#dc horror fanfic

[butwhyduh]

I was thinking about Scarecrow. I don't know a lot about his character, but I think the basic concept is pretty neat. I think in his studies into fear, he'd probably end up consuming a lot of horror media to pick out the aspects that scared people most. Maybe him with a recently retired horror actress known for her famous scream. But, of course, those were all fake. He would like to know what makes her scream for real.

I’m high key Gonna ignore his origin story here. He’s gonna be in his early 20s here and the reader 30 but retired as in moved to a different career path.

Warning: smut, scary, he’s a bad guy, dark, non-con, major character death. Like seriously it’s very dark. This is a horror story, not a romance.

Note: I wrote this over a year ago and didn’t know what to do with it. How would it go over? It’s very dark. But I figured it was worth posting.

Jonathan Crane liked to be scared. The blood coursing through his veins was beautiful and he felt alive. He was young and hearing ghost stories were fun. They weren’t enough to hear campfire tales so he looked for more scary stories and for horror books and movies. He would watch and read any that he got his hands on.

He was 13 the first time he found himself interested in horror in a sexual way. He watched a movie where a woman was having sex with a man and both were murdered. Her shrieks of terror were music to his ears and he found his pants too tight. It became his thing to masturbate to horror movies. Plenty of sex and violence and Jonathan could pretend it was normal.

There she was, a beautiful woman in a tiny dress. You wore a blonde wig and deep almost purple lipstick. The way your eye makeup had smeared across your face as you ran across the woods did something to him and you were soon a favorite to watch. You were in a few movies in the late 2000 as a young woman trying to be an actress. Jonathan soon had all of your movies on dvds.

But life for you changed. You weren’t getting roles and you needed money so you went back to school and started a different profession. Jonathan was sad that you were gone. But then again, he had moved on from fake fear into feeling a taste of the real stuff. Every once in a while when he was nostalgic, he would put on one of your old movies.

Jonathan was now in college and studying the human body more in depth. He was bright in his anatomy class and interesting in psychology. There was an opportunity to help with a research study on the activity of the amygdala when watching horror movies. Jonathan won the chance to assist the project.

“The amygdala is one of the most basic part of the brain. It regulates the flight or fight response,” he said to the participants. “In real life situations it will send signals to the body that cause the sympathetic nervous system to cause physical changes in the body such as speeding up the heart rate and flushing the skin. This study will test you in multiple ways for physical response. Please sign the waivers if you would like to continue.”

Everyone signed paperwork and passed it to him. He walked between the rows to collect the papers. Jonathan took one look at your face and almost fell over in shock. You were there. In his study. You were there in front of him, just as beautiful as ever. He adjusted the front of his pants and continued with his work.

“You will be separated and sent into sound proof booths where a series of horror scenes will play. You will be wearing various monitors,” Jonathan continued. “The schedule is posted for times and we ask that no one talk to one another about their experiences. That could compromise results.”

Jonathan was thankful for the dark booth as he placed heart monitors on your chest and a blood pressure cuff on your wrist. He knew that he was having a Pavlovian response to seeing you. If he masturbated every time he saw you on screen, then his body would anticipate it and that’s why he was failing to prevent himself from being hard now. Or so he told himself. Not because he was close enough to smell your perfume and see down your low cut shirt. Not at all. He was glad to be done with the monitor placements. His professor has already added tiny electrodes to your scalp to monitor brain activity.

He excused himself to quickly take care of business for a few minutes while the other volunteers help place the electrodes on other subjects in other booths. It was embarrassing how quickly he came with just a few rough jerks to his cock in the tiny staff bathroom. A few huffs of heavy breathing was the only sign of what he had done. Jonathan cleaned up and joined the group again.

There was a classroom with a screen set up to show all 8 subjects as they watched the scary images and videos. Jonathan sat in the back and stared at you the whole time. He felt his dick twitch as you gasp at a scary part before smiling. The other subjects did as well but Jonathan paid them no mind. No, he was staring at his scream Queen in person. God, you were beautiful. Another part your eyes cringed and you bit your lip and he stared at the skin as it darkened and he imagined the skin swelling. Jonathan would have to get ahold of himself or he would need to excuse himself again and he was already a little embarrassed from earlier. He instead watched the heart rate and brain activity monitors and enjoyed the way the subjects’ activity rose and fell with every fear encounter. After half an hour, the video was done and the volunteers helped to remove the monitoring devices. Jonathan helped you out of yours almost reverently.

“Thank you,” you said standing in the tiny booth. Jonathan smiled and nodded. “So same time next week,” you said with a little smile.

“Absolutely,” he said. “Actually, I was wondering if you wanted to get something to eat. Like a date,” Jonathan pushed himself to say. You smiled widely.

“Is it legal? To take a subject from your experiment on a date?” You teased. He was cute with floppy brown hair and big brown eyes. Jonathan might have been crazy and unhinged but he was also handsome.

“I’m just a volunteer and we won’t talk about the experiment,” he said and you laughed while touching his arm. Fuck, he got hard almost instantly at that. Thank god it was a dark room. “Tomorrow night? At Romero’s?”

“Sure,” you flirted. “Can’t wait,” you winked and walked out of the booth. Jonathan waited until you walked out of sight before hurrying yo the bathroom. His boner was painfully pressed against his jeans and he almost sighed when pulling it out. He roughly jerked himself quickly with his hand on the door.

Your perfect lips he imagined wrapped around his dick. Your legs wrapped around him as he fucked you. He sighed heavily in the empty bathroom. His fingers wrapped around your throat and tightening. The fear increasing in your eyes as you tried to pry his hands off. His hand moved faster. The way your tits heaved in fear as you writhed under him. Fuck, he came at that thought. The fear of him killing you was the hottest thing he ever imagined. Jonathan cleaned up and joined the group again.

A week later he met you for dinner. You looked amazing. A beautiful dress and your lips painted deep red, just like in the movie. Jonathan thought about mentioning that he recognized you in the movies but didn’t. You’d probably think it was weird. Instead he talked about the struggles of academia and you talked about your job and life. As the meal came to a close, your mood changed.

You reached a leg up to run along the leg of his pants. Jonathan coughed in his drink. He leaned forward in his seat.

“How about we get out of here,” you suggested.

“Really?” He asked a little surprised.

“Sure. I’m not really in the place for something long term but I’d happily go home with you tonight,” you purred. He felt his face redden and it wasn’t from the wine. Was he actually going to sleep with his celebrity crush?

“Why me?” He couldn’t help but asked as he paid the check.

“Well, you’re cute and in college and the last time I had an… enthusiastic lay was a while ago. I could use someone that can keep up,” you said with a wink. Jonathan’s dick twitched at the thought.

“Sure. My place or yours?” He asked and you smiled.

“My place is kinda far. Is yours close by?” You asked as you placed a hand on his thigh as he order a ride. Jonathan almost jumped out of his chair and it caused you to giggle and bite those pouty red lips.

“Right down the road,” he said.

“Not on campus?”

“No, my own place,” he answered as you massaged his thigh and he was willing himself to not get hard right there in the restaurant.

“Mmm, no one to hear me scream,” you replied and he inhaled quickly. You giggled again.

“Car’s here,” he said hopping up quickly. You smirked and walked behind him. You kept touch him in the cab. Your fingers ran along his elbow, up his thigh, to fix his hair. Jonathan was absolutely lost in it all. You continued up to his apartment, even pressing him against the wall as you kissed him thoroughly causing him to drop his keys.

“Sorry,” he said pulling away to pick them up. He opened up the door to his apartment and you walked in.

“Ooo horror fan. I sense a theme,” you smiled. He smiled ruefully. You looked at the statues from horror movies he had on a shelf, those expensive nerdy kind of toys. Very neat. Jonathan watched you nervously. Thankfully he had hidden all of your movie stuff in shame after he met you.

“I find fear fascinating,” he admitted. You nodded and stood in the doorway to his room.

“I find you fascinating,” you said and he gulped. You pulled on the zipper at the side of your dress and slid out of it to stand in nothing but a bra, panty, stockings, and those heels he liked so well.

“Fuck,” Jonathan said staring at you. You giggled again. You motioned to him with a finger in a come hither motion and he moved across the floor as if enchanted. He sat on the bed beside you. You climbed in his lap and his hands moved to your waist. His heart hammered in his chest as you bent to kiss him.

You unbuttoned his shirt and ran your hand along his chest as you made out. He made a little noise and jumped. You pushed him back on the bed and he whined before kissing you deeper. God, you were overwhelming him.

You ground your crotch against him and he gasped. It was so much. You were so much. He could taste the wine you drank earlier. His hips moved to match yours as you rubbed against him in nothing but the thin panties. His boner pressed between your ass and the movement of your body causing friction was fucking delightful.

His hands groped your breasts and before Jonathan could recognize the warning signs, he felt his body move towards an inevitable orgasm. He tried to stop your hips but it was too late and he spasmed as he came in his pants. You grinned and rubbed down on him through his high. Jonathan’s face was brick red and he couldn’t look you in the eyes. Fuck, that wasn’t supposed to happen.

“Hey,” you said. “We have all night. Don’t worry. Your little friend was just excited, Jonny,” you teased. He hated being teased. He was already embarrassed. He quickly flipped you over and you gasped. He was younger but definitely stronger than you. You bit your lip and stared up at him in lust.

Jonathan reached in his bedside table drawer and groped around before finding what he wanted. He put cuffs on one hand and you made a ‘Hmm’ sound and let him cuff you to the bed with your hands over your head.

“I can definitely handle this,” you purred. He lightly slapped your tit through your bra and you keened towards his touch. He roughly kissed down your skin but instead of fear, you were getting more and more turned on making little moans. It annoyed him. Why were you excited that he was being mean? He roughly slapped your tit again before yanking the bra off.

“Wow,” you said a little shocked. He grabbed a pocket knife out of the side table and cut off your panties. Your heart moved a little faster and you flinched away but the moment was hot enough to ignore the fear.

“You like that,” he asked. Now with a knife in hand he was getting interested. He ran the back spine of the blade against your skin and down your stomach. He moved it off your skin and harshly slapped your pussy.

“Ha,” you gasped. He could see how wet that made you but also how your eyes were just a little too wide. Hmm, maybe you had similar tastes. He pulled off his sticky ruined pants and caught you smiling and it infuriated him. How dare you think it’s funny that you did this to him? He put a condom on.

He bent over you and roughly kissed and nipped at your skin. You jumped and gasped at each action. Jonathan pushed one leg up and shoved himself in you causing you to whimper. He couldn’t tell if it was pleasure or pain.

“Not so rough,” you begged as he thrust his hips against yours. He didn’t slow down. “Hey,” you said. That was the look he liked. The fear like you had on screen. “Please slow down.”

He grinned and kept the rough pace. You started straining at the cuffs and moving beneath him.

“Please, stop. This isn’t funny,” you said with a tremor in your voice. “You’re scaring me.” That phrase alone pushed him over the edge and he came again. His breath was hot against your skin as you struggled to move. He sat up and grabbed the knife from the table. Your eyes tracked it as he pressed it against your chest.

“Jonathan,” you begged. “Please stop. Don’t.”

He grinned and wrapped his hand around your throat and your lips opened in the o that he had seen in your movies. The one before you screamed. Your eyes were begging him. God the power in his hands alone had him hard again.

“Don’t. Please,” you begged. “I’m scared. You win. Let me go.” He shoved in and started thrusting again. You whined and tried to move away from him. His hand tightened on your throat and you writhed in terror. He let go and you gasped in air. That made him even harder. He’d never let himself use fear like this.

“Please, Jonathan,” you breathed out. He could pretend it was in pleasure but did he even want to? Didn’t matter.

“I wanna hear your voice,” he said. “Come on scream Queen.”

“What,” you asked and he pressed the knife against your skin. You let out a horrified scream and he moaned. That was great.

“More,” he said and another scream bubbled out of you as he pressed the blade down causing a bubble of blood to pool from your skin.

“Help,” you screamed. He laughed and you sobbed. “Somebody help!” That’s all it took for him to cum a third time that night. He bit at your skin roughly and you whimpered.

He pulled out and looked you over. Flushed skin, swollen lips and nipples from his abuse, and your eyes were so fucking scared. His cum slid from your core and he couldn’t help but stare before realization filled him with genuine fear.

He had actually hurt someone. He had done far more than just imagine and he liked it. He was a fucking weirdo who liked scaring and hurting women. And you knew. You knew how fucking weird he was. You would tell. You would tell everyone.

He clenched his hands into fists at the thought of everyone knowing. He would be ruined. He would be kicked out of school and lose his internship. Years of work would be lost. And it was your fault.

“Why,” you breathed.

“It’s your fault,” he said almost not even to you. “You fucking did this. Your stupid movies and lips.”

“I didn’t-���

“You’re fucking whore plans to ruin my life,” he ranted with the knife in his clenched fist.

“No! I wouldn’t-“

“Opening your legs to ruin my life. Did you want everyone to know? You’ll fucking tell. You’ll fucking tell them all,” he continued.

“What are you talking about?” You asked. He moved closer and you whimpered in fear.

“I’m not doing anything. Stop acting scared,” Jonathan said while roughly grabbing your jaw. “What are you even scared of?”

“Help! Help!” You shrieked and he smacked you across the face.

“Do you want to feel some real fear?” He whispered menacingly. He had a smile and you froze in horror.

Jonathan left the room and you shivered in the cold and fear as he rummaged in drawers in the next room. He came back with a syringe of bright green liquid; a little something he made with some epinephrine and some low grade hallucinogens.

“What is that?” You breathed.

“Fear,” he grinned. Before you could do anything but inhale for a scream, he jammed it into your thigh. You stared at it as it went in your skin. It was the last thing you ever saw before you were thrown into a world of permanent nightmares.

[sentient-stove]

“Okay, first off don’t call me that, it’s kind of rude, imagine if I went around calling you the base template.”

Elle leaned over Danny’s shoulder, propping her chin in her hands as she smiled with too many teeth at Damian. “You can call me it. It’s kinda funny. ‘Cept I’m a Xerox of a Xerox.”

“So you’re not a clone of—” Damian started, glancing between the pair in confusion. “Is that why sh-”

“Not a clone of you.” Danny interrupted, seeming to find his plate of scrounged up desserts more interesting than eye contact. “I’m a clone of Damian Wayne, she’s a clone of Daniel Fenton.”

“Xerox of Xerox.” Elle held up a peace sign, her fingers cutting the air. “Clone of a clone. Very unstable, very fun. I have a tendency to nearly melt into primordial goop.”

“It’s not that funny, Vlad’s raised you on terrible humor.”

“Dad’s raised me fine.”

“You swear in breakfast foods. Say fuck like a normal clone.”

[spacedace]

Okay but the Justice League finds out their new baby hero teammate Phantom is the Ghost King by virtue of the Fright Night showing up while they're in the middle of a meeting, looking terrifying and such and scaring the shit out of everyone- even more so when Constantine starts freaking out over the fact that the sworn night of the King of the Infinite Realms is in the Watchtower what the fuck that's apocalyptically bad Pariah Dark is supposed to be locked the fuck up forever - but instead of trying to smite them all or yeet them into the nightmare dimension he just pulls out a space themed packed lunch??? And gives it to Phantom??

And the mildly eldritch giant murder ghost is talking about how "The Queen Mother commanded me to ensure you ate my Lord, she says you missed your morning meal."

And Phantom is just grumbling about over protective sisters and "there's a cafeteria i would have been fine" what the fuck is happening right now?

What do you mean "oops you forgot" Phantom I thought the ghost thing was just a theme!

[chaoticallyfluffy]

Just banged my head against a drawer when I bent over, which means it’s time for more improv Billy thoughts! Is it going to become a tradition for me to make these every time my head hurts instead of resting? Probably! Am I gonna Pavlov myself into associating headaches with improv? I hope not!

When he became champion, Billy was amazed by all the mythical creatures that he gets to interact with while doing his duties. Much to his disappointment, he learned that unicorns aren’t very friendly and take years of bribery in the form of sugar cubes to befriend. This didn’t stop him though and after only a year he managed to befriend one and the rest of its pack started to trust him too.

He absolutely adored his new unicorn friends! The novelty mostly wore off by then but the day he got to ride a unicorn for the first time was a truly magical day.

The only problem is, once you befriend a unicorn pack there’s no getting out of it. He’s one of them now, and unicorns are fiercely protective of their own.

Now when ever he’s in the extreme danger, a pack of unicorns appears in a poof of sparkles and beats the hell out of whoever hurt him. Billy feels terrible about it because they do NOT hold back, and a few too many bully’s have ended up in the hospital because of this.

[onnahu]

Batfam prompt

There are things in the Wayne Manor no one talks about. Like the rooms that cannot be open - not with a key, not with a picklock, not with force. Or the steps that revebreate through the halls. Or the paintings that watch your every move. Or the bodies that sometimes follow you around. The bodies of your dead parents. The bodies of your dead sons...

[superbat-love]

Sci-fi Horror AU. At first glance, Bruce seemed to have it all—a respected career as a scientist at a top research facility, a large home in a coveted district, and a loving partner employed at a prestigious law firm. However, beneath the surface, Bruce was trapped in an unhappy relationship and suspected his partner of infidelity.

The only source of solace in his life was his work studying Subject 1938, also known as Kal-El. The tiny alien blob seemed to have formed an attachment to Bruce, often chirping excitedly whenever Bruce held him.

One evening, Clark, Bruce's partner, announced plans to dine with a client. Bruce noted Clark's overdressed appearance, unsuitable for a business meeting, and simply nodded in response. Little did Bruce know, that would be the last time he saw Clark and Kal-El.

Clark never returned home, prompting Bruce to report him as missing. Despite months of investigation, the police found no trace of them. Clark was initially suspected to have stolen Kal-El for monetary reasons, but there was no concrete evidence. It was as if both of them had just vanished into thin air.

Then, unexpectedly, Clark reappeared at Bruce's doorstep one day. “Where have you been? Do you know how worried I was?” Bruce exclaimed.

Clark smiled. “Don’t cry, Bruce. What’s important is that I’m back now. Let’s go and have dinner together, okay?” Overwhelmed with emotion, Bruce could only nod in response as Clark enveloped him in a hug and buried his face in the curve of his neck, chirping with affection.

[amarachno]

There is something… Wrong… With Drake. Its decidedly unsettling. There is something unnatural about the boy and Damian is unsure why they all ignore it. The Drake boy was always weird but this was different. It had started after they had all returned home from patrol one day. Something about Drake was making the hair on Damian’s arms stand at its end. He did not appreciate the way Drake was looking at him. It felt as though he was being looked at the same way a cat looks at an injured bird.

Damian had tried to talk to Pennyworth about it soon after Father’s return from the timestream but all he had managed from the butler had been, “Master Damian, calling Master Timothy an ‘Uncanny Horror from the pits’ is quite rude and I hope you never mention such a sentiment again.”

So obviously the… Thing… could manipulate minds. No matter! Damian would handle it. The first step? Kill it.

Its a good thing Damian has trained from birth in the League of Assassins. Although, his past attempts had unfortunate results —meaning none— but Damian would persevere. Perhaps keeping a closer eye on It would provide some insight.

Whatever had replaced Drake was terrifying. It. Never. Slept. And it always knew when Damian was watching it. The worst part? It was trying to spend TIME with him. Damian could barely stand to be within five feet of it. Its skin pale, hair pitch black, and its eyes- horrifying. When Damian first arrived at the manor, Drake had clear blue eyes. Now, they appeared dull and glassy. The color seeming as though it leaked out into the Thing’s hideous purple eyebags. Its skin seemed too loose and Its joints bent and stretched grotesquely.

The Thing turned its chair around, taking a break from staring at the computer in the cave. It stretched its spindly arms above its head, arms bending too far in the other direction. It turned to where Damian was hidden in a ledge in the roof of the Batcave.

“Heyyy Damian.” The Thing slurred, its speech slow and unclear. “If you want’d ta watch m’ do casework ya could’ve joined me”

Damian recoiled further into what should have been a flawless hiding space. He wanted to snap back that he didnt need Its company but his tongue seemed glued to the too of his mouth.

The Thing looked right at where Damian had hidden away. “Aww B’by Bat!” It cooed softly, “Come on down. Lets go g’t some hot chocolate from Alfie!”

Damian pressed tighter to the wall, attempting to force out a sentence. “That is quite alright, Drake. I am fine here.” He said attempting to sound steady.

“Well, suit yourself! Gonna go up now.” The Thing stumbled toward the stairs, its footsteps silent even as it walked unsteadily.

Damian didn’t leave his spot until Richard arrived in the cave two hours later.

Poison may actually work, Damian decided. Theoretically. The Thing was only inhabiting Drake’s body. Perhaps if the body died then so would the… Whatever it was. Damian is so prepared, father should be impressed- or he would be when that cursed being was out of the house. But what if someone else drank from the cup meant for Drake? Father would not tolerate a mission gone wrong, especially if Grayson or Pennyworth were harmed.

Then Damian remembered Drake’s travel cup, the one it took to work. That was simple enough. Sneak out to Its car, put the poison in the straw, get out. Yes finally a decent plan. Or at least Damian thought so.

Damian’s plan went off without a hitch. He had gained access to the security cameras within Wayne Enterprises and watched Drake drink the entire cup of poisoned coffee. The issue? The poison had no effect. Not even a stomach ache. Clearly the Thing was immune to poisons.

Perhaps silver would deal some damage.

Damian decided to purchase a silver knife. He had tested it and everything! It was real silver. Much of his savings from his allowance had been spent on the thing but this would be worth it.

People were getting suspicious though. Of Damian. Not of The Thing, to be clear.

How idiotic were these people! And they called themselves ‘Detectives’. No matter, Damian could handle this!

In the books that Damian had found, They mentioned fire as a potential weakness to supernatural creatures. If the silver knife did nothing, Damian would fall back and begin plan C. C for Cocktail. Molotov cocktail, to be exact.

Unfortunately, neither plans B nor C would come to fruition. Damian had been caught before he could even attempt either plan.

“Hey Dami, are you feeling okay?” Richard asked from behind Damian.

Damian didn’t scream. He didn’t! He also didn’t drop his book in surprise.

Richard surged forward to grab Damian before he fell from his spot on top of the T-Rex. “Hey bud, its okay. Its just me.” He soothed, wrapping his arms around Damian and carrying him off the T-Rex. “Why don’t you tell me whats going on?”

Damian gasped wriggling out of Dick’s arms to grab his sketchbook/impromptu demon hunting memoir off the ground where it fell. He clutched the book in his arms. “Nothing is wrong, I was simply lost in thought. You may go.” Damian snapped out, legs shaking and breath uneven.

Dick furrowed his brow, “Ive never seen you this shaken up before, Bitty Bat. Come here, we can talk about this upstairs over some cocoa.”

Damian’s eyes widened, if he could convince Richard then surely the Thing could be taken care of. “Very well, if we must.”

Dick smiled gently, though it seemed a little shaky. ”Up we go then!” Dick exclaimed, grabbing Damian and hoisting him onto his shoulders.

“Richard! this is unbecoming!” Damian squawked, holding onto Dick’s head so he wouldnt fall off.

Instead of replying, Dick just began making airplane noises, running toward the entrance to the manor.

It would have been a sweet moment, had The Thing not been standing right behind the grandfather clock. His sudden appearance had startled Damian so badly he fell backwards off Dick’s shoulders.

Damian braced for impact, expecting to head his head and then tumble down the concrete stairs- only, that didnt happen. The Thing threw itself backwards into the ground, his upper half on the stairs and his lower half on the floor. Damian fell heavily onto the Creature, knocking the wind out of It.

“OH MY GOD! ARE YOU TWO OKAY??!” Dick screeched at the top of his lungs. He picked Damian up off of The Thing and resting him on his hip, offering his other hand to ‘Drake’. Unfortunately, Damian’s adrenaline kicked in.

“PUT ME DOWN THIS INSTANT!” Damian bellowed, squirming out of Dick’s grip. “ITS GOING TO KILL US! WE ANGERED IT AND WE NEED TO GO!” Damian began pulling Dick toward the door of the study.

Alarmed, Dick turned to look closer at Damian. His face was pale, eyes wide and glancing frantically around the room and then back at Tim. Damian was sweating, looking as if he were seconds from bursting into tears. “What are yo-“

“It knows i know” Damian gasped out, pulling desperately at Dick’s arm. “ITS GOING TO KILL ME! WE NEED TO GET SOMEWHERE SAFE!”

Damian was working himself into a panic. Dick threw an apologetic glance at Tim who was brushing himself off and looking bewildered at Damian. Dick turned toward the door, allowing Damian to drag him where he wanted to go.

As soon as Damian was out the door, he took off running, forcing Dick to run with him. They got inside Damian’s room and Dami immediately began barricading the door.

“Damian, what’s going on?” Dick questioned softly.

Instead of answering, Damian started rushing around his room. He pulled the silver knife out from between his mattress and the boxspring, grabbed a lighter and what looked like a molotov cocktail from the top of his closet.

Dick was becoming more alarmed by the second. Why in tarnation did Damian have a molotov cocktail just sitting around??? Dick quickly snatched both objects away from Damian, setting them on top if the highest shelf in the room. It wouldn’t stop Damian for long but it would give Dick some time.

When both objects where taken from Damian, he stopped in his tracks, looking fearfully at Dick. “Did it- Are you…” Damian began sobbing. “I don’t want to die. Please don’t kill me, please! I’ll be an asset to you! I swear it! I’ll be good!” Damian’s pleading and sobbing was met with Dick gently hugging Damian to his chest. And like a puppet with its wires cut, Damian passed out into Dick’s arms.

“Oh shit!” Dick exclaimed. He felt at Damian’s forehead, flinching back at how hot he felt. Dick grabbed his phone and called Bruce. “Hey Bruce, I’m gonna need you to come home. Somethings wrong with Damian.” Dick set Damian on the bed and got to work un barricading the door.

“What happened?” Bruce questioned, sounding more like Batman than Bruce. “Is everyone okay?”

“Dick relayed the events that happened that afternoon while getting Damian down to the cave. He was tucked in to a bed in the med bay, a cold rag set on his forehead.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there.” Bruce murmured into the phone. “Im on my way now. I’ll be there in 15.”

“Bruce, that’s a 30 minute drive.” Dick said incredulously.

“Hnn” Bruce grunted, hanging up.

Dick pinched two fingers to the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on. he turned to see Tim waiting in the doorway.

“Is he okay?” Tim questioned softly.

“I’m not sure. I don’t know what happened.” Dick replied tiredly.

Tim sighed, “I noticed he was acting a little weird, but I kind of just thought I had pissed him off?” Tim said. “He’s been following me around recently. And I think he poisoned my coffee? I mean, maybe it wasn’t him. But, the other day, my coffee tasted weird, I drank it anyway of course, but I felt really sick that night. It probably didn’t work because I built my poison resistance up while I was looking for Bruce but-“ Tim cut off his rambling, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

Dick sighed, putting his face in his hands. “I don’t know what to do, Tim. We were making a lot of progress, before. But now I might need to set the ‘Days Since Last Familicide’ dry erase board back to zero.” Dick said tiredly. “I thought I had finally made him feel safe here.”

Tim looked off to the side, “What if its not either of your faults?” He offered, tilting his head. “Maybe he got injured and never told anyone. here why don’t I draw his blood and I’ll run it through. we’ll be able to tell if he’s been injured or injected with something.”

Dick agreed and Tim ran Damian’s blood. While they waited, sat by Damian’s side and ran his hands through the kid’s hair. Soon enough, the test results were done and Bruce got back.

“Good timing, Bruce.” Tim called, “I was just about to go through the results” he added.

Bruce stalked forward, standing next to Damian and feeling his forehead and cheeks. “When did this fever start?” Bruce questioned softly.

“I dont know, B. I only realized when he passed out earlier.” Dick replied.

Bruce turned and walked towards the computer where the results were, looking through the blood test to figure out what was wrong.

“Bruce, it looks like he got hit with fear toxin.” Tim pointed out. “ Maybe a new strain, a slow-acting one. That would explain why he’s been acting so weird recently. Did you fight Crane on patrol last week?”

Bruce slapped his hand over his face, slowly dragging it down. “We found one of his abandoned labs. We split off for about 10 minutes to check out different rooms. He said he didn’t find anything though.” Bruce said guilty.

Dick cried out, “Bruce that was so stupid! And you didn’t even check him for anything afterwards?”

Bruce shook his head. “I owe him an apology.” He said sadly. He walked over and administered an antidote.

“Well, theres no use dwelling on it now.” Tim pointed out. “Dick and Bruce, you can stay here and wait for the kid to wake up. He seemed the most freaked out by me so I think I’ll go upstairs. I don’t think I’ve slept this week anyway.” Tim muttered that last part, but Bruce and Dick heard it anyway.

“Timmy, what have I told you about staying up that long?” Dick admonished.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. I’ll sleep now I guess. If im not awake in 20 hours, wake me up. I have presentations to put together for next week.” Tim said exasperated.

Bruce waved him off, “I’ll take care of it, Chum.”

Tim shot a thumbs up over shoulder and then walked out of the cave.

with the antidote administer, the only thing left to do was wait. When Damian woke up. He began trying to explain that Tim had been taken over by some creature, though, all his evidence was debunked.

“Drake looks like a corpse!” Damian exclaimed.

“Yeah I’ve been telling him to go out in the sun more often. He also just told us he hasn’t slept yet this week and its Friday.” Dick explained calmly.

“Okay, then what about the weird way he moves? I’ve seen him stretch his limbs bend the wrong way” Damian pleaded.

“Tim is hyper mobile, Dami. His joints just do that. It’s honestly a little freaky so I get it. I mean, mine are bendy and all, but not that way.” Dick replied patiently.

Damian looked down, ashamed. “How did he survive the poison? That was League specific.”

Dick thought about his answer for a moment, “Apparently, while he was looking for Bruce, Tim trained up his poison tolerance. I don’t know why he did that or how he got his hands on league poison.”

Damian shoved his face into his hands. “I was going to stab him with a silver knife… and then said him on fire.” Damian said, embarrassed.

“I know. I’m sorry,” Bruce finally spoke up. “All of that is on me. I should’ve had you decontaminated and tested after patrol last week. If I had, then you wouldn’t of had to spend this week scared.”

“I wasn’t scared!” Damian claimed, his face burning.

“Sure bud, but it’s okay if you were.” Dick said gently. “But anyway. We can talk about this later. For now, why don’t I get Alfred to bring you something to eat.”

“That would be acceptable, I suppose.”

——

(later over comms)

Tim: Yo Jason I gotta tell you how I wouldve been murdered this time

Jason: How?

Tim: Demon Brat made me my very own molotov cocktail!

Jason: *dies of laughter* HOLY SHIT!

Damian: Cease this senseless mockery!

Jason: No, kid, its badass *laughs more* priceless.

[allusivex5]

Eldritch Horror Form Phantom for my fic. I wanted something space themed but with like biblical eyes. Really fun to draw, a little outside my comfort zone but worth it!

[crow-aeris]

Monsters. What a strange and peculiar word.

What counts as a "monster"?

Monsters are what society brands those who do not fit their mold of a "person", no?

But, what happens when there are creatures simply born- no, made- to hunt? to kill? to prey?

Three sides of a triangle, equal in each length and angle; an ever turning wheel made to forever spin and destroy, crushing all who fail to skitter out of its way.

A winged beast borne from thunder, hatched from a essence of capture light- capable of paralyzing creatures with a single strike- felled by flames.

A four-legged beast borne from flames, birthed by the trembling of earth and eruptions of volcanoes- felled by water.

A finned creature borne of water, created by the surging of tsunamis and whirling hurricanes, felled by the crack of thunder.

Each designed to chase the other for all of eternity, to die and reborn, to ruin and destroy. All created for the sole purpose to hunt. To kill. To prey.

To Hunt. To Kill. To Prey.

To Hunt. To Kill. To Prey.

And yet, despite this, all three were tamed by the hands of a human-beast. A beast-human. One who clothes himself in darkness and fear, hissing and breathing the thought of vengeance, striking with fear and stroking with love.

A Human who masquerades as Beast.

A Beast who masquerades as Human.

He who alone tamed the wheel that crushed and churned, calming the skies, stilling the earth, placating the seas.

He who alone humanized "Monsters" and made them his children. Gave them names, gave them hope, gave them life.

No longer were they "Beasts".

No longer were they "Monsters".

No longer were they "Horrors".

No longer were they simple bursts of nature born and made to chase the other, and in turn be chased, in a never ending cycle.

With a single stroke of love, the cycle was broken and the "Beasts", the "Monsters", the "Horrors",

Finally, they were named.

*****

"Wha'cha doin, Jay?" Dick shoves a feathered wing against his muzzle, not minding the column of smoke that rose from his curled lips.

"I was reading," he snapped, puffing out embers that his brother ignored, "what do you want?"

"Somethings about to happen," the feathered creature said, the buzz of electricity crackling through the air as the bird-brained chicken of a man grinned and tilted his head, "Tim says so too."

"Did he, now?" Jason raises a brow before gently setting his book aside and raising to his feet.

"GUYS!" Tim shouts, and the pair rush downstairs to find their brother, their father, and a... a child?

The child clutched a blade between his right fist. His eyes, a startling emerald hue, were filled with equal parts awe and fear.

The kid straightens quickly, grip on the hilt tightening alongside his jaw. Jason's ears twitched as he hears Tim hum a low, relaxing croon inaudible to ears other than the "beasts", and the child relaxes ever so slightly.

"I am Damian Wayne-al Ghul, Son of Batman, the Tamer of Beasts. I- I humbly request that you allow me into your home, and- and allow me to pass whichever trials that are required to gain your favors."

As the silence stretched on, filled only by the sound of water churned by Tim's fins, the boy grew more and more anxious.

Bruce was the first to speak.

"Boys, I know this is sudden, but-"

"Bruce," Jason interrupts with a snap of his jaws and a stream of embers, noting how the kid seemed to flinch and shy away, "You have a serious problem. Three wasn't enough, so you go and get a fourth?"

"Welcome," Dick strides forward, taking a more human-like shape before crouching to the kid's level, "to Wayne Manor, Damian. I hope you'll enjoy it here."

------

inspired by To Hear, To See, To Smile :3

[lenreli]

hey world (aren't you running out of time)

[AO3]

For A1 - Woke Up Dead for my @dreamlingbingo! Featuring a title from SHIV-R's Retina!

CW: Horror, gore, suicide references.

Got possessed by an idea, wrote it down, and here we are. :D

4.1k, M.

-

Hob wakes up suddenly, a pain on his temple almost unbearable as goes to pick the offending object out― 

And, for a moment, can’t comprehend the bullet, utterly confused as to why it was there. Well, he died, which seems obvious enough, but he can’t remember anything of what happened. 

Looking around, he’s in his home, in his bedroom, feeling like he’s missing something as he tries to connect the pieces. The last he remembers is… 

Going out with colleagues? Which is the last thing he remembers, and not what happened to lead him here. 

Putting the bullet on the side table carefully, he feels his head, frowning and pulling his hand back as he feels muscles and nerves, alarmed at the sight of blood on his fingers. Gingerly, he pats the top of his head, and is relieved to still feel hair, trying to get the shape of what happened without getting up, a part of him lethargic. 

He has his hair, and the bottom of his ear, the skin of his cheek gone, all the way down to his chest as he looks down. Which is weird―after 600 years, he knows the limits of his immortality, knows how it functions intimately, and this isn’t it. 

And with no warning, pain lances through his body, complete and total, can feel his heart stopping― 

-

Waking up with a gasp, he pauses on the way to his face― 

Something’s wrong. Like a mass, he can feel in his body, on the left side of his body, a sickening not meant to be like that as he slowly brings a hand up to his face, and the skin he can feel is a comfort, his body regenerated. 

Using the bedside table to get stand up, he almost collapses under the feeling dragging his body, just. There. Something horrible and making him sick to his stomach as he lists against the wall, terrified to come across a mirror to reveal what’s wrong with him. 

Or perhaps it wouldn’t show at all, which is infinitely more terrifying. 

Dream can help, he thinks, feeling like his head is cleaved in half, a part of him somewhere else as he walks out of the bedroom, gripping onto the doorframes to get himself to the living room, or just moving, the wrong in him so still and gaping, a maw of nothing. 

The wooden doorframe starts to crumble under his shaking fingers, and he can vaguely feel himself start to hyperventilate at the sight. “Dream, Dream, Morpheus, Oneiros, Dream, Morpheus, Oneiros, Kai’ckul, DreamDreamDream―” 

He doesn’t even know how to fucking summon his oldest friend, all the instruction Dream gave him evaporating like the wood under his hands, the wrong in him spreading, can feel it on the left side, stretching out, destroying― 

The smell of death distracts him from his sheer horror, to a new one where he’s the one who dying― 

“Hob, what is―” Dream’s familiar voice is a balm and he sobs in relief as Dream comes closer―then steps back, black eyes wide, reeking of death, and repulsed by him, by whatever’s happened to him. “That is not,” Dream opens and shuts his mouth. 

“I don’t know,” he whispers, “I―I don’t,” Hob can feel tears, hot on one side of his face, the left side disappearing. “Help me,” he pleads, the smell of death from his friend overwhelming, and he wants to ask why, why but can only be selfish, can only think of himself and the wrongness inside him. 

Dream’s eyes shine, and his friend steps closer, looking him over―

And looking at Dream, the new terror in him can feel, how easy it would be to give Dream the death he’s seeking with a touch, a black hole of nothing, and he wants to reach out, hold onto that pale hand, can feel himself doing it as Dream hovers close. 

With a cry, he wrenches his hand back, shutting his eyes as he falls to the floor, wood disintegrating under his touch. 

“Hob, I will find out what has caused this,” Dream promises, the entity’s face terrified and determined. “What is the last thing you remember?” Dream asks softly, pale hands almost reaching out to him, can feel it, and he shakes his head. 

“I,” he swallows and thinks how long have I been dead, and there’s a gross certainty inside him that if he doesn’t eat, doesn’t drink, then he’ll continue. “A―colleagues, went out for drinks,” he answers, knowing that this would be nothing like the 1600’s. 

Dream’s hand is a ghost over his jaw, and they’ve never touched before this. Hob wants it, to feel that pale soft skin, but he shifts back instead, the knowledge that whatever’s in him could kill an Endless horrifying. “I will fix this,” Dream states, disappearing―in his normal way, sand spriting him away and Hob takes a deep breath. 

He needs to get out of this fucking house, this city. 

-

Hob’s unsure how he managed it, calling and texting that he’ll be taking some personal time, as he gets out a fuel can from his garage and fills the car, the glass of the car door only showing him, dead-eyed as the mass of horror weighs his left side down. 

There’s a place he owns in the countryside, which he hasn’t been to in over a century, so it’s that place he drives to, the wheel creaking under his hands―but still keeping together, by some weird force of will. 

The main reason he chose this place is that it’s already old, nothing of his of value there, a place to―be alone, though he has the feeling that where he is doesn’t matter, the result would be the same. 

Silly human, he can almost imagine some past Dream saying and he smiles as he sits on the dusty sofa, putting his face in his hands as he cries. 

Looking around, he looks at the old bookshelf, equally old and rotting books on it, the house wooden, but still with four walls and a roof, and on one of those walls, a mirror. 

Blinking, he gets up, shambling over to the mirror, where it shows only himself―and not the wrong inside, weighing him down, ready to― 

Hob sees blank brown eyes before the mirror crumbles into nothing under his fingers. Then he throws it against the opposite wall in some tired anger, the bookcase trembling momentarily. 

-

He can’t feel the cold, the heat, he doesn’t feel thirsty or hungry just―just― 

A void, ugly and roiling, meaty and more, inside him, as he sits near the sofa, watching days and nights pass through the open window that was near the mirror. 

“You should not have left,” a deep voice chides and Hob blinks, dragging his head to where he can see his friend, and he smiles, feeling relieved at the sight of him. Even though he’s terrified, can almost taste it. “You left a path of,” Dream frowns and stares at the door, opening it. 

Hob blinks, half of still missing as he stares at the ruined road, the car eaten through and rusted. “Oh,” he croaks, voice rusty from disuse. “Just―felt like, needed to be away. From people,” he manages, terrified to go to sleep, mind lagging under everything. 

Dream frowns and comes closer, kneeling down near him. “When did you last sleep?” Dream asks, worry seeping out of his tone, and Hob chuckles. 

“Don’t you already know the answer to that,” he sighs, and Dream looks even more worried, eyes flitting over him. “Did you find anything?” 

“I am working on it,” Dream promises, and it’s only then Hob notices the smell ― or lack of it, and his senses are fine, can smell the rain and sunshine, the rotting wood and metallic rusted steel. Dream no longer smells of death and he smiles. “I am sure. I can help you sleep. It will not be a full sleep, but it will help.” 

Somehow staring at the ceiling, he drags his head to the side, smiling, “go wild,” Hob croaks. 

Dream nods and stands up, regal as always, “it would be better on the sofa, at least,” Dream says gently, reminding Hob of those platitudes he heard in the hospitals, kind words to help people pass―but this is only Dream, and even with this, he doesn’t want to die. He wants it to stop, but he doesn’t want to die, never, as he forces his body to sit on the sofa. 

The black pouch is a familiar sight, but the sand, sparkly and blue, is not, and it’s the last thing he sees.

-

Waking up from unsettling dreams, from the feeling of hatred and horror, he at least feels―more himself, less a pile of mismatched shapes, some of his sanity regained as he stares at the ceiling. The wrong within him, at least, seems a bit more manageable, even with it’s weight, like it’s going to tear through the flimsy curtain of reality itself at any moment. 

“You must help him,” Dream says and there’s a scoff, loud and brash as Hob turns his head, not comprehending the Constantine in his walls, though he can feel them like a phantom limb, slowly becoming nothing.

“I must?! I don’t even―the fuck―if I pull this off,” Constantine says in a Cockney accent as she gestures at him, and he can only blink as she comes closer, staring down at him. She frowns and does a series of words, seemingly going down a laundry list of spells and taking out various things and letting them fall near him, some disappearing when they touch his skin. “Can he pay?” Constantine asks after her barrage of tests. 

“Yes, but if he lives. And I am not sure, but,” Dream pauses, which makes Constantine look at him, “I am sure that if he continues like this, your payment would be the least of your worries.”

Constantine huffs and steps away, “it’s always the world-ending shit with you,” she mutters as she loves. 

Groaning, Hob sits up, leaning on the arm of the sofa heavily as Dream watches him, worry twisting his face. “I don’t think you’re wrong. I can feel it,” he rasps, unable to feel the left side of his body, even as he brings his left hand to his face, even as he knows there’s an eye and skin, can’t connect it with himself. With the way it feels, a black hole of pure hatred and nothing,  “it’s not good.” 

“She will be useful,” Dream’s face gets even more worried, gliding closer to him. “How are you feeling?”

Hob giggles, the sound manic, “better than before, so I guess that helped.” 

Dream lets out a breath, relaxing a fraction, “I was worried it would speed along whatever is causing this, but I am glad to be right,” Dream says, a tiny smile on his face, which Hob is sure he reflects, though it feels twisted. The smile drops off Dream’s mouth, brows furrowing as he kneels near him, “what if, Hob Gadling, the only way to end this was to,” Dream doesn’t finish the question and Hob can feel the mass bear down. 

“To die?” Hob grits out, anger flaring up at the thought, “fuck no! There’s always another answer.” Dream ― doesn’t look convinced, doubtful, and more anger appears at the thought of the smell he’d almost forgotten about, carried by his friend. “I’m not going to die,” he growls, incensed and the most himself ever since this started. 

Dream’s shocked, eyes wet as he nods and looks away, “as you say,” Dream’s tone is fond. “Still. Might you―” 

“Consider it?” He retorts, voice acrid, the mass in him almost sparking up, and they pay no mind as a portion of the roof falls to the floor, a beam of moonlight shining near them, over the debris of the roof, “like you?” 

Dream steps back, almost like he’s been slapped. 

“I could smell it on you. I’ve noticed it, that people reek of it, when they want to, or even if they don’t know, but I can tell,” he hisses, holding onto this familiar anger with both hands even as Dream steps back. His hand digs into the sofa as he holds himself up, “and what? Did I ruin your little farewell with this?” He asks, and Dream flinches, taking another step back, expression horrified. “Do you hate me for it?” 

“Of course not,” Dream breathes, eyes wet, tears sticking to dark lashes. “Of course not,” Dream repeats, voice tinged with desperation, and Hob wonders who he’s trying to convince. “I could never, please, I, the rules,” Dream continues and Hob lets out a laugh, manic and spitting. 

“If the rules themselves think the only way for me to get rid of this is to die, then I’d happily kill them with it,” Hob growls, the old house rotting even more, “and what’s to say that even if I die, that it won’t come with me? Will destroy the afterlife? Is that what you wanted Dream? To end it all? Because I could help with that,” he spits out cruelly, feeling the mass bending to his will as he walks closer to Dream, can feel the particles of oxygen dying as he gets closer to his friend, the horrible thing inside him almost close enough to brush against atoms near Dream. 

Dream looks even more terrified, and it’s only when he’s vanished in a cloud of sand, does Hob’s hold of his anger let go, and he falls to the ground. 

-

The door is only a hole in the wall now, and somehow Hob’s found himself on that fucking sofa. Putting his head in his hands, he laughs at the thought of the apocalypse happening while the cause of it all is on some ratty fucking piece of furnitute, only held together by his will. 

“That’s not good,” someone says and Hob blinks, finding a golden-eyed person looking at him in fascination. Hob’s sure they seem familiar, like something Dream told him about, he can’t muster up the memory. 

“It sucks,” he replies as the person walks closer, corset swaying and fishnet tights sparkling with diamonds as they analyze him, red mini-skirt fluttering around perfect thighs. 

“I was going to congratulate you on wrecking my brother so masterfully, but,” the person blinks, their expression that familiar mixture of terror and sadness. “Even like this, you want so much.” 

Hob laughs, then winces, “like apologising to your brother,” he says, the regret which soon sunk in afterwards, wondering if he’s scared off his friend once again, driven into ― something that was him, but less and more, twisted and enhanced by whatever the fuck’s inside him. 

“Oh, darling,” they sigh and reach out, a hand hovering over his shoulder before they snatch it back, like he’s on fire. Which, in a way, he is, “he’s just a wet rag. You could have a lot more fun with me,” they sniff. 

Managing a smile, he laughs, the brief respite from the circumstances needed. “Don’t doubt it, but I do like him quite a bit either way,” he admits, quiet and rueful, and they sigh. 

“No accounting for taste, I guess,” they lament, putting their hand on their face, expression sorrowful as they vanish ― shimmering like a heatwave before they’re no longer there. 

-

The little amount of sleep he gets is helpful to not lose himself completely, even with the unsettling, bone-churning nothing they feature, no life anywhere, almost a prophecy with the way he can feel it inside. 

Days and weeks pass, and he can see the grass of a far-off hill joining the lifeless area around him, can feel the pull of rusted swings and a car that’s not even good for parts anymore, just a pile of rust in front of the house. 

And he can feel it―every atom, every cell and bit of dark matter he can’t see, but it’s there―and he lives in a world where his best friend is the unconscious itself, where he’s seen and done so much, and the idea might be completely insane, but Dream has told him in fancier words that he considers Hob insane, so why not. 

But he tries to control it, mustering up energy and anger, a constant emotion he’s felt since he was little, which has never left, a lodestone to stake himself on as days pass. 

Slowly, so slowly, he can feel it recede, the mass pressurizing under his emotions, becoming smaller, another day passes as the rust leaves the car, falling apart in a shower of steel. 

And it hurts, as he wheezes and coughs up blood, the mass―there, but small, under his skin, under thin layers of skin and muscle and bone, held back by 600 years of anger, by his own insane determination to keep it there. 

Gasping, he whines, blood vessels bursting as he pushes it down deeper, knives on the inside with every breath, able to feel every millimetre of pain it’s causing. “Hob,” a voice says, deep and beautiful and Hob smiles. 

“You came back,” he whispers, wiping his mouth as he slowly stands up as Dream looks―worried, of course. “I’m sorry, for what I said, for what happened,” he pushes out the words as Dream hovers nearby. 

“You,” Dream purses his lips and looks away, then alarmed as Hob walks out of the rotted space where the door was. “It is forgiven.” Every step, every breath hurts as he walks outside the house, “Hob, we have found out what to do. Soon, it will be over,” Dream says, voice bright and worried as he follows Hob. 

Swallowing down blood, he smiles, “that’s good,” he replies and tries ― touching the wreck of the car, no decay or disintegration, which is a relief. “Won’t have me dying will it?” 

“No,” Dream says, looking between the car and him in wonder. “How?”

“It’s all in here,” Hob gestures to himself, his left side feeling even more paralysed under internal pressure. “Dream,” he reaches out, concentrates ― and Dream doesn’t disintegrate under his fingers as he lightly holds the other’s hands, Dream freezing in place at the touch. “I dunno, feels suitably dramatic,” he mutters. 

Then leans forward, pressing his lips against the pink of Dream’s own, chaste as Dream gasps, spindly fingers clutching his own tightly. “Hob,” Dream chokes out, blue eyes shining as he lets go, can feel his concentration slipping as he shakes his head. 

“Not how I imagined that’d actually go,” Hob hears himself say distantly as he walks over to a lone tree, every movement screaming at him as he can feel insides disintegrate, rotting and bleeding as he sits down at the trunk of the tree, sighing in relief as Dream follows, as close he can get without touching. “Just going to rest a bit, then,” he whispers, closing his eyes as he feels the sun. 

-

Hob wakes up, and can immediately feel it ― the lack of it, the weight gone, can’t believe it as he takes a breath. Then another, wriggles his toes, can feel his left side as he brings his left hand to his face, feeling everything. And a familiar feeling, his organs new and fresh, twinging with how recently made they are. 

“Hob,” a voice says softly, and Hob focuses on the feeling, bones cracking and moving as he cracks finger joints of his left hand. Blinking, he looks over to Dream, blue eyes wet as they stare at him. Dream moves closer, sitting on the edge of the bed gingerly as Hob marvels at being able to feel his body again, the lack of weight and pressure, the lack of the wrong gone from him. “How are you feeling?”

Swallowing, he licks dry lips, just noticing the beard on his chin, almost as long as it was in his first life. Hob wonders at it, quite sure it wasn’t there while he was―”alive,” he croaks, smiling. And Dream smiles, long form bending over him in relief. “What happened?” 

Dream’s brows furrow, “are you sure you want to know?” 

“Lay it on me,” he smiles, moving his hands and toes, the movement of joints, the feeling of them so good to have. 

Dream frowns and takes something out from his coat ― a small vial, and Hob stops at the sight of ― a scale, or looking like a scale, black and absorbing the light around it. And he can feel it, even with it out, the gnawing nothing that was inside. “There was a ritual ― it needed an immortal for it to work,” Dream says gravely. 

“A promising start,” he says dryly, staring at the vial warily. 

“They drugged you,” Dream continues, “a cult of those wanting an end to everything. To put this inside you, where it would ― end everything,” Dream gives him the vial, almost disturbed at the contents of it. “A fragment of an old god, from a universe before.” 

Hob stares at the vial, the words matching with the feelings of it, “and when you say end everything?” He asks softly. On some level he already knows, having it inside him for what feels like an age, but still. 

“If you were to die, to take my sister’s hand, it would decimate the Sunless Lands. If you were to dream, it would destroy the Dreaming ― and me. If you did not somehow contain it, it would have ended this universe in a blink,” Dream says, voice deep and resonant. 

Nodding, he holds the vial ― then sits up and throws the vial into the drawer of his bedside table. “Where was it?” He asks, exhaustion setting in as Dream stares at him, eyes black and empty―he looks away, stomach rolling, “stop with the ― eyes,” he chokes out. 

A pale hand reaches out to him ― a thumb pressing above his left collarbone, “it was there,” Dream replies, eyes a blessed blue. Sighing, he grabs hold of the hand on him, the simple touch reminding him of how he went months without it ― starved for it, especially from Dream. “Did you mean it?” Dream’s voice breaks. 

“Me kissing you?” Hob clarifies, Dream giving him a minute nod, somehow even more terrified than before. “Definitely.”

Dream’s hand presses into where it was ― and he can almost feel it, spot where it was, the way he couldn’t feel his left side before ― though, all those thoughts vanish as Dream kisses him, the softness of the other’s skin making him want to cry. And he does cry, a bit, as they kiss, licking into Dream’s mouth, a pale jaw under his other hand. 

The desire coursing through him is ― heady, the simple emotion combined with Dream, with the way Dream kisses him back, presses against him, so good― 

Hob breaks the kiss with a gasp, arms winding around Dream’s shoulders and waist, keeping him close as his face presses into the other’s collarbone. “‘M tired, and,” he’s probably gross now that he thinks about it ― tired and wrung out, organs inside him still knitting themselves together. And having not eaten or slept in months, or showered even.

“You should rest,” Dream says, hands slowly resting on his back as they cuddle. “You have had an ordeal.” 

Sighing, he soaks up the other’s touch gratefully, the way he can feel Dream warm up by some eldritch metric. “Don’t leave,” Hob whispers, probably holding Dream tight enough that no breath could leave the entity ― if he needed to breathe, that is. 

Dream’s hands stroke up and down his back, and a sigh leaves Dream anyway. “You were right. About ― me, when I first visited,” Dream says quietly, an arm going around his shoulder. “But seeing you ― and your anger, that there’s another way.” Hob nods, forcing himself to not fall asleep to the other’s voice. “I called,” a pause, long, one, two, three, four heart beats, “my siblings. To help you. And then they helped me.” 

“No dying?” He mumbles, pleasantly warm and fuzzy, Dream’s touch a balm to himself. 

“It is still ― a problem. There will be no dying. There will be another way,” Dream promises. “I thought I would want to end, become another facet of me. Faced with what was inside you, I,” Dream swallows and holds him tighter, and he winces, insides protesting as Dream lessens his grip. “I am amazed at how much I want to live. To experience. Especially if you are involved.” 

“I’ll teach you all the tricks,” he says in a yawn, falling off to sleep as Dream caresses his back. 

[Fin]

[trixter-god]

Self indulgent Arkham story where we get to find out what exactly happened to Crane.

Like we saw him get nabbed by Croc and then assumed he died until in AC when you find out that Crane somehow survived the being a chew toy. Then in AK we find out this man decided instead of fixing his mauled face to some “normal” he reconfigures his face himself to look like his mask.

TO LOOK LIKE HIS MASK.

Along with the facts he now hobbles/walks slower, he wears a leg brace, the sickly green/white/yellow coloring to his skin.

I want this man’s hospital report, x-rays included, I want before and after full body pics. along with both his and Waylon’s statements and any (if any) eyewitness accounts of watching john probably clawing himself out of the sewers like a zombie. 

Johnathan Lauren Crane (not his real middle name) how you intrigue me so

[sentient-stove]

It tilted his chin up, clawed fingers digging into leather until his cowl and mask were coming off and folded into the expanse that simply was its form.

Your pain.

His tears felt far too warm against his exposed skin, and when it wiped at them, glowing green Lazarus water came away, dripping over ink dark claws.

Your anguish is all that is left of you. Poor, poor bird-thing. Your pain, give it here.

If it said that all that was left of him was his anger, then if Jason gave up that pain to this mass in front of him, would he lose himself? If he listened, would it actually be worth it? It already took his mask, his tears, leaving him alone while it watched him weep.

“I don’t want to.”

You must, you will. Give it to me to hold onto for another day. You were always already mine anyway.

[shortbcofkoffee]

Somewhere That's Green

Word Count: 912 | CW: Implied Child Abuse, Burns

Harley Quinn & Joker Jr | Joker/Harley Quinn

Ao3 Link

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Summary:

“Mama?” Junior tapped her knee, bringing her back to reality. Harley startled a little, earning a giggle from her little guy. “You just keep being a good boy, JJ.” She ran a thumb over his cheek. “I will, mama.” Harley kissed him on the forehead. “Let’s go play with Bud and Lou, okay?”

-or-

Harley just wants to have a sense of normalcy

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“Harley, get him down,” Joker waved as he walked out of the room.

Harely perked up from her chair. “Alright, puddin’! Have a good rest!”

She hopped up and bounced over to the table JJ was restrained to. He was slumped, panting, and giggling through his breaths. Harley pouted at him and pressed the button to lower the table until it was even with the ground. She unsealed the metal restrains revealing the fresh burns under there.

She tsked. “Aw, JJ, sweetie.” She pulled her son up into a hug. “You are so good at making your daddy mad.”

JJ weakly hugged back. “M’ sorry, mama,” he giggled.

“You betta be. You’re such a good kid most of the time, these slip-ups are so sad.” She pulled away and held his tear-stained cheeks in her palms. His smile and eyes were wide, his face was pale. He was adorable. “Oh, I can’t stay mad at you, Sonny! You look just like your daddy, it’s too cute!”

She tugged at his cheeks. “I can see it now, my two boys runnin’ around, fightin’ the bat together, aw! It’s too damn sweet!” She hugged his head to her chest, swinging him around a little.

“Me and Daddy?” He asked excitedly. 

Harley nodded. “You just gotta stop actin’ up so much.” She looked at JJ’s wrist. A burn wrapped around it where the restraint had dug into his skin. It was nasty, his skin was peeling and red. There was a small twist in her stomach. “JJ, baby? Can mommy tell you a secret?”

Junior nodded.

“And you can’t tell Daddy, not yet.”

Junior’s eyes widened more than they already were. “Keep a secret from Daddy?”

Harley pursed her lips. “Yeah.. Just think of it as a surprise, we can’t tell him quite yet.”

Junior perked up. “Yeah! I love surprises!”

Harley tussled JJ’s hair and led him to the dining table. There was aloe vera in the fridge, good for cooling burns. She grabbed bandages too. “Good boy.” She sat with him, spreading the gel over his injuries. “You know I love our little family and our little house.”

“Mm-hm!”

Harley frowned a bit. “But I kinda want a real house. Ya’ know, a yard big enough for Bud and Lou, a finished kitchen full ‘a Tupperware. I want Mr. Jay to come home and hang up his coat, and I’d kiss ‘im on the cheek and ask about work. I could help you with homework and make you dinner. I’d wear poodle skirts, I’d curl my hair… Doesn’t that sound nice?”

JJ’s head tilted, he stared at her for a moment. “That doesn’t sound very funny.”

Harley chuckled. “You’re right, it’s not. But a girl can dream.” She finished wrapping her son's wounds in bandages and smiled at him. He couldn’t stop smiling, Harley knew how much that started to hurt. “But I guess it’s not necessary. I got all I could want here!” 

She gestured around the room at the fake house. Joker did this for her, the model house, keeping JJ. She knew part of this was just for Batman, but the parts that were for her gave her a little hope. Maybe after this, they could really settle down. Just Mr. and Mrs. Joker and their son Junior. Just a normal family from the suburbs. Not fighting, no pain, just love and laughter. Somewhere that’s green. She could have all of that, she was so close if any of this was proof. All she needed now was to stay on his good side, he was easier to convince when he was in a good mood.

Junior had told them about Bruce Wayne, and oh, was Harley jealous. Bruce Wayne got a break from being Batman; he got to have fun with his kids, at least until the Joker got to them. Being Harley Quinn was a full-time job; there were no breaks. She never got to keep friends, she couldn’t have family. She was happy The Bat decided to donate Junior, he really was the best thing to ever happen to her. It was her first taste of family in a long time, and she wouldn’t change anything. Her family felt almost complete. 

She could picture it now, mid-day on a Saturday, she’s cleaning the kitchen. She looked out the window and Joker was mowing the lawn. Junior sat in the TV room, Lou’s head on his lap while he leaned on Bud’s side. He fell asleep there after playing outside and she didn’t have it in her to move him. She’d wake him up for lunch though. But right now, she had to keep the kitchen clean. After church tomorrow some of the girls were coming over for book club.

“Mama?” Junior tapped her knee, bringing her back to reality.

Harley startled a little, earning a giggle from her little guy. “You just keep being a good boy, JJ.” She ran a thumb over his cheek.

“I will, mama.”

Harley kissed him on the forehead. “Let’s go play with Bud and Lou, okay?”

Junior excitedly jumped out of his chair and pulled her up by the arm. She followed his lead to where their puppies slept. When she looked at him like this, he really looked happy. Bouncing and excited, just to be with his mama, just to play with the hyenas. It’d be okay for now, Harley decided. Once this Bat business was over, it’d all be okay. 

[metalotaku-da]

city spirits dpxdc

may i suggest a recommendation for anyone in love with the city spirit concepts to check out, gotham academy, olive silverlock, and the dc villain known as calamity. i feel it could feed all of your creative flames.

for those who aren't into digging up the comics, gotham academy has several videos on youtube where people basicly read them to you.

but i feel with those three twigs via wiki, dpxdc fans who love amity and gotham as city spirits with tension especially can start a bonfire.

[daemonmage]

Does anyone know of any psychological horror fanfics about Bruce sort of fight against Batman almost. I have no real good way to describe this.

Maybe like when Bruce was trying to reject becoming Batman again in Dark Knight Returns or like when Bruce try’s to fight for a regular-ish life like in Batman: Mask of the Phantasm.

I’m in an angsty Bruce mood. Also bonus points if Gotham itself is almost alive.

If these don’t exist I might write it myself, it won’t be good but I gotta practice writing and fanfic is the way to go for that.

[puppetmaster13u]

Heeeeeey, guess what I wrote :) This Au belongs to @phoenixcatch7 so you Need to check them out