. Connected to laughing gas. New batch probably seeing as Robin and B had destroyed the last manufacturing plant. Which means no immediate antidote. Great.

He sighs as he pulls open his wrist computer to start analyzing the wiring only for his com to be reconnected with a flurry of activity from the others. Making him and Nightwing glance at each other as he worked on disarming the bomb in front of them.

“He’s escaped-”

“Not Possible-!!”

“He’s gonna get himself blown up?!!”

“Quiet.” The commanding voice of Batman broke across the chaos of the comms silencing all of the voices at once. No one wanted to cross a direct order from Batman.

“Oracle. What is going on.” He continued after a moment of silence.

“The civilian managed to escape his bonds and is going to attempt to defuse the bomb at the warehouse.” Her voice was calm and for the most part steady as they had all been trained to be when giving reports but the slight tremor was unmistakable. She was concerned.

To be fair, so was Tim. Who was this kid? Why did he think he could diffuse a bomb??! Especially one made to specifically lull those into a false sense of security only to blow up in your face a second later! A glance over at Nightwing showed he was just as concerned about the news as he was.

“Ill deal with it.” Batman’s voice responds after a brief pause and then the coms are silent once more aside from Oracle directing members of the bat family to the secondary bomb locations of those who had managed to defuse the initial ones.

He hissed softly as a sharp jolt manages to pierce his insulated gloves when he disconnects two of the wires. He can feel Nightwing’s eyes on the back of his head but he ignores the look and continues reaching further into the bomb to find the last 2 wires that had to be disconnected from the detonator and backup detonator.

He pulls his hand out and Nightwing reports that they defused the bomb getting an affirmative grunt from Batman.

“Bomb at the warehouse has already been defused. Civilian is no longer in the building or immediate area. Robin and I will go after the joker. Keep your eyes open for the civilian. I want them found. There was blood at the scene, they may need assistance.” Batman’s words are short and clipped but the concern and curiosity are there.

That only works to make Tims curiosity over this whole thing even worse.

After a brief discussion, Nightwing and him split up in hopes of covering more of Gotham to see if they can find this strange civilian. Oracle was going to keep an eye out on the cameras but Tim had his doubts that that would work with how the camera acted when it recorded the stranger.

Pausing on the edge of the roof he crouches down slightly to pull up the footage of the Jokers video before he got to the cave. All this concern over if this kid was him or not was starting to bug him. B and the others prided themselves on being able to pick out small details. Small differences. That is what made them such great detectives!

So how was it there was someone out there that looked exactly like him, was not in any of the records of Gotham and that also got captured by the joker? It just wasn’t plausible!

Now sure dopplegangers, clones, shapeshifting aliens, those were all things that came with the lifestyle and things that they had encountered and dealt with but usually with all that they tended to claim that they were the original.

Well most of the time at least.

But not this kid.. He scrubs through the footage quickly on his wrist hologram, it was just so weird.. One minute the Joker is setting up the camera and laughing as he taunted the Bats, an unconscious “Tim” in the background. The next his eyes flashed open under the black fringe of hair and the pixels and distortion just appeared!

Ok that was kinda weird, he’s pretty sure he has that shirt.. And those shoes but they were way cleaner and didn’t look like they had run a mile and a half through the swamp. The lighting was crummy enough in the warehouse that he supposed the jeans could look like the new pre- worn pair that he got from Kon.. Just who was this guy?

He pauses the feed after the Joker leaves and the guy manages to get out of the ropes holding him to the chair in a frankly worrying amount of time. No civilian knew how to get out of ropes that fast. Not even a tried and true gothamite who got tied up on the regular.

The stumbling and almost falling flat on his face on the concrete definitely was not something that spoke to someone who was just knocked out however. Drugged maybe? Or a concussion?? Both of those weren’t above something that the Joker would do..

And there is the static and distortion again. What the hell is going on with this camera and this guy.. It's like the static was specifically hiding this guy's identity! It followed him for god's sake as he walked away from the camera!

“Hey uh.. Look I am not who he thinks I am? I am fine, I'll disarm the bomb here as best I can and then I’ll head out.. It seems like we are by a river? So I am hoping no workers are around but better to get rid of the thing, am I right?”

The voice was similar in tone to his but even with the distortion warping it it had an accent to it. He couldn’t place the accent immediately but it was definitely there. “So uh yeah Ill just do that and go? Uhh.. Yeah bye.” The camera shuts off shortly after that concerning statement. Although, he supposed there was nothing to really be concerned about? After all this guy diffused the bomb. And well enough to have B concerned.

The sound of a trash can falling over and quiet swearing from a few alley’s over quickly garners his attention. Probably some drunk stumbling around but better to be safe than sorry. He deftly stands from his crouch and swings over the next few rooves, dropping onto the edge of the roof to look down into the darkened alley curiously.

That was.. That was the civilian. Well guess it's his lucky day! Wait - night? Night.

“SHit?!” Danny hisses to himself as he clips his foot against the metal trash bin sending it and whatever was inside crashing onto the already disgusting alleyway. His one leg was still bothering him for some reason. The pins and needles had barely eased up in his leg calf and foot and yet his right leg had returned to normal already. Something was up with that.

He lifts his hand to his left brow to double check the bleeding from the gunshot (stab? Cut- thing?) had eased off and closed up. With how polluted Gotham was already he didn’t need to be adding his weird ass blood to the mix. Luckily enough for him it seemed that Gotham had a larger than normal amount of ambient ectoplasm in the area meaning he could heal up his wounds faster then he would be able to using his own ectoplasmic energies.

“Son of A BI-” He spits out as he trips over a shade that darts out of a wall and makes him fall face first into the sticky and wet alley ground. He groans annoyed as he pushes himself back up to his knees and looks at his shirt and pants. How the hell was he supposed to explain this mess to his parents now… He smelled like piss and vomit and unfiltered ectoplasmic waste. They would already be pissed he missed his birthday supper and now he was in another state entirely. Fuck.

Someone was watching him.

He blinks slowly knowing the familiar feeling of eyes on him but this time it wasn’t some ghost. No, these eyes had weight behind them that ghosts simply couldn’t convey.

Homeless? … No, too intense.. Robber? Probably not but can’t be ruled out… Murderer? Well knowing his luck..

He frowns to himself and glances down at his left leg before pushing himself to his feet and angling himself to see if he could spot the person watching him without letting them know he knows they are there. As long as it was just some human he can lose them pretty easily by walking through a few walls but if it was something else.. Well he will cross that bridge when he gets there.

There. On the roof. He could just barely see the slight movement as whoever this was slid out of his line of sight.

Fuck. Probably a vigilante then. That was the last thing he needed right now. He just needed 5 minutes to himself to breathe, check his leg, and get the ring out of his pocket dimension to tear himself a portal back to amity.

He takes the next turn down the maze of allies and picks up his pace only to practically turn the corner and run into a dark figure about a head shorter than him.

He scowls slightly as he takes in the cape and domino mask. So a vigilante then. He was right. Damn.

“Where are you off to?” The guy smirks, crossing his arms over his chest as he looks up at Danny. His outfit was a mix or red and black armour. Well at least the armour cut some nice figures over his outline.. Wonder if being hot was a necessity for being a vigilante here.

“Anywhere but where I was.” He answers cryptically, crossing his own arms over his chest as he gets a better look at this guy. Sharp jaw, thick black hair, high cheekbones, fit- damn if this dude wasn’t a vigilante he would be just his type..

“Well that's one way to answer, but seriously why are you out here? Don’t you know it's dangerous out here at this time of night?” The vigilante frowns slightly as if he was worried about Danny of all people.

“I.. I can take care of myself.” He responds shortly as he looks down at the smaller hero and moves to step around the guy. “Now if you don't mind.”

“I do mind actually,” Red responds, reaching out to grab his arm.

Danny moves out of reach as quickly as he can, letting this guy's hand phase through his arm to prevent him from actually touching him.

“Don’t. Don’t.. Don’t touch me.” He snaps out quickly trying to reign in his emotions before he actually did something to this guy he might regret.

“Look, it's been a long night. I just want to get home and sleep all this” He waves vaguely around and behind him “off. So I don't know what you want or who you think you are but leave. Me. Alone.”

He glares at the vigilante, hoping that this would work. Maybe if he was just rude and annoying enough the guy would back off enough for him to go intangible and get into one of these buildings so he can properly work on getting home.

Red just raises a brow making his mask arch with the movement, as his hands come up in a surrendering gesture.

“Easy there friend, look probably not the best way to have started this encounter but it's clear you aren't from around here. And therefore probably don't know who I am” He says the last bit under his breath.

Danny can't help the small snort that he gives that sentence but otherwise doesn't acknowledge him aside from just glaring.

“Names Red Robin, vigilante of Gotham. And you are??…” the guy- red Robin, offers him a hand to shake like a peace offering.

He considers the hand for a moment before sighing through his nose and dragging a hand through his hair. He shakes the hand and drops it quickly to keep the contact to a minimum. He didn’t need to give Red another reason to be suspicious and his lower body temperature tended to be a cause of concern for people who didn’t know him. He grits his teeth a bit before shifting his weight off his left leg. The feeling was still coming back, if a lot slower than normal. He would have to have Sam take a look when he got back.

“Danny. Now I really do need to be going.” He says shortly. “So if that's all.”

“You're injured.”

Those two words make him freeze and his heart stop In his chest.

“Look we can help just-”

He didn't even notice when this body decided to start running but he was. Dark and twisting alleys flashing past him as he pressed his legs to go faster. He couldn’t phase here. He said ‘we’. Who was we?? The GIW?? Fuck if he was working with them- who was he kidding they all probably were, the justice league any of their little hero's. Fuck he needed to get out of here yesterday.

He risked a glance behind him as he could still feel the energy of the person chasing him but for the moment he was out of sight. He had to risk it. There's no way a Gotham Vigilante would give up the chase. He'd seen what they were like from the news.

He dove around the corner and threw intangibility around himself like a familiar cloak as he nearly crashed through the brick wall that made up the end of the alley.

He quickly stopped breathing as he heard the near silent steps round the corner he did just seconds ago. The vigilante was alone still… For now. He couldn't stick around to see how long that would last. He stuck his hand into the fabric of reality and opened up his pocket dimension sliding the ring onto his finger with a small frown at the familiar overwhelming wave of power that accompanied the damn thing.

He shifted slightly and let the phase cover him silently till he was back as Phantom. It was familiar at least. Being Phantom. Not ‘high king Phantom’ just.. Phantom.

He shook his head as he listened to the other side of the wall. Red Robin seemed to be talking to someone but there were no other signs of living energy in the 500M radius of the two of them. Must be some sort of communication system.. sounded like it wasn't working very well if the muttered curses were anything to go by.

That would be his cue to leave anyways. If the vigilante put 2 and 2 together about the electronics.. If he hasn't already. He really would be screwed.

The high-pitched whine of something being launched and catching on the roof above him had him simultaneously ripping a hole in the fabric of reality and turning to look at the windows that were not boarded up, above his hiding space.

The minute toxic green eyes met those of the domino mask he was throwing himself through the portal and sealing it shut behind him.

[the-hilda-librarians-wife]

Relationship: Kaisa/Johanna

Category: Teen and up audiences

Word count: 27.3k

Chapters: 7/7

Tags: 5+1 Things (loosely); Misunderstandings; Lack of Communication; Romantic Comedy; Idiots in Love; Fairies; not a single braincell in sight

🧚🏻‍♀️🍄Read it on ao3✨🔮

Preview:

Kaisa knew what she was as soon as her eyes landed on her for the first time.

The woman, who at the time had been strolling aimlessly around the library, might have looked inconspicuous to the untrained eye. She presented herself with a fairly human constitution, aside from the fact that no ordinary person could be quite that beautiful. But, with the standard way she carried herself, and the clearly extensive knowledge on how humans should behave, someone who didn’t know better might have shrugged the woman off as just a uniquely gorgeous person.

But Kaisa knew better. The newest patron in her library, and there was simply no way around it, was a faerie.

It was a good thing the librarian saw her first; not that she was in any way under the illusion that the fae couldn’t sense her, didn’t know she was there and watching her. But the lack of visual contact gave Kaisa a chance to gather her bearings, to identify why the energy coming off of this “person” was so much stronger than she’d see from any human, why it made her think of a golden sunset on meadows and drizzle on the canopy of trees.

Her energy imprint wasn’t as strong as Kaisa had felt from faeries before; there was something tame about it, something domesticated. Something that, even if it hadn’t been originally human, had been sufficiently squeezed and bent into a shape resembling it. Out in the woods, when any witch had to call for help from the good folk for whatever practice they were hoping to work on, this was not the energy they felt; Kaisa had witnessed enough of such workings to recognize the wild and boundless spirit of most faeries, like a tsunami that each of those witches brought unto themselves and could easily drown in were they not careful.

Comparatively, the woman gently running her fingers across the wooden carvings on one of the ceiling high bookshelves, smiling at it with the same gentleness of someone greeting an old friend, felt positively docile. Not a monstrous wave. Not an avalanche after the breaking of a dam. Rather, a river that ran with enough strength to carve its path in the rocks, but one inviting enough that children would play near it during summer – only getting hurt if they were a little stupid.

Yes, Kaisa thought, there was something about this faerie that was distinctively human.

Which didn’t do a single thing to change the fact that this was a faerie. In her library.

[pepi-nillo]

i love when authors add a "you could take a break before reading the next chapter!" end note in long fics 😭 it's adorable and makes me feel taken care of

[wutheringmights]

Chapter 29: The Fairy Proxi & The King's Guard Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Additional Tags: Linked Universe (Legend of Zelda), Alternate Universe, Character Study, War, world building, Trauma, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Political Intrigue, Found Family, Angst and Humor, Warriors is a very complicated person, Warriors also does not know Time is Mask, Warriors (Linked Universe)-centric, Canon-Typical Violence, Heavy Angst, Manipulation, Morally Ambiguous Character, Please read content warnings before each chapter, Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Physical Abuse, Implied Sexual Content, Power Imbalance, Implied/Referenced Torture, Blood and Injury, Disabled Character, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat Summary: “You are going to hear a lot of terrible things about me. Most of it is going to be true.” Being the hero who saved Hyrule from a bloody war was a thankless job that left Warriors with more regrets than he cared to remember. He only started to heal after meeting his fellow heroes from across time and joining them on their quest to defeat the black-blooded monsters. But when his time-hopping journey takes him back home, he finds his kingdom on the brink of war once more. This war threatens to ensnare not only Warriors, but his newfound family as well. Warriors will do whatever it takes to keep them safe, even if that means becoming a traitor to the kingdom he gave up everything to save. But the harder Warriors works to protect his family, the more the secrets of his dark past come to life. Who is Captain Link Walton, the Hero of Warriors? What happened to the two other heroes he had once fought alongside all those years ago? When this is over, will Warriors even have a family left to save or is he doomed to repeat his past mistakes? (Once, there were three brothers: the captain, the engineer, and the child. Their story did not have a happy ending.)

I was going to joke about how not even AO3 outages can stop this fic, but an AO3 outage did in fact prevent me from posting last night.

Did I use that time to fix all of the obvious flaws in this chapter? No. This chapter is a plague upon my existence, and I wish I had bludgeoned it to death with a baseball bat.

In this installment of, ya know, this whole mess:

Link tries to help the mysterious light he found in the snow

Warriors endeavors to establish a foothold of power within Castle Town

Hey kids! Do you like learning the names of random old men? No? Too bad :)

>> Read It Here >>

[youchangedmedestiel]

I need help from fic writers. Especially long fic writers. I need advice.

How do you write a long fic? What's your process compared to writing short ones? (More questions in the tags below).

[guplia]

To all Ninjago fans, specifically AO3 writers...

Thank you. Thank you for all you've done in appreciation of Ninjago. No matter how many kudos your fic got, no matter when you wrote it and whether or not you even like Ninjago anymore.

I'm a fifteen year old girl. It shouldn't be surprising that none of the people in my life off the screen share the same interest with me: A Lego show aimed at 7 year olds. But when I go online, I see many people just like me, who also happen to like this cartoon. What shocks me the most is that there are so many other cartoons aimed at the same age range as Ninjago, and while they're more popular among kids they have little to no fan content online. So naturally, I was very shocked when I discovered that there were over 10,000 fan fictions on AO3 for Ninjago. And it wasn't always like this either.

This was the Ninjago fandom on AO3 in December 2012 (both were written by the same person):

December 2014 (multiplied by 19 but not very impressive considering the initial number of fanfics):

January 2017 (multipled by 4 but difference is much larger):

January 2018 (almost tripled, but the difference is getting better):

April 2019 (doubled in about a year, also finally reached 1k at some point before this):

January 2021 (doubled in two years):

May 2022 (doubled in less than two years):

And this is us now (we just keep doubling!!!):

We're growing exponentially, and I love that. It took 8 years to reach 1k fics but only about 5 more to gain 10k. I joined AO3 in December 2023 which was a month or two before the fandom reached 10k fics. So it's gained over 2,622 this year. Not bad at all!

Not to mention fanfiction.net, where a lot of exclusive Ninjago fanfictions are posted! It's the 26th most popular cartoon there:

Again, not bad considering ff.net is a dead site!!!

Keep watching Ninjago, and don't let anyone judge you! Stay cool!

[the-fic-rex]

An intentionally neutral explanation of what is happening to “all media types” tags on ao3

According to Reddit and tumblr, in the past few days ao3 has started to get rid of the “[Fandom] - All media types” tags and instead separate them out and consolidate them into different property specific tags. For example, “Avengers- All media types” is now “Avengers (comics)” and “Avengers (marvel movies)”. This conversion has not yet happened to all tags or fandoms yet but it seems that the intention is to generally retire the use of the “-All media types” tags site wide. This will mean (for better or for worse) that tagging and searching will change slightly as time goes on. To see all the options in a franchise you may need to use the search OR function to include multiple, or lean more heavily on exclusion rather than inclusion filters. While posting, you may need to tag more fandoms or have a more specific idea of which media property your fic belongs to. Fics tagged as crossovers may also no longer be between different media franchises but rather between different properties within the same franchise as people tag multiple. Keep your eye out for any changes in the fandoms your in and know that this may be why searching or tags are changing for your experience in the next few weeks.

[no-psi-nan]

Awwwww, thank you so much!! 🥺💜 (this is about my latest extra love stories chapter btw)

Yeah I just can't imagine Saiki putting up with bras, especially when he doesn't even have that much cake to lift hsfjdlshfks

The only thing preventing Aiura from asking him to lift hers too is the knowledge that if he gets distracted she'll have a baaad time with her bahonkadonks. Also she likes getting bras with cute patterns on them so it's worth some of the bullshit.

[riathedreamer]

Footnotes Fanart Collection

This comic of a scene in chapter 32 by milstrim This illustration of a scene in chapter 15 by MetalMiez This illustration of a scene in chapter 38 by MetalMiez This illustration of the Ineffable Viking Wives in chapter 6 by MetalMiez This illustration of a scene in chapter 35 by wolvesofdeltora This amazing piece of Aziraphale's erasure in chapter 1 by WolvesofDeltora! This illustration of a scene in chapter 44 by MetalMiez. This piece of Crowley in ch 25 by WolvesofDeltora! This illustration of Aziraphale collapsing in ch 47 by ineffableigh! This drawing of Crowley connecting the Pieces by crowzirawho! This illlustration of Crowley's monologue in ch 32 by WolvesofDeltora! This illustration of Aziraphale in the church in chapter 54 by MetalMiez. This amazing piece of Aziraphale in chapter 34 by WolvesofDeltora! Aziraphale and Crowley in the chocolate in chapter 50 by MetalMiez. More viking wives from chapter 6 by MetalMiez. This amazing drawing of Aziraphale in the church in chapter 54 by peach16s. This amazing drawing of Aziraphale teaching Crowley to hold a sword in ch 51 by sun-splotches. This amazing drawing of Crowley holding the sword in ch 51 by merlots. This beautiful drawing of Aziraphale in the church in chapter 54 by WolvesofDeltora. This comic of Buk with the gun in chapter 61 by crowzirawho. This amazing drawing of Aziraphale staring at his reflection in chapter 64 by sun-splotches. This amazing drawing of Crowley and Kokabiel in ch 25 by MetalMiez.