#fic: people like us

[technically-human]

This happened, it just wasn't relevant to the plot

[umblrspectrum]

tessa, being the edgy little freak she is, obviously took the original darkxwolf username

[fatherofpuppets]

So, I read THIS, and my life will never be the same

Go and read it

Right now.

[podcast-hemocytoblast]

What if when Michael got Distortioned he/they/it/(?) had just kept showing up to work? Imagine Gertrude comes into the archives and finds a bunch of paperwork filled out in yellow highlighter and folded into impossible shapes, and then Michael-Distortion just walks into the room door-style and sits down at his work computer so it can email Gertrude a phishing scam.

[kens-ramblings]

so ik it’s not cannon accurate but,,,

i need a fic of tim just crashing out.

like he gets so sick of like damian and jason talking about how weak he is and shit like that that he’s like “yall realize lady shiva was my one of my FIRST teachers, and i was the first robin she trained. i had to train under b AFTER he already lost a robin. you DONT think he was 10x harder on me than any of you guys???? there’s a reason my training videos are mainly redacted without bruce’s or my permission. i got ra’s al ghul BEGGING ME to join his league or have my children. i get gifts from him WEEKLY. do you KNOW how many of his little ninja i fight per DAY??? nahh im sick of this shit let’s take it to the mats” and just demolishing both of them at the same time.

i just think it’d be very funny. i just like fics of people who pretend to be weaker than they are(or they just never really have a reason to go full tilt so they just don’t) get sick of holding back and just losing it :D

[imclou]

can't believe fnaf brought me out of art hibernation man what a turn of events

[starry-bi-sky]

Blood Blossom Au: Baby's First Commissioner Meeting :)

TL:DR This Post: Danny (orphan) gets poisoned with blood blossom extract by Vlad. He runs away from him and ends up under the care of one Pre-Robin Battinson Batman! Starry is loudly pushing her batdad agenda.

(Also known as "Late At Night, When The Nightingale Sings" on my ao3!)

This was a fun rough idea I've been sitting on for weeks, thinking about how Commissioner Gordon and Nightingale's first meeting might go.

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

Commissioner Gordon likes to think that he's adjusting to the new normal of Gotham very well, -- the new normal being grown men running around dressed like bats, in military-grade strength body armor, committing acts of vigilantism, -- and slowly, little by little, he was no longer being surprised when this new normal pops up out of the shadows like the world's most terrifying daisy. His shaving lifespan thanks him for it.

....

The kid is a surprise though.

Granted, he seemed to be a surprise to the Bat too.

There's been a string of murders lately, -- which, in Gotham, is kind of like saying there's been another storm during monsoon season. And there's just been another; in some dilapidated building down in south Gotham, with the broken, boarded-up windows and mildew-crawling walls to match. The victim is a man in his thirties, multiple gunshot wounds to the chest, left in the center of the room for the blood to pool out around him.

The place is already secured when he arrives, the building swarmed with officers and the forensic detectives. The Bat emerges shortly after he does -- or, he might've been here the whole time, hiding someplace dark and shadowy. For his own sanity, Gordon doesn't think about it too hard.

The kid is a surprise, and he appears like a bolt of lightning.

He shows up in the middle of a conversation Gordon is having with the Bat.

A whistle, sharp and loud, slicing through the air, meant for open air rather than a confined space. Gordon's ears pierce and protest the sound, and the solemn, murmured chatter floating through the room abruptly cuts off like the swing of a gavel. As he turns towards the sound -- as they all do -- he swears, up and down, that he sees Batman's shoulders jump, just slightly.

At the source, perched on the window, is a boy. A boy in a gray-blue scarf and an oversized black hoodie, one that hangs off his frame and has ace bandages wrapped around the wrists in some attempt to cinch the sleeves. The hood is up, big like the rest of it, and threatens to swallow the upper half of the boy's face whole in the fabric. What upper half Gordon can see, is smeared with some kind of opaque, black face paint. He's holding onto the side of the frame with one hand, on his hip is a grappling hook. A familiar grappling hook.

Gordon has multiple questions, and his officers tense up.

Martinez puffs up, brows furrowing as his face shapes into a frown. Shoulders rolling back. "You can't be here, kid--"

The reaction is immediate, like a spark to gunpowder, the boy yanks his fingers from his mouth and his mouth twists into a scowl. Head snapping over to Officer Martinez, his hood manages to stay on but Gordon swears that as he bares his teeth, the glint makes them look sharper than they should be. His voice is rasp and quiet and harsh; snappish in its hissing; "Put a fuckin sock in it, Martinez. I'm not stayin."

Martinez reels back, and the boy immediately veers his attention off him. Like a switch, his demeanor drops. Despite half his face being covered, his mouth twists into a cringing, apologetic smile. Slanted and off-beat, embarrassed. It'd be disarming if this wasn't Gotham, and if he didn't just hiss at Martinez like he was about to bite his head off.

"Sorry." He whispers, voice deceptively polite and softer now. Gordon has to strain his ears to hear him. "I was looking for him."

He points his finger towards-- Gordon? No, Gordon follows the direction, and finds himself looking at -- the Bat.

The Bat, who always looks stiff as a pole, now looks even stiffer. Somehow. Well, the explains the grappling hook attached to the boy's waist.

"What are you doing here?" The Bat says, gruff and unable to completely smother the stumble of surprise in his tone.

The boy still holds a sheepish smile, and slips off the window ledge. His feet hit the creaky boards with a near-silent thud, the Batman finds his feet and rapidly begins crossing the room.

Gordon notes the slight tremble in the boy's legs as he straightens. He adjusts his scarf, which droops close to his knees now that he's standing, and slings a backpack -- how long has had that? -- off his shoulders. When the Bat reaches his side, he does as he always does, and looms over the boy like a spectre. A threatening mass of shadows cloaked in all-consuming black. Standing next to him, the boy looks teeny in comparison.

The Bat is a man who terrifies even the most hardened criminals, Gordon has seen grown men shiver in fear at the mention of his name. And yet when the boy looks up at him, he doesn't even flinch.

Instead, his sheepish smile melts away like ice under the sun, holding only traces of his previous embarrassment. It remains as a shadow on his face, a small upturn at the corners of his mouth. The boy pushes his hood back just enough to reveal glinting, ice-flint eyes surrounded in tar-black face paint. He holds the backpack up with one arm. "You forgot this."

[bigfatbreak]

Hi quick question about the host au

Does lila think marinette is being legit haunted?

Because for some reason i could see host tikkis powers (which i think act up with high emotions because of that one post in the manynette au) acting up around her out of anger

yup. I actually have a chunk of fanfic written up for the AU that really goes into it, that I never finished nor posted, and now I'm considering posting it as a standalone just for fun

[greenglowinspooks]

(DCXDP) The obligations of a rogue versus those of a parent (Pt. 5)

—

Tw: torture scene (GiW agent receiving), general angst, canon-typical violence (DC), nobody is having a good time

Will be crossposted to AO3 eventually

(Masterlist/subscription post)

—

It was pretty easy for Danny to forget that Dr. Crane was a rogue at times.

Most of the time he wasn’t comically evil, like what he’d expect of a Gotham rogue. He was helping Danny, even if only because he didn’t want to be taken in by the GiW as well. He was even downright nice most of the time, or at least neutral.

Sure, he had a strange obsession with fear and psychology, but that wasn’t really out of the ordinary for Danny. It didn’t feel like living with a rogue, just like…staying with a distant relative, or something.

He seemed like just an ordinary person.

Today, though, Danny was brought back to reality.

The GiW agent they’d tracked down together writhed on the ground, screaming in pain and terror. Scarecrow was sat a few feet away, setting up a syringe of the antidote he’d made.

After a few more moments, he injected the man with the antidote, watching him like a hawk the entire time.

Suddenly, the man surged forward, lunging at Scarecrow with a feral scream.

Unluckily for him, though, he was still weak from the fear toxin in his system, and from the beatings he’d received prior. Scarecrow easily wrestled him to the ground, settling himself on the broad part of the agent’s back with a vice grip on one of his arms.

“Let’s try again,” he said sharply, all of the warmth Danny had grown used to gone from his voice. “Where is the GiW base of operations?”

The agent took several shuddering breaths before spitting at Scarecrow, defiance and hatred written all over his face.

For just a moment, the room was utterly silent.

“Fine, have it your way.”

Scarecrow began to twist the man’s arm further. It wasn’t long before the agent began to squirm, then writhe, beneath him. Danny’s stomach churned.

“You know,” Scarecrow began, almost conversationally, “there are plenty of jobs that one can get without the use of their legs, especially with the level of education you have. Anything that doesn’t involve hard labor, really.”

The man’s face was beginning to turn red in his struggle not to scream. He took in gasping breaths, the way that his mouth moved almost reminding Danny of a goldfish.

(He felt awful for the comparison, but it was true.)

“However,” Scarecrow continued, “I find you’d be rather hard-pressed to find a job without the use of your arms. Especially in a place like Gotham, where you can always be replaced by someone eager to do your job for even less money. Of course, you could most likely coast off of savings and severance pay for a while, but…”

He leaned closer to the man’s head, his voice lowering.

“Would you be able to live like that? To live with yourself, if you no longer have a purpose?”

He allowed the agent a few seconds of rest before increasing the pressure on his arm. The agent gasped, letting out a strangled hiss. His arm bones were making fascinating noises in response to the strain. Danny felt sick.

“You seem like a rather driven young man. I’m sure your family would hate to see you unmotivated, directionless. Would they resent you, do you think?”

“Fuck you, you—”

The man was cut off by his own scream as Scarecrow finally allowed his arm to break, audibly splintering into thousands of useless shards of bone.

He had the exact pressure memorized. Clearly, he had done this before.

This was wrong. This was wrong.

Shouldn’t Danny step in, do something?

“That won’t heal cleanly. Even with the best medical care in the world, you’ll end up with permanent damage.”

The man below him wheezed and sobbed, choking on air as Scarecrow let go of his arm carelessly, letting it flop back onto the ground.

“Just the sort of thing something like you deserves,” Scarecrow hissed, his voice cold.

“You tortured a child, and you enjoyed it. You laughed with your friends about it. In your notes, one of your friends complained about the screaming,” Scarecrow brought his leg around, grinding his boot into the man’s broken arm. He howled in agony, writhing uncontrollably.

“Was it inconvenient to him, do you think? Too loud? If you were joking about it, clearly you thought so, too. I could fix that as well.”

He drew out another needle, this one once again filled with fear toxin.

“Scarecrow, wait,” Danny choked out.

Scarecrow turned to look at him.

Even his posture was different than usual. He looked… stiff, more like an animal than a man. When he tilted his head at Danny in a silent question, it looked like something in his neck had snapped, his head lolling to the side.

Danny wondered if he was consciously moving like that, or if it was habit at this point.

“You—we don’t have to do this. We can get information some other way, right? You don’t have to…”

Danny looked down at the GiW agent below Scarecrow. He didn’t even have it in him to glare up at Danny like he had before. Instead he laid limply on the ground, tremors rolling through his body uncontrollably.

“We’ve exhausted every other option and you know it,” Scarecrow said, his voice low, “this is the only way we can move forward.”

“Still, I—I don’t,” Danny swallowed, his throat tight, “this isn’t—this isn’t right. Isn’t there some other way to do this? Like—a truth serum, or something?”

“Truth serums are notoriously unreliable. They’re almost as bad as lie detectors. We’re much more likely to get a reliable result from this.”

Danny just stared at the GiW agent and his splintered, ruined arm. He began to weakly wriggle in Scarecrow’s grasp, which was graciously ignored.

He vaguely remembered himself doing the same thing when he was on the operating table; even if he knew there was no chance of escape, he still thrashed and screamed, desperate to get away. The jagged I-shaped incision on his torso felt uncomfortably warm.

What was there left to say?

“The Bat does the same thing at times, you know,” Scarecrow said, “him and the rest of his brood. By using my toxin, I’m actually lessening the amount of permanent damage that I’m doing. Physically.”

“Still, that doesn’t make it right,” Danny said desperately. “Even if—even if everyone in the world did this, it wouldn’t make it right.”

Scarecrow hummed.

They were both silent for a moment.

His next words were gentle, absurdly so when compared to the scene in front of him.

“I would love an alternative. But…”

He shrugged, hand coming to rest on the break in the GiW agent’s arm. Even without applying any pressure, the man stopped squirming immediately.

“There aren’t any other options,” Danny repeated, his voice flat and his body numb.

“Yes,” Scarecrow said. “I’m sorry.”

There was a pause. No one moved a muscle. Eventually Scarecrow spoke again, his voice strangely empty.

“You can stand outside and keep watch, if you’d like. At such a short distance their radars won’t pick us up.”

Danny said nothing, leaving the room silently.

He sat outside for quite a while.

He was grateful that Scarecrow had, with his help, dragged the agent to one of his previous hideouts. It was soundproofed, after all.

He was glad that he didn’t have to hear the rest of what Scarecrow did to the man.

After what felt like an eternity, Dr. Crane left the building, joining him outside. He guided Danny back to his beat up old truck and they drove home in silence.

“Did you at least…do you know where they are, now?” Danny asked as they entered the apartment, his voice small.

“They didn’t share the details of all of their locations with any one person. I know where one of their locations are, but not their main base of operations.”

Danny felt disgusted. With himself, with Dr. Crane, with the GiW.

He was disgusted by the agent, too. Did he just hate the restless dead so much that he would prefer to be tortured than to give them the upper hand? Did he really think he was in the right?

Was there a chance that he was?

Danny felt very, very small, and very stupid. Stupid and weak and cowardly.

“Danny,” Dr. Crane spoke, his voice soft.

“I’m truly sorry that this is happening to you. I really, truly wish that you didn’t have to endure my company. I…”

He fell quiet. Danny wondered if he was just saying this to pacify him, or if he truly meant it. He wondered if it really mattered in the end.

After a few moments of silence, Dr. Crane sighed, looking truly pained.

“I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

Danny was quiet.

“I’m going to bed early,” he finally said, turning away and leaving without a second glance.

—

[justaz]

when merlin asks arthur for things, the king is usually inclined to give him what he wants but it is not always guaranteed such as when his emotions cloud his judgement. but merlin’s surefire way of getting arthur to give in? he steps into his space, lays a gentle hand on his arm, and says “arthur, please” and he folds like a house of cards.

[smutinlove]

Jason todd with a size kink is so yummy. like wdym your 6'4 ass wants to ram into my 5'2 ass.

[bizarrelittlemew]

calling it right now that season 3 starts like this

[capricioussun]

2am post jumpscare

[forgetme-eternally-blissfully]

Choi Han, for a test from a god, is sent to an unknown land with "Cale."

Choi Han, upon arrival, realizes something is strange about this Cale. He's got a similar appearance to his own Cale but the eyes are sharper, with a witty bite to his tongue and a quick sneer always at the ready.

He's clearly confused and distressed about being in a strange place with a strange person but he does his best to not let it show. His hand reaches for a bottle of alcohol that isn't there.

Choi Han thinks that this Cale isn't like his Cale at all.

Choi Han has a hunch that this Cale is the one from before Kim Rok Soo's possession. It makes sense. So he isn't his Cale.

However, though Choi Han wants to become cold to this stranger version of Cale, when he looks into those red-brown eyes and sees fear, he draws back. It's an instinctual feeling that he gets, right as Cale is spitting more vile words to cover up the trembling in his hands, that he doesn't want to see even a terrible Cale be afraid of him.

This doesn't stop them from arguing. Through towns, forests, deserts, they both learn on an intimate level that they would never, ever get along. Cale is too loud, too threatening, and Choi Han can't resist from debating with this strange Cale about morals, of all things. They argue constantly.

Though they argue, Choi Han can't help himself from sometimes mistaking this Cale for his own. He tells himself it's because they look alike.

They're both in the midst of an argument when a noble-like individual approaches them with cloying words, which seek to lure them inside of the noble's home. Choi Han is suspicious, but before he has the chance to decline, Cale steps in front of Choi Han and demands to speak to the noble who wants to see them.

The noble-like individual turns out to be the servant of a more powerful man, something that Cale saw through immediately.

Choi Han is stunned.

How did this, this trashy Cale with no moral upstanding, clock the intentions of a person so quickly and accurately?

He asks him directly. Cale shrugs. Choi Han believes he's mistaken when Cale's eyes flicker with calculating intent. They don't discuss it further.

Little moments like these keep occurring. Cale does something impressive, Choi Han inquires, and Cale downplays it with a sneer or an insult and refuses to speak about it again. It's weird and strange but it's familiar. Extremely so. Not the insulting, and the sneer is too odd to be his own Cale's face, but it's familiar in the sense that they both underestimate themselves. They both refuse to acknowledge what lies under the surface of their visage.

This Cale is a strange individual. He swears and laughs and grins, he's too calm about their situation, and it's difficult to get through to him when he makes up his mind about something. But the strangest thing is that all of these things remind Choi Han of his Cale.

Finally, it all comes down to a final battle. One more fight and both himself and this Cale can go back to where they belong. Choi Han is ready.

Cale receives a power from a book before the battle and it's unlike anything Choi Han has ever seen. But the coughing up of blood makes him have Cale swear to never use it. Cale swears.

Choi Han makes Cale promise to stay on the sideline and not approach. Cale easily agrees.

They get to the last stage, the last time they'll see each other again, and the villain of this world is too powerful. It's as if he weren't meant for them to fight. It's as if he were made so that they struggle.

Choi Han swings his blade to block a blow that he knows he can't block, knows might end him, and he thinks about how he can't possibly die right now and leave this Cale behind... but he's too weak.

He wonders what his Cale would do in this moment, when everything seems hopeless and nothing is working.

Cale steps in front of him and uses his power to its fullest extent.

White light is shining everywhere, blinding Choi Han who keeps his burning eyes open, desperately keeps his eyes on the Cale that's bleeding from his mouth and his nose and his eyes and his skin is starting to crack, crack like he is about to turn into dust and disappear.

Cale turns to look at Choi Han.

"Ah. I was worried it wouldn't be enough to take out the villain." His eyes stained with blood curl up in a smile. A ball of dread sits in Choi Han's stomach. "I'm glad. I'm really, really..." eyes drifting closed, his body begins to shatter further and further. "Happy for you, Choi Han."

This is why they felt familiar.

It's with a cry of grief and anger, anger at himself, that Choi Han reaches out to hold Cale, hold onto even a piece of him.

Cale's eye, the only one left as he is disintegrating, widens.

Choi Han grasps a fragment that's about to vanish from Cale's chest, somewhere next to his heart, and this piece doesn't break, doesn't disappear from Choi Han's hand. It stays solid and firm and real-

And it's all that Choi Han is left with when the gods test ends.

Choi Han wakes up, surrounded by his family, with a red, glass marble in his hand. He holds it to his chest. It hurts.

It hurts.

[erinwantstowrite]

every time i start panicking about the small details (like how i don't know near as much marvel lore as i do DC, etc) i remind myself that LoF wasn't supposed to get super popular and im just having fun and practicing writing for my own books and suddenly that anxiety goes away. like it's not gonna be perfect and it was born out of me and my friend being goofy

[science-lings]

God, I love it when people who clearly have personal experience or expert knowledge on certain things write obscure AUs that incorporate those things so hyperspecifically that I feel like I'm learning something.

I love nurses who write hospital AUs that have accurate medical knowledge just thrown in there because they went to medical school and when people who clearly had a phase where they obsessed over a certain time period write an AU set in that time period or location it's just so fun.

Tell me about the 1950s Chicago culture and history and how the characters are interracial and how that affects their life, I love when the money is accurately converted and the personal histories of the characters are thoughtfully woven to incorporate the new setting they're put in, I love it when people care so much about making something and use their own expertise to aide them.