#fic: nothing new

[supine-ly]

Peter’s wall crawling on nothing

doodle for @luciaintheskyainthi’s work Existential Crisis Mode

[puppppppppy]

who is your favorite AA character? 👁️👁️

ziska… I hope capcom brings her back someday

[carebeardean]

Charles has always left Edwin little notes slipped between the pages of his favorite books, in his science equipment, places he knows Edwin loves. Just silly things—post its that say “hi Edwin :)”. doodles of Edwin with his nose stuck in a book. reminders to stock up on wolfsbane. but.

Then, post canon, Edwin tentatively starts dating people. And it’s ridiculous, because Edwin’s right there, all the time, but Charles..misses him a bit. And his heads a mess, and he can’t sort out what the hell he’s feeling most of the time, and whenever he tries to say any of it out loud it comes out rubbish.

So. He writes down some of the shit he can’t say right, and because he’s a coward, hides them so he doesn’t have to see Edwin’s face when he reads them.

then Edwin starts writing back.

Neat lilac blue little envelopes appear in Charles coat pockets. In his bag. Once, in his shoe? Some nights, Edwin will clear his throat and mention something from a letter, offhand, like they’re just picking up conversation, and Charles can pretend they are. That they always have talked about the basement, the belt, the nameless fear that chokes him every time Edwin walks out the door with someone else on his arm.

Sometimes he can’t. The words get stuck in his throat. Edwin’s not mad, he’s maddeningly, stubbornly kind about it, which is worse.

Some nights they trade. A secret for a secret. Charles learns about the novels Edwin used to hide under his mattress, about all the lonely years before Charles got there. About Simon.

Meanwhile, Edwin is losing his mind, because Charles has accidentally stumbled onto what was a fucking courting ritual in his time. Love letters were something engaged couples treasured for years, kept and reread over and over. (Edwin does. keep them in a special box, will take one out and trace the words, tuck it in his breast pocket for courage).

Edwin would rather have to reattach a limb again than lose Charles trust, all the dark and beautiful things he shares with Edwin only. He knows���knows Charles doesn’t mean to make him fall more in love with him.

[fictionadventurer]

I love libraries.

I'm browsing the WWI shelves (as you do) and notice a very old book about the war. I glance at the first pages that talk about how one day the war will be over and we'll look at this place and not see any signs of the battlefield.

Then it hits me. And I check the publishing date.

This book was printed before the war's end. Not written. Printed. The physical object was created in 1918, while the war in question was raging and the end was as yet uncertain.

Now I'm standing on the other side of the apocalypse, with this physical link to that era in my hands. I'm living proof that the war did end and life did go on and we can all look at the end of the world as a long-ago memory.

Reading old books is cool enough, connecting our minds and hearts through the ideas of people who lived long ago, but there's something extra profound about holding a copy of the book that comes from the time that it was written. It's a physical link between the past and the present connecting me to those long-ago people. A piece of the past come into the future that gives me the chance to almost take the hand of some long-ago reader, to hold something they could have held, connecting not just mentally but physically to their era, a moment of connection across more than a century.

Excuse me while I go weep.

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 162

“So,” Danny drawled from where he was sitting, legs kicking slightly. Really, what a fun reincarnation. A world with heroes and villains where he didn’t have to do shit in and could just vibe with Ellie. 

“So,” Tim responded from where he was typing on his computer, mostly in civilian clothes save for his gauntlets and boots. The Red Robin outfit was haphazardly dropped across the couch and his pole leaning against the end. 

“Technically there’s proper procedures for clones…” Danny motioned to both himself and Ellie from where they sat on the counter, snacking on a plateful of scones. From Alfred, he was certain. 

“Technically, yes… but do we want to actually do that?” 

All three of them smiled, something almost feral in the motion. Of course not. They all had the same memories after all, and Bruce had just returned from the past, from exactly where and when Tim had said he was. Despite no one believing him, hence why they were in his boathouse, and not in the apartment or manor. 

“Think we can pull it off?” Ellie took a sip of tea, mischief swirling in her eyes. 

“Of course we can.” Both Danny and Tim spoke at once, one pulling up a new doc and the other pulling the whiteboard out from under a curtain. 

[wandixx]

I've seen a lot of different takes on Fear Toxin/other fear causing stuff (Yellow Lanterns Ring or something)(later just called Fear Toxin cause I'm lazy) but here is another one.

Danny seems like he isn't affected by Fear Toxin because his biggest fear is that his accident changed him so much he is no longer human, he can no longer truly experience human things.

So when he gets lungful of fear Toxin, he feels normal. He was antsy before, because c'mon, it's a rogue attack but it's not worse. Or so he thought. Because the anxiety lingers. Not enough to register as abnormal just this slight hypervigilance that makes you see things about yourself and your surroundings that you'd never realize otherwise. He'd realize he doesn't blink as often. He'd realize that if he doesn't consciously focus, he sometimes seems to not touch the ground. Forgets to breathe. He can't feel his own pulse at time. He'd realize people will miss him when he's walking down the street as if he was invisible (people just don't care about everyone they pass by). When he'd look straight into his reflection, he'd look slightly to the left. Not enough to actually name anything that was wrong but just stretched enough to fall on the wrong side of the uncanny valley. If he just caught his reflection in the peripheral vision, it'd be vaguely shadowy creature with glowing green eyes and white smoke instead of hair. Overall he'd be just wrong enough to be distinctly not human.

For everyone else, he'd be just a dude. Literally couldn't find more normal dude than this dude. Will pass as absolutely normal human unless someone is specifically looking for ecto-ghost stuff. Even most magic users wouldn't clock him at the glance

Tldr: Fear Toxin makes Danny perceive himself as some sort of eldritch horror but not enough to make him believe he'd actually be affected, while from outside perspective he's Just A Dude™

[pinkpagesdirectory]

I've created a primary post for my new favorite WLW ship. Two diametrically opposed comic strip characters (a pin-up girl from 60s Hungary and an American working woman of the 70s/80s) who look so gosh darn cute together. I had never really given much thought to Cathy other than that I knew it used to run in newspapers and was considered something of a target; Jucika I barely knew anything about either aside from the obvious porn.

Yet I've fallen in love with this ship. The artwork from both @vintdooforreal and @bluerm is just so good in different ways. A perpetually-stressed out woman like Cathy deserves a woman who loves her back and helps her (and not the useless, annoying men she was forever dating or even married to). Jucika meanwhile gets a woman who loves her for who she is and not just because she's stunningly attractive.

I have now finished and posted Sketchpad -- a fic detailing how the two meet and change each others' lives for the better.

Again, full credit for the creation of this ship goes to Vintdoo and Bluerm.

[gothamite-rambler]

Jason snuck out of the next door neighbors apartment, his boot covered in his blood just as a bruised and battered teenage girl walked over to him, terrified.

Girl (hopeful, but worried): Is he... Is he...

Jason (joking to ease the tension): If he's alive after that he's inhuman. Well more then he already was. Good thing he was home alone. Nobody was there at the time.

Jason looked at the bruised teen girl and she smiled softly.

Girl: Thank you.

Jason: What are you talking about? I have no idea who you are. I did find this backpack in there and it doesn't belong to him. Better keep it. It's got some money in there as well.

Jason handed the girl the backpack then walked passed her without discussing anything further. She chuckled with a nod then walked off to safety.

[littlefankingdom]

The best thing about Jarro is how it shows that if someone calls Bruce "dad"/"father"/any parent related terms, he accepts his new role immediately. No debate, the alien calls him "dad" so he is his dad. Random kid calls him "dad", he brings him home. That's his, now.

Jokingly calling Batman "dad" or "mom"? Jokes on you, you're his child now.

And we don't use that enough in this fandom.

[a-pigeons-soliloquy]

been reading non-hannibal fanfic for the first time in like 2 years and have come to the tragic realisation that the hannibal fandom has ruined me when it comes to fic quality

like my standards are so ridiculously high now. the bar is on the moon

you've all ruined me. RUINED ME I SAY

[churrobird]

"okay, okay, okay! uhm! close your eyes, please?"

under his mask, clown allowed himself a fond smile, watching as ros anxiously bounced on her toes in front of him.

he had been sitting in his room in the castle, polishing one of his enchanting daggers, when the architect had knocked on his door. she had poked her head in, beaming with nervous delight at the sight of him, and had told him that she had a gift for him.

"a gift?"

"yes! a gift! i've made everyone hats for the ball- obviously, i already gave you yours, but... i decided to make something else for you!"

that brought them to now. obediently, he shut his eyes, his keen ears picking up rustling as, presumably, ros pulled something from her inventory.

"you're not peeking, right?" he heard ros question, a hesitant skepticism in her voice.

"and ruin such a grand surprise from the royal architect herself? of course not, my dear ros!" clown replied, shifting his voice into his grandiose "archmage" accent

pride bubbled in his chest as he heard ros barely suppress a giggle. that silly voice had always made her laugh, so naturally, he did it as much as possible around her.

"no, i believe you! just hold out your hands!"

no sooner than had he followed the command, something was placed into his open grasp. ros' hands guided his own to firmly hold the object. he ran his fingers over it, attempting to figure out what it was before he opened his eyes. it was round, convex, and cold. even with his gloves preventing him from feeling the finer grooves, he could tell that there were streaks of a different material in the middle, with a smoother, glossier texture than the rest.

"okaaaayy... open your eyes!" ros said, and so he did.

in his hands was a mask. white porcelain, with a wide grin and cross-like eyes just like the one already on his face. the difference was the thick cracks of gold that ran down the length of the entire mask, as if binding together the different shards of porcelain. he reverently ran his thumb over the cheek of the mask, admiring the whorls of red and gold paint that decorated the rest of it.

it took him a moment to reply, so enraptured by the design, before he quickly realized that ros had slowly been going tense, clearly worried that his silence was one of displeasure. he snapped back to reality, quick to assure her, "oh, i love it, ros! it's wonderful."

her entire body sagged with relief, "oh, thank you, thank you! i got the idea for the gold cracks after reading a book about pottery! it's called "kintsugi"- when you repair broken pottery with gold? it took me... a couple of tries to get it right."

"how many is 'a couple'?" he asked, playfully.

her pause spoke volumes, and she meekly mumbled, "sixteen...."

he snickered, and had to hold back a snort at her adorable pout.

he then returned his attention to the mask, and was suddenly struck by an intense thought, an urge:

try it on.

unseen, his gaze flickered back up to ros, who had continued rambling softly about how frustrating the failed fifteen attempts were. normally, he would have listened to every word from ros' mouth with rapture, but his brain was fixated on the thought.

he didn't want to wait for ros to leave. no, his mind called, despite all reason, try it on now.

but that would require ros to see my face, he thought back, and...

he wasn't bothered by that, actually. he hadn't shown anyone his face on the realm, a hesitance always keeping him from doing so, but he had long since decided that ros and sneeg would be the first. it was just a matter of... when he finally felt comfortable.

and finally, his subconscious decided that that moment was right now, apparently. a bit overdue, honestly.

without allowing himself to second guess himself, he pulled back his jester hood, letting his curly black hair spill free. he distantly heard ros make a confused, questioning noise, and as he fumbled with the clasp of the straps on the back of his head, he heard a loud, startled squeak as she realized what was happening.

he finally managed to one-handedly undo the clasp, and after pulling it off, he was met with the sight of ros having jumped back a few inches, her hands desperately smacked over her eyes.

he couldnt help but smile teasingly at her antics, "ros?"

"you- wuh- huh!?" she stuttered out, bewildered. "you- you were taking off your mask!"

"yes, i was?"

"but!? your face!? i cant see your face!!"

"why not, ros?"

"because- because you're really private about that!?"

affection flooded through him, and his teasing smile became more soft. it was truly touching how ros was so respectful of his private nature, even when he couldn't be more obvious about where his boundaries laid now.

placing both masks on the desk in front of him, he stood, reaching forward and cupping one of ros' hands with his own. she startled, clearly having not heard him get closer in her reeling.

"ros," he muttered coyly, "why would i take my mask off right in front of you if i didn't want you to see my face?"

the architect opened her mouth to retort, then quickly shut it again, her face flushing in embarrassment, "i.. well! i was just... caught off-guard, you know!? you gave me no warning that something so important would happen, clown!"

something so important, his heart echoed. he didn't know how she managed to burrow her words so thoroughly into him without even intending to.

he patted the back of her hand, urging her to move it, "well then, roscumber, i'm telling you now. i want you to look at my face."

there was a pause as she nodded at his words. she took in a shaky breath, as if hyping herself up, before she finally tore her hands away from her face, taking clown's hand with them.

he could tell the moment she registered what she was looking at when she froze, her darting eyes her only remaining movement. he could tell when she took in his red irises, his crooked-from-battle nose, the facial scars he acquired from porcelain-cracking crystals and axe strikes.

he didn't break eye contact with her, even as his heart pounded in his chest.

finally, the silence broke,

"oh..." ros whispered softly, as if she didn't realize he could hear her. "you're really pretty, clown."

against his will, he could feel his cheeks grow warm, such a sincere compliment taking him off guard. he saw the moment ros realize she had said that aloud, her face violently flushing an adorable pink.

"what!?" she yelped as he began to laugh, "i'm right!"

she smacked her hands over her mouth, clearly not having meant to say that either, and he laughed harder as she let a muffled, frustrated yell into her hands.

"well, i'm glad you think that, ros. you're pretty too, you know." he winked at her.

he savored the smile that tugged at her lips, despite her embarrassment, "aww... thank you, clown."

"always, ros. now! there was a reason why i decided to show you my face now." he announced, only getting a glimpse of her perking up as he turned back towards the desk.

he picked up the kintsugi mask delicately, before placing it into its creator's hands.

"i want you to help me try it on, ros."

[sylusxyou]

i'm open to writing smut but i feel like so much of lads (especially sylus?) ff is smut. i really enjoy exploring the softer side of sylus. i think so many people mischaracterize him as someone who has sex on the brain all the time, but i honestly think he is more focused on the emotionally intimate aspects of his relationship. i just want more soft sylus content out there.

[quinn-pop]

i like to think the master crown messed magolor up pretty bad. dark matter possession is very rough on the body, and wearing something that cursed…yea. that’ll do it

[bisexualmultifandommess]

My favourite kind of Gendrya fic is either a reunion or post-reunion fic or a relationship reveal fic of any kind where Gendry and Arya obviously seem to know each other and Jon is just stood there watching them like:

[nomazee]

dan heng x gn reader — 1.6k — long overdue continuation of my dumb delinquent au (and the two remaining fans cheer in delight), high school au, probably very americanized, probably ooc, very super incredibly vague implications to sad things but it's so blink-and-you'll-miss-it, himeko is dan heng's adoptive guardian in this au, do u guys hate me for the hoops i'm jumping through to squeeze every character in this au, reluctant friends-to-crush-to-lovers fast/slow burn unbearable unspoken feelings trope

drabble no. 1 of this series/universe, u should probably read this first heh...

notes: hi guys, i'm back after taking yet another unplanned year-long hiatus, hope u missed me! (the crowd stays quiet) i bring u another delinquent au drabble because the worms got to me and i couldn't help it OK, OKAY?!?! enjoy! :3

—°+..｡*ﾟ｡*ﾟ+.*.｡.—

Dan Heng hasn’t seen much of you in the last week. 

It’s unusual, he defends his worries to himself, very unusual. Despite not having a single class with you, he sees you often. In the last few months since he’s known you, he’s seen you at least three times a week after school, sometimes bloody and other times free of any injury, but the point is, he sees you. Talks to you, lets you walk him home (and pointedly doesn’t let you take him to any antique stores or overpriced tea shops on the way there). 

Today is Friday, and the fifth day straight that he’s stood in the courtyard behind the school for thirty minutes after dismissal, waiting for you to show up, appearing in a breeze of glitter and dust like a poorly-practiced magician. It’s the fifth day straight that you haven’t shown up, and he’s starting to realize how paradoxical your friendship feels. 

Dan Heng is hesitant to even call it a friendship. It feels weird—it’s like he’s known you for years, like he’s grown up with you on the same block in the same neighborhood, except in truth he’s only known you for three months, and he just learned your birthday last week after (embarrassingly) prying it out of you. He doesn’t know where you live, which front door to knock on so that he can check up on you, he doesn’t even have your phone number. All he can do is circle the perimeter of school grounds, waiting for you to show up, or looking for a top hat somewhere so he can pull you up out of it like he’s the poorly-practiced magician and you’re the bunny that he’s unethically shoved into a top hat. 

Luckily for him, though, fifth time’s the charm, and on his (miserable, lonely) walk home, he bumps into you as he rounds the corner to his block. Like, really bumps into you.

He hears a semi-familiar shout of horror as he stumbles back, the sudden slam of pressure on his nose making his eyes water, and he clasps his hands over his nose (it doesn’t hurt that bad, he swears), and then your hands are grabbing his shoulder and giving him a firm shake before he can even process that it’s you he’s just stumbled into. 

“Oh!” You shout, and he registers the tilt of your head through his watery, cloudy vision, “It’s you! I was looking for you.”

Dan Heng feels like— laughing, dryly, or maybe grabbing your shoulders back and shaking you until you reflect on how ridiculous you sound—as if he wasn’t the one wandering school grounds for an hour each day for the last week in search of you, like a lost dog, and god he really hopes no one caught him doing that, but at the very least March 7th definitely saw him, which means it’s going to hit the rest of his social circle eventually and he’ll have to hang his head in shame and stay silent when all his friends ask him why he was moping for five days straight. 

“Looking for me?” he mumbles, repeating your words instead of coming up with a thought of his own because he’s still sort of reeling from the sudden sight of you and the buzzing ache in his nose. “Am I bleeding?” 

“Oh,” you say, yet again, and he feels your hands take his wrists and pull them away from his face so that you can get a good glimpse of him. “Nope, no blood. Thank god. I’d feel really bad if I had to return you to Himeko with your face mangled.” 

“Return me,” he echoes again, and in two seconds flat he sobers up and straightens his posture and finally gets a good look at your face. “What? Where have you been?” 

“Around,” you answer vaguely, like you always do, and Dan Heng is now half a step closer to actually shaking you by your shoulders and turning you upside down until the truth falls out of your pockets like cartoon coins. “I’m back now, though! I wasn’t going to get a perfect attendance award anyways, so it’s kind of whatever.” Your lips quirk up into a stupid smile, and your eyes are scanning his face and his potentially bruised nose bridge. “Did you miss me?” 

“Yeah,” he admits, like an idiot, and he unfortunately doesn’t miss the sudden stalling of your expression, the way your smile freezes for half a second and the twitch in your brow. “No,” he quickly rights, but it’s a moot point by now, “whatever. What do you mean, around? Have you been at school at all this week?” He finally looks down at your clothes, which are very much not any kind of school-uniform-adjacent garb, but rather a collared shirt with some kind of logo on the top left. 

“I’ve been working,” you say, and it’s maybe the most honest and straightforward answer that Dan Heng will ever get from you, so he relishes in it for a moment. “You know, a job. Have you heard of that before? Jobs? Employment?” 

“That’s allowed? Are we allowed to work?” 

“Well,” and you do it again, glance off to the side before coming back to him, “I hope so. I’m not looking to quit this job so soon. They hired me, so it’s all good. I just had to miss school this week so they could train me, but I’ll be back on Monday. You’ll get your daily dose of me again soon, don’t worry!” 

Working. Dan Heng doesn’t know much about your schedule, what you do after school besides annoy him and walk him home and get into fights with seemingly invisible and untraceable and unnameable people, but this feels like one more piece in a thousand-piece puzzle where half the pieces have been drenched in water and bent. He feels two steps away from knowing more about you at the same time that he feels miles away. 

“I’m at the movie theatre,” you tell him, “so you should come visit with your friends some day. Four to ten P.M. on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. You can introduce me to your friends properly, you know,” and you have that nearly-tense, nearly-dishonest quirk of your lips, and you’re looking right at him like you’re trying to tell him something without saying it, “unless you’re too embarrassed to let them meet me.” 

This is not the first time you’ve said things like this, not by a long shot. Dan Heng thinks back, and is sure that you say something along the lines of aren’t you embarrassed at least once for every two times that he talks to you. Scared you’ll get caught with me? you asked him just last week, like being with you was a surefire way to get cursed or shunned or ostracized. Dan Heng doesn't get it, and it doesn't sound like you want him to. 

“No,” he says, steadfast, realizing belatedly that your hands are still around his wrists from when you’d tugged them down off his face, and his skin beneath your fingers is heating up rapidly, but so are the tips of his ears. “That’s not it,” and he really doesn’t have the strength to say anything deeper than that, so he dodges, “what were you doing on my street? Did you go to my house?” 

You’ve been caught. Sheepishly, you let go of his wrists, one hand going up to scratch the back of your neck instead, looking at his neighbor’s dead half-dead rose bush next to the sidewalk. “I kind of figured maybe I’d check in on you, or something. Ask to hang out. But when I came at three, you weren’t home yet, so I just kind of hung out with your mom. I was leaving just now. Figured you were busy, or something?” 

It’s an open-ended question, one that Dan Heng is very unwilling to honestly answer—if he did, he’d have to admit that the task that was oh-so-arduously occupying his time after school was sitting in the courtyard like a grieving wife waiting for her spouse to come home from war. He shakes his head instead of explaining anything—that should be enough of an answer. 

“She gave me cookies,” you continue in lieu of a real response from Dan Heng. “Seriously, am I the only one that eats them, or am I, like, stealing your only source of food every time I come over?” 

“The first one. I hate those things. They’re dry. I don’t understand how you eat them like that.” 

“Woah! Rude! Whatever, more for me. Hey, you’ll help me with all that schoolwork I missed, right?” You punch him in the shoulder playfully, which might’ve knocked the wind out of him had it been aimed any closer at his sternum. “I think we have almost all the same teachers. And I'm a quick learner, so it won't be so bad for you."

“Fine,” he says with a faux reluctance that would really only be convincing to a child, “I can walk you home.” 

“Haha,” and you punch his shoulder again, soothing it this time with a pat before you trail your hand up to the side of his neck, clasping the side of it with your warm palm, like you’re holding his pulse in your hand, and Dan Heng holds his breath so you won’t easily feel the rapid thump of blood underneath his skin, “maybe next time, champ.” 

You’re smiling again, laughing when you look at the paling expression on his face, like you know something he doesn’t, and he barely has time to feel disappointed at your easy rejection before you laugh, breathy, one more time, and say goodbye. 

(Himeko, to Dan Heng’s utter misery, hounds him for “details, the whole story, what did they say, Heng?!” the second he steps into the threshold of his house, keys still dangling from his hand. Terrible, awful, miserable. He does in fact, tell her everything.)

[mothlord00]

just posting a sunflower i did a while ago! posted it in the gitm discord, so might as well drop this here. i...... drew this before i found out sunflower is agoraphobic. i'm sorry queen.

au is Ghost in the Machine by @venomous-qwille! amazing fic and one of my very favourite things ever.