#future fic idea?

[darlingatlas]

Spoilers for Preview of Batman 138 of Gotham Wars!

I'm super tempted to write a hurt no comfort fic after the shit I just saw in the preview of this issue. Honestly, even with the fact that Zur-En-Arr is in control with Bruce, the fact that Bruce's failsafe for Jason is literally

(click more to see spoilers)

fucking reprogramming Jason's body to reinterpret any spike of adrenaline as a fear response is so fucked up. As someone who has always been a fan of anatomy and human biology, and has learned about the psychological components of adrenaline, this concept can be DEVASTATING if it were a real thing.

Literally, adrenaline is more than just for being a vigilante. It's a component of anger because hey! Fight or flight literally use both! Imagine not being able to be angry at the person who did this to you because your anger turns into fear. And adrenaline is a part of falling in love, surprisingly enough. You know that rapid heartbeat and sweaty palms feeling you get when you first date? That's adrenaline! Not to mention, excitement does sometimes use adrenaline. Not being able to get excited about doing something fun like skydiving or riding a roller coaster sounds like a nightmare.

Also, how the fuck is Jason ever going to defend himself if something happens??? The answer: HE CAN'T! He's been stripped of his agency in so many ways because of this!

And don't even get me started on the health complications this would cause.

High blood pressure, heart damage, literally rewiring your entire brain's neurochemistry, weight loss, an increased risk of a heart attack or a stroke.

Jason would have to either be on anti-anxiety meds to counteract the effects or force himself to just barely feel emotions, neither of which are ideal for Jason in the slightest.

But knowing comics, there's gonna be some bullshit reason of how it only affects when Jason is going to be doing something dangerous like being a vigilante, but how the hell is his body and brain supposed to know that?

So yeah, maybe a future fic idea?

[zephyrchama]

It would be cute if Barbatos asked to hold MC's hand and just didn't let go.

"Be careful, there's a puddle up ahead. It rained quite a bit last night. Take my hand, I'll make sure you don't get dirty."

"Please watch your step. There's a large, uneven stair here. Take my hand, I'll help you walk down."

"Do you remember where the storage room is? I'll show you, just in case. Take my hand and follow me."

All these little excuses, all so he can gently take your hand and have the enjoyment of escorting you. Feeling the warmth of your palm and the curvature of your fingers, how they fit perfectly in his grasp. Ever so softly rubbing a thumb over your skin and daring to imagine how it would feel without his gloves. When you pass the puddle, or reach the end of the stairs, or arrive at the storage room, Barbatos just smiles and doesn't let go.

[sonics-atelier]

Magneto isn't a villain he's professor X's lame boyfriend who occasionally dabbles in anarchy and helps them only because of Charles' doe eyes.

[wasabi-gumdrop]

neon glory squad 💖

[envy-of-the-apple]

Dark! Gojo Satoru x reader (Soulmate Au blurb)

(warnings: dark content, implied kidnapping, implied noncon, masochism)

I really like the idea of soulmates in the JJK world. They're rare, but the reason why they're so coveted is because they are the only person in the world who is immune to their soulmate's cursed technique. 

Being Gojo's soulmate would be like hitting the jackpot, at first. You're a regular person, with no cursed energy. Maybe you and Satoru's hands bump into each other while you're at a cafe, grabbing your respective drinks. To you, it's just an accident. You apologize, make your way out. 

To him, it's like submerging himself into an ice bath. For the first time in years, someone had gotten past his limitless technique. It was so unexpected, and real, and so warm.

Your hands were warm. 

It's the thrill of it that gets him first. The unexpected. No one's ever come close to him. He is the summit of the mountain. The strongest. And yet, there you were, effortlessly able to bypass his barriers without even trying. With women, with Geto, he'd always have to turn his technique off. He'd have to let them do something to him. You could do anything to him, and his powers wouldn't even stop you. You could kick him, punch him, bite him. Anything you wanted, and for once, he'd be powerless to stop you.

He can't detect you with his six eyes. It makes the hunt even better when he catches up to you. It's days of stalking and harassment and the touching that finally makes you snap and slap him. 

It hurts. 

It hurts and he fucking loves it. 

He already made up his mind days ago, but this only cemented it. When he finally takes you home, to his bed, it's euphoric. You scratch and bite and scream and hurt him over and over again. Hours later, when you've passed out from sheer exhaustion, he has more bruises than you do. They'll fade eventually, but that's okay. 

You could always make more. 

[time-slink]

Voidwalker scar pretty please? 👉👈

[ ask game ]

HI STIFFF this actually kicked my ass super hard i haven’t drawn scar in forever

[arrowheadedbitch]

AU where everyone suddenly has all the words that hurt them the most written all over their body and Tim has "Jason" written all over his face.

[justaz]

arthur (prince of camelot) still has to study under a tutor bc yknow uther wants him to be very intelligent before becoming king or something bc its super important idk idc anyways merlin is doing chores in his chambers while arthur is squinting at a book and merlin eventually caves and asks him what he’s reading and arthur gruffly explains that its a collection of stories from greece that make absolutely no sense so merlin asks him to read them outloud to him. arthur of course teases him and calls him an idiot and asks how he could possibly help but does as he’s asked and reads the stories to merlin as he does his chores. merlin (being crushed under the weight of destiny and tormented by the prophecies that kilgharrah spews) understands the stories almost immediately and gets all excited and starts rambling about them with arthur. arthur is glad to have someone who understands so he can give something that reflects a hint of understanding to his tutor who accepts it and moves onto the next unit of education.

the thing is, arthur finds more stories in camelot’s library and brings them up to his room to read them aloud to merlin under the guise of completing his studies but really he just wants to watch as merlin’s eyes gleam when he understands whats happening and listen to him ramble on and on about them bc he’s gay. the stories stick with merlin though and he realizes that they’re cautionary tales, that the heroes who were told too much of their future doomed themself to fulfill them - that them fighting the prophecies led to their completion. merlin takes it to heart and gives a big “fuck you” to kilgharrah before forging his own fate and helping morgana with her magic and handing out an olive branch to mordred and now everyone can live happily and peacefully in an albion teeming with magic.

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

(it was, in reality, not fine), summarized:

Sun and Moon, making the absolute sappiest of heart eyes: we are so in love with you <3 <3 we daydream abt marrying you one day. Do you want to adopt five kids or six

Reader: hehe <3 I love you both so so sooo much <3 idk what I would do without you

(Reader’s internal dialogue: wow I love these dummies. My best friends. Silly fellas)

~100,000 words, idiots to lovers~

[doctorbrown]

MCFLY JULY ‘24 ⸺ 「 31 / 31 * PEPSI FREE — ACROSS TIME 」

[wandixx]

I have an idea that includes two person love square because identity shenanigans are always fun, but I have no idea what they should do, despite having fun dynamics between them, like:

"Of course they're dating" said Public Opinion about Miss Martian and Phantom, right after she broke his heart a bit by telling him she was in love with someone else (Megan's long distance best friend, Danny). Before this happened, Phantom was overly flirtatious to both Miss Martian and Megan, so she asked Danny what to do about "This one guy in my sports team" and his advice is to tell him to "Fuck off". She does exactly that, without quite understanding the weight of the word and Phantom is stunned into obedience (and he understands that no means no)

Anyway, I need help with actual... plot. Situations I put them through, because I'm determined to write it. They would be cute together imo.

[that-nerd-who-writes-fanfiction]

Sometimes I think about Merlin giving Arthur the only weapon that could kill him.

Imagine if he told Arthur about his magic and Arthur took it badly, running him through without really thinking about it.

Maybe they were in the middle of a battle and Arthur saw magic first, Merlin second.

Then he regrets it, desperately trying to save Merlin. Leon says take him to the Druids since they’ve brought people back from the brink of death before. So Arthur does but when the Druids see Merlin bleeding out, they aren’t worried.

Arthur can’t understand why they aren’t freaking out, so they tell Arthur about the prophecy. He learns about Emrys and how Merlin is immortal.

Arthur relaxes just slightly, glad that Merlin will definitely recover.

But one of the Druids says he can only be killed by a sword forged in a dragon’s breath. Arthur says he isn’t sure what his sword is, that it was the sword from the story that was left in the stone by Bruta. The Druids all look confused so Arthur recounts what Merlin told him the day he got Excalibur. They all look horrified to realise that Merlin has been stabbed by the only sword in existence capable of killing him.

The Druids tell him Excalibur was made by Emrys, forged in the breath of the great dragon, and that only the once and future king could pull it from the stone.

So Arthur has to come to terms with the fact, not only that he killed the most loyal man he knows and also his best friend, but also that his best friend wouldn’t be dead if he hadn’t trusted Arthur implicitly even without telling Arthur about the magic.

He doesn’t know what’s worse but Merlin dies with the assurance that magic will be legalised in his honour.

Just something I think about sometimes. I have fics of this but they’re staying in the fic graveyard because I don’t like how they turned out so if anyone wants to use this as a prompt, feel free just tag me and give credit for the idea please :)

[wwillywonka]

hello lgbt community. i just wrote over 2000 words of a star trek fanfic in two hours

[vigilskeep]

i was discussing some of these a while back with @v-arbellanaris but they’re still on my mind... some ideas for dragon age subclasses...?

mage:

hedge mage - you have spent much of your life on the run from chantry control, and survival has been a better teacher than any dusty book. a “jack of all trades, master of none” ability lets you learn limited spells from other specialisations, and you have access to a stealth skill tree

glyph scribe - you are a learned expert in the arcane, and glyphs are a second language your enemies won’t understand until it’s too late. you have access to a unique skill tree of glyphs that react when your enemies step on them. you may cast one—or more, as you level up—during the pause at the start of combat

primalist - fire was your childhood plaything, the earth is putty in your hands, and lightning always strikes twice if you ask it nicely. you have increasing bonus damage in your element of choice. your elemental AOE attacks have wider range, you may ignore enemy resistances to elemental damage, and your elemental spells cause no friendly fire no matter the difficulty

rogue:

templar hunter - you were once a deadly weapon in the hands of the templar order, bringing back its most feared apostates dead or alive. whether or not you regret the past, you cannot leave it behind. you have access to a templar skill tree, some of its abilities exclusively possible to use at long range

vampire - you were temporarily possessed by a voracious demon, and it left its mark. it left its hungers. you may drink your enemies’ blood to regain health or fuel demonic abilities

arcane trickster - while blades or bows are still your best allies, the trace of magic in your blood gives you limited access to spellcasting. unable to create anything real enough to touch, you manifest illusions that bemuse your foes. you have access to a unique skill tree of primarily defensive buffs and disorienting spells

warrior:

dog lord - like all great fereldan warriors, you are never better than with your trusty hound at your side. you gain an animal companion, though unlike rangers, you level up your mabari as you progress rather than unlocking different types of animal. you can also equip kaddis warpaint on yourself instead of a helmet, providing further buffs to you and your mabari

enhanced soldier - you were born ordinary, but that doesn’t mean you have to remain so. you supplement your skills with powerful potions brewed by secretive alchemists or your own careful hands. you have access to a unique skill tree, with a variety of potions that temporarily boost your stats and attack speed or allow you unnatural power. to improve them even further, collect special ingredients from areas of the map where the veil is considered thin

half-golem - you are a failed experiment. attempts to recreate the golems of old left you with thick stone skin over parts of your body. you cannot equip armour or weapons. instead, you equip crystals that help you inflict and resist different types of damage, and have access to a unique skill tree that supports your natural armour and powerful unarmed attacks

[thevalleyisjolly]

It's a minor detail but I'm so emotional over Doctor Who making the universal human language in the future based on Cantonese.

[bacchuschucklefuck]

Riz has counted four casseroles this week alone. Five, if one goes by the method of cooking, but Yelen's scary when she's crossed, and calling her burek by its proper name is important to her, so Riz does her the courtesy and doesn't include it in his mental tally.

He holds the tupperware over his head to keep it out if the way as he takes careful steps over the piles of notes in his path. The dockman case just closed, relevant documentations handed over to relevant personnels, evidences dealt with as needed; all he has lying around now is just record of the process and traces of himself thinking through it. Unsurprisingly they still haven't invented a surface more convenient for people under five feet who like to pace to put pieces of paper on than the ground.

Actual records go into the case folder with the other documents. Anything else with at least one side still blank is going to the school kids in the block - they chew through an astounding amount of paper just learning arithmetic. The rest is for the recycling basket.

Later. It's his mandated lunch break right now.

Riz sits down in front of the corner file cabinet. In an office often overrun with papers and strings and sometimes even thumbtacks, he's never really managed to clutter up this exact square of surface like every other ones. Ever since the bottom drawer rattled for no discernible reason a day long past, his eyes have always just kinda decided to slide across the space without acknowledging it.

It's years out, now. Riz doesn't know why he thought it such a big deal anymore, back then. He wasn't scared, he doesn't think. Not anymore. Maybe just uncomfortable with the idea that certain things persist despite all efforts to change.

He opens the tupperware. Dame Carabelle's experiment greets him with enough spice in the aroma alone to knock out a small mammal. When he chopped the vegetables for this casserole he couldn't really imagine the eventual heft of it, evident even through just these few ladles' worth, maybe weighing heavier for being still warm. His folk eat more through the smell and the textures and the aftertastes than the taste itself. His folk's meal is really the cooking rather than the eating. The eating is the meal's end.

"Hey," he tells the file cabinet's bottom drawer. "Um."

It's the anniversary. Riz doesn't know the exact date of his dad's death; nobody currently alive does. He and Mom both use the date of the funeral, though as he moved out to Bastion and then got more directly involved with Interplanar he hasn't really been going to Dad's grave as much. Doesn't seem like very efficient use of his time, catching a train or borrowing a car or spending a whole spell slot on going somewhere he knows Dad isn't at. They're sorta coworkers now. They talk on and off every other week between missions. When he goes now, it's just to clean up the place, keeping the landmark tidy and respectable.

Without that work to mark the date he doesn't really know what it serves anymore. But he still remembers it. Still takes note, absently or not, when it comes around.

There's not really a good way to tell the drawer that. Riz looks for another way to start the... conversation, hopefully. The question at play, he'd guess, is why he's doing this. He's been pretty content ignoring all the rattlings and the knocks from inside and the times it sits slightly ajar without him ever opening it himself; hell, he still uses the three drawers on top of it. Space is fucking precious in Bastion.

Precious enough to finally fix this damn drawer so he gets his turn to use it? Riz asks himself. Is that what we're getting to? Then he dismisses the thought - he didn't manage to fix it the times he actually tried, let alone-- now. When he doesn't really care that much to.

That's probably a good place to start. "'s fine if you keep being in there, turns out," Riz says.

The lunch hours are quiet in the block, sleepy and bright with the brief window of sunlight that manages to break through roof overhangs and extended balconies and laundry lines and climbing vines. Riz's work isn't loud here (the loud parts happen away from his office, if everything goes right), but the fragment of early summer heat reflected in the steady warmth his meal still carries compels him to lower his voice even more. It makes the words feel intimate, in a way he's never been familiar with - if he says something he just says it. He doesn't whisper. If he gives his friends something, he gives it open-palm. He's found out, along the way, that people usually don't think of rituals and courtesies the way he does.

Small voice for a diminished monster. "You know why I think so?" Riz asks. "Because almost two decades ago you kidnapped me and almost killed me, and now you rattle a drawer in my office."

It doesn't sound as much like a taunt as Riz wanted it to; the drawer has made a lot of noises again this morning when he checked the calendar, and he was definitely annoyed at it. Now, though, facing it like this after cooking the whole morning with more grandparents and peers from the block than he can count on both hands to cater for a tenant union meeting, he thinks the annoyance has morphed. Changed shape.

It has the shades of something like pity. Riz is not prone to pity, and especially not at these kinda matters. It's slightly maddening that he coheres perfectly outside of this one spot. That he commands his spaces, except for a drawer.

He puts the tupperware onto the floor between himself and the cabinet. "I know we're aware it's the anniversary," he says at the drawer. "You do this every year. You make a ruckus every time I decide to go do my job instead of mooching off my friends' aircon, and every time I get an invitation to some stupid social thing I want to turn down, and every time one of the old people tries to introduce me to a child or a nibling, because being a bachelor over thirty is weird," he pinches the bridge of his nose. "I have three fucking jobs. I love doing my fucking jobs. I'm forcing funds into infrastructures. You're never leaving, are you."

The drawer vibrates lightly. It's a very, very mild acknowledgement, considering the history of reactions Riz has gotten from this thing. Riz thinks it's emanating joyous agreement, or satisfaction.

It only sharpens the pity. Riz doesn't like that, but it's how it is. That's, ultimately, the lesson he's been taught over and over and over again, just by existing as himself, turned every which way by space after space that don't see him eye-to-eye: it's not like he'd quit living over any of it. It's not like any of it can sand off these fundamental pieces of him.

He's outgrown a lot of things, he's found out. Again, and again, and again. A childhood home, a yearly trip, a monster.

"'s probably scary for you, huh?" He asks. "Because I left."

He thinks he hears joints creak that sound like you did. Probably the way a scorned lover would say it, in a movie or a yellowback. He has no more connection to the idea than he did as a kid. Less, because it doesn't even scare him.

"That's what it is, right? That it's the anniversary, and I'll never be like Dad." He raises a knee from the floor, pulls it back closer to him. Slings an arm over it. "You love to remind me. The thing is, Dad also left. He loved Mom and he loved me, and none of us wanted it to happen, but it still did. Because love does fuckall to make anyone stay on its own."

He's long past being bitter about it. It's just the facts. Once upon a time he looked into the future and the specter of his friends' happily-ever-after casted lightless, fathomless shadow over him. Love, marriage, that kind of devotion, to a fifteen-year-old with more solved cases than friends seemed so eternal. Final.

But you can only watch your friends build up apps' worth of jilted lovers for so long before getting over it.

"You know what I learned?" Riz tells the drawer. "Love doesn't make anyone stay. Project management does."

He stands up, and picks up the tupperware of Dame Carabelle's casserole, that he helped make, that he helped share with a block's worth of neighbors and members of a community he's at home with, and goes sit at his desk to eat. "Last chance to get any," he drops an offer over his shoulder as he walks away.

He doesn't eat all of his share in one go. What he's spared he leaves on the desk when going outside for a smoke break. Baron looks the exact same as when he saw them last, when he catches a glimpse; they haven't grown at all. They aren't there when he comes back inside, but the leftover has gone days-old cold, like someone's sucked the future out of it.