#informal ficlet

[rainbow-nerdss]

Buck goes over to Tommy's place late one morning, coffees in hand. They agreed to go out today, maybe go for a walk in a nearby park or something, no solid plans for the day other than spending it together.

When Buck gets there, though, he feels something is wrong. The curtains are closed, for one thing. And when Buck knocks, he doesn't hear any immediate movement towards the door. Usually, Tommy opens the door before Buck even makes it up the drive.

But today, Buck knocks, and he waits.

Had Tommy gotten held late at work? Buck knows he had a shift that was supposed to end a few hours before, but maybe he got stuck with overtime and didn't have a chance to call or text. But his car is there, in the same place it always is, and there hasn't been anything on the news about any major disasters.

Buck knocks again and considers calling or texting when he finally hears shuffling on the other side of the door, then the jingle of keys before the door opens.

Tommy is... A mess, honestly.

His hair is sticking up in every direction, old sweatpants with a hole at the knee, and a worn out old hoodie which Tommy shoves his hands back into the pockets of when he sees Buck.

"Hey, Evan." He swallows, voice think with some heavy emotion. "I'm so sorry, I... I forgot we had plans today, I—" he's hunched into himself, and he looks smaller than Buck's ever seen him.

"Tommy," Buck reaches for him with the hand that isn't holding the coffee cups. "What happened? Are you okay?"

Tommy shrugs, hesitating before stepping aside to let Buck in. "Rough shift," he says after an extended silence. "Everyone... The team all made it out, but... We lost someone. I lost someone."

Buck sets the coffee cups down on the entrance table and pulls Tommy into a hug, tucking his head into his shoulder and holding him tight. Slowly, Tommy's hands raise enough to wrap around Buck's waist.

"I don't think I'm gonna be much company today," Tommy sniffs after a while. Buck can feel a wet patch on his shoulder, but doesn't mention it.

The fact that Tommy trusts him enough to be this vulnerable with feels like something sacred, something he's been searching desperately for. Up to now, Tommy has been the one adjusting to make space for what Buck needs, but it's time for Buck to step up, to be there for Tommy.

"I get it, but I'm here." Buck kisses Tommy's cheekbone, just below his eye and he tastes the salty tang of tears there. "If you'd rather be alone, I-I get it. I can go home, and we can reschedule this. But, Tommy, I don't care if all we do is sit on your couch in the dark, okay? Whatever you need, I'm here."

Tommy holds Buck tighter for a moment.

"Evan," he says, in the same way he always says it. Like it's a something precious and delicate and wonderful. Buck's not sure where it came from, but he adores it.

"What do you usually do after a bad shift?' Buck asks.

Tommy sniffs, and it takes a while to answer. "Usually..." He clears his throat. "Usually I curl up in bed or on the couch and watch a rom-com. I know, it's a little—"

"Don't you dare say it's embarrassing," Buck warns, cupping Tommy's jaw and running his thumb over the stubble there. "Go make yourself comfortable, drink your coffee, pick a movie. I'll make us some snacks and join you in a minute, okay?"

Half an hour later, Buck settles on the couch—the coffee table full of popcorn, chopped vegetables and dips to snack on.

Buck reclines against the arm, and pulls Tommy on top of him, head on his chest. It's a tight fit, but from the way Tommy settles into him, Buck knows it's what he needs.

Tommy hits play, and Buck smiles at the opening monologue. "Love Actually?" He asks.

Tommy makes a sound, a soft sort of hum. "It's... kind of my favourite," he admits.

Buck smiles and kisses the top of Tommy's head, then replaces his lips with his fingers, running them over Tommy's scalp.

"That's really cute."

Tommy nestles in closer to Buck's chest, and neither of them say anything else for a while.

"Thanks," Tommy says, when they're about halfway through the movie. "For staying."

Buck kisses his head again, and Tommy lifts himself up a little so he can turn and kiss Buck on the lips, instead before settling back against his chest.

"Thank you, for letting me stay. For letting me look after you."

The words are on the tip of his tongue as he looks down and watches Tommy turn his attention back to the movie, watches him mouth along to a handful of lines.

I love him, he thinks. He doesn't say it out loud, not yet, but the realisation is soft, and warming, and perfect. And he will say it, soon. When the time is right. And he hopes Tommy will say it back.

For now though, Tommy is like a weighted blanket on his chest, comforting and warm, and Buck's content to just stay here for as long as he can.

They'll put on another movie, finish the snacks, maybe order takeout for dinner later, and Tommy will smile again, will laugh again, will kiss Buck the same way he says his name.

[unclewaynemunson]

prompt idea! :D

steve being a poet and eddie being a songwriter. they both reference each other in their works and no one has put it together yet.

( also hi you're awesome )

Oooh anon I love this, this is such an intriguing concept bc the possibilities are ENDLESS with this one! I hope you like the direction I ended up taking it in :) (and thank you so much for dropping this in my ask box! <3 )

EDIT: I wrote an expanded version for this one and it's also on ao3 :D

---

Jeff was the one who introduced Eddie to Ronan Right. His mom was moving and when Eddie visited to help, he found his friend with his nose buried in a small book that was nearly falling apart in his hands.

“What's that?” Eddie asked, flopping down next to Jeff among the boxes.

“My mom's favorite poet,” Jeff mumbled, barely glancing up from the page.

And as soon as Eddie got a chance to pick up the book from where Jeff had left it, he was hooked. He was no help at all for Jeff's poor mom, completely engrossed in poem after poem, reading them again and again and again.

Eddie liked reading poetry to get some inspiration for his songwriting, but a lot of poetry had this atmosphere of pretentiousness around it. This didn't. It was surprisingly simple. To the point, with a rawness to it, mostly short poems that had a simplicity with which they managed to cut right to the heart of things.

Ever since that day, Ronan Right became Eddie's biggest source of inspiration. He'd never start working on new songs before reading one of Right's poems first. And whenever he got stuck on his lyrics, he'd pick up one of Right's books – and every time, without fail, he'd find something in there to help him find the right words.

---

When people would ask Steve what inspired him, his answer was always the same, always simple: music. Most people probably assumed that by that, a poet would mean classical music or maybe jazz of some kind. They were wrong: Steve Harrington, professionally known as Ronan Right, liked to blast the most screamy metal imaginable whenever he was writing – much to the discontent of his poor neighbors. He didn't care much for lyrics, it was all about the sound for him: about volume, about harmonies, about a combination of ingredients that somehow managed to flip a switch inside of his brain that unlocked the more creative ways to look at words.

His favorite band was called Corroded Coffin. Something about them stood out in the long list of metal bands he loved to listen to. It was something about the sound of the singer's voice, about the guitar riffs, that simply made sense to him, made the words that he was looking for bubble up to the surface naturally.

He got halfway through the first song on Corroded Coffin's newly released album, when he froze at his desk. He didn't care much for lyrics, but those words... There was something familiar about them.

He replayed the song from the beginning and started frantically flipping through the pages of one of his earliest poetry bundles... Yeah, there definitely was something familiar about those lyrics.

They weren't copied, exactly. It could just be a coincidence.

But the album kept playing on and Steve kept getting distracted by the lyrics because there was so much familiarity in them. It wasn't like the singer was stealing from him, it wasn't even like he was taunting his copyright or anything like that... It was like he was building on Steve's words. Like Steve had laid a foundation that had sparked Corroded Coffin to make something beautiful. Like the two of them shared a mind, a soul, an inspiration.

And Steve wrote the best poem he had ever written, in one go, that day.

---

More bundles followed. More albums were released. And they kept interlocking with each other, one causing the other to do something new, try something different, figure something out.

Ronan Right was still an obscure poet, well-respected but not mainstream enough for bigger successes. Corroded Coffin was still an obscure metal band, praised by the connoisseur but too experimental to ever get anywhere bigger than the verge of the metal scene. The only one who noticed the textual similarities between the two, was Jeff's mother. She'd smile her knowing smile and chuckle quietly, delighting in her own private understanding.

---

A new book was about to get published. Steve had to drive down to Chicago to meet with his publicist and talk some things through, but his car was in the shop so he got on a train instead. The meeting went well, Don't try to be a hero officially got the green light, and feeling content, Steve pulled out the latest Corroded Coffin cd to put in his walkman as soon as he got on the train back home.

“Hey,” the guy opposite him said with a smile and a nod towards Steve's walkman, just before Steve could put on his headphones. “Corroded Coffin, nice.”

“You know them?” Steve asked, taken by surprise, a matching smile creeping onto his own face.

“Yeah.” The guy chuckled. “Yeah, I know them.”

Sunlight fell through the window and shone on the big rings around the guy's fingers, catching Steve's eye – and pulling his gaze towards the tiny book he was holding in his hands.

“Hey,” he said, “Ronan Right, nice.”

The guy stared at him for a few seconds, something like disbelief in his big brown eyes. “You know him?!”

Steve felt laughter bubble up in his chest. “Yeah, I know him.”

[ahllohehn]

gem gem gem gem gem gem gem

maybe how she became the oracle in the first place?

definitely not gonna use this as a base for smth no siree

Gem swallowed nervously, keeping her gaze on the small table that separated her from the two older teens across from her.

She doesn't know how she got in this situation, or maybe she did but she found the reasoning too insane to actually believe it.

All she remembered was accidentally almost causing the death of her senior after attempting to backseat how he should fight a chimera who broke in during their school basketball event. Honestly, if she were in the right mind that time, she would've known to keep quiet and run away along with the other kids. But, unfortunately, she wasn't. She couldn't help but hype up the person fighting off the chimera, only for her hype to backfire as the next thing she knew her senior was too distracted by her shouting that he got flung across the gym. She was too high on excitement when she first saw how one of the students stayed and directly confronted the monster who Gem would've otherwise assumed she was hallucinating about again.

But alas, excitement gets her nowhere. Or, actually, excitement gets her a free meal to one of her favorite cafes with the downside of being inspected closely by her very much alive schoolmate and his concerningly curious hawaiian shirt wearing companion.

Gem was picking at her pasta for the 10th time before Xisuma finally spoke up.

"You saw the chimera," he started.

The ginger haired girl nodded, "I also saw you get absolutely destroyed by it."

Silence, and then followed by badly hidden snickering from... Keralis, was it?

The snickering helped to ease Gem's nerves a bit before the nervousness returned after glancing at Xisuma's unmoving figure. Even under the mask she swears he never wore to school, she could tell he didn't take this situation as lightly as the other did.

"That... Yes, you did," the masked teen sighed.

She hunched over herself and tried not to overthink his sighs and his stiff body language, but she must've made for quite a pitiful figure if Xisuma had to will himself to transform into a friendlier appearance to make her talk.

Gem's eyes sparkled as she came face to face with a brown furred bunny rabbit with purple eyes.

"Do you feel more at ease if I talk like this?"

"Yes," the answer was immediate.

Shamelessly, Gem's hand went to gently pinch at Xisuma's furry ball form as he nonchalantly continued to converse, ignoring the way he was getting petted and cooed at by both of his companions as he seriously oriented Gem on why they gathered in the first place.

"It is not always that mortals can see what we can--" Pinch.

"The oracle is on her last legs and we--" Pet.

"--think that you seem gifted enough to take on the job on her behalf--" Stretching both of his cheeks.

"Apollo had informed us that he--" A giggle and another pinch to his furry form.

"-- had prepared you long before you knew of him and your own abilities--" A poke to his floppy ear.

"He told us to send a message--" A pause.

"Little sunseed, the future is now--" Xisuma was once again cut off as Gem excitedly patted his head like a button.

"....Gem,"

"You're too cute!"

"..."

Keralis finally couldn't help but cackle.

[cluelessbees]

A concept okay—

Mike and Will are sitting together. Maybe they’re in the upside down hiding in a house, maybe it’s the middle of the night and they’re the only ones awake – but they’re talking and opening up about some stuff from the past. 

And Will goes,

“Do you remember our eighth grade Snow Ball?” 

“Hm?” 

“Y’know…the Snow Ball after El closed the gate?” 

“Oh yeah, right –” Mike pauses, a sense of discomfort grewing in his chest at the recollection of the day. He takes a deep breath, trying to compose himself. “I remember.”

“Yeah….I don’t know if you remember this but,” Will begins – his knees drawn up to his chest and his eyes remaining glued to the ground. “We were all standing together and this…girl came up to me. I think it was Amy Peters or something?” 

Mike clenches his jaw (for unrelated non-jealousy reasons of course), whilst Will continues.

“She asked me to dance and I remember turning to you in a panic because I didn’t want to dance with her at all” Will laughs a bit at the thought (which leads Mike to smile).

“And you just— I don’t think you realised it at the time because you sorta… egged me on. You gave me this look like… 'What are you doing? Dance with her.’ And I didn’t know what else to do in that situation so I said yes…and I danced with her.” It’s silent for a minute as Mike waits for Will to say something or for something to happen– something or anything to finally connect the dots in Mike’s mind – why was Will talking about this? Why bring it up now? What was he thinking about right now? Wh--

“I wanted to dance with you that night”

What?

 “….you did?” 

 “Yeah.” Will breathes out. His voice cracking as he quietly whispers to himself. “I really wanted to.”

And it’s silent again. Because Mike doesn’t know what to say or what to do but he can’t help himself from grasping onto Will’s words – fixating on his face. Even in the dark he can still trace the outline of Will’s jaw, the broadness of his shoulder, the placement of his mole, the curves of his lips--

Wait what?  

“A part of me thought you did too” Will speaks up again, his head now resting against his knees. Mike can’t breathe at this point, his eyes glued onto Will.

“I think I just…wanted to believe you felt the same. I wanted to believe it was possible, y’know?” Mike watched Will's hands tighten its grip on his jeans. “But you told me to dance with someone else, and you danced with El….and you kissed her….”

He pauses.

“And I realised that I was alone in this.”  

“Will—” 

“I’m gonna go check outside for any Demogorgan,” Will starts to stand up, rubbing his sleeve against his eyes. 

 “No Will— don’t go please” Mike grabs his wrist, “I’m really sorry”

“It’s okay Mike. It’s not your fault.“ Mike purses his lips, he doesn’t really know what to say at this point. 

“…..do you know why I told you to dance with her?” 

“You were being a good friend” 

“I was trying to be a good friend” he corrects Will. And Will looks at him confused as Mike sorta gestures to him to sit down again – which he does as he waits for Mike to continue.

 “I didn’t want to be selfish- y'know? The whole year was just…so hard on you. You went through so much and I-I didn’t want to take this— this normal opportunity from you. I thought you deserved to feel normal for once…like— like any other kid.” 

“I regretted it the second I did it.” Mike laughs – but it’s more of an awkward laugh to defuse a bit of the tension. “I remember just sitting there and moping because why did I encourage you to dance with her? What is wrong with me? But then…” 

“But then El came.” Will completes the sentence.

“But then El came…” 

“You don’t have to continue, Mike. Seriously, it’s fine” 

“I want to.” He affirms. “I do….please let me.” So, Will just leans back against the wall and waits for Mike to continue.

“It was just…. I missed her- a lot– I think. And I didn’t think I would see her. And I just remembered how I promised her we’d go together and there she was. It all felt so….surreal…I think– just the whole thing helped me forget about missing you for a second.”

“Which— I know is very fucked up. I didn’t think it through and I was dumb and stupid and young and I didn’t like seeing you dancing with someone else and I just needed a way to ignore that and—- El was there and she was being El and it helped take my mind off of it for a bit.” 

“I really just wanted to spend the night with you,” Mike admits.

“You did?” 

“I did- yeah…..I think a part of it was also just…seeing Dustin and Lucas both starting to care about having a girlfriend or going out and dating and i thought… oh am I supposed to feel that way?”

“I guess I was…. self conscious about it. I wasn’t growing up the way you’re supposed to. And I- I panicked…and I was stupid and you got hurt because of it and I’m so sorry.” At this point, Mike is looking back up to Will, and he places his hand above Will’s. “I mean it. I just– I hate that I hurt you.” 

“It’s fine Mike.” 

“No it’s not— don’t dismiss it. Don’t dismiss it- I hurt you and you’re allowed to be mad at me and you’re allowed to stay mad at me. Because I deserve it. And- this isn’t me self deprecating or anything. I fucked up- I know I did. And it’s okay— I won’t hate you for being mad at me. It’s okay. I’ll still be here and I won’t leave and I’ll work on myself and I’ll show you that I’m better.”

And he pauses before pursing his lips and continuing, looking up at Will. 

“Okay?”

“Okay” Will smiles.

---

There's actually a second part/scene to this but yeah – (lmk if you want it (?))

[frankenjoly]

"A diamond is precious precisely because it is rare." + fukumori? 👀

“A diamond is precious precisely because it is rare.” Mori was saying, somewhat absentmindedly, with his eyes fixed on the book he had been reading. “But, at the same time, there truly is something exceptional about science surpassing more and more limitations each time.”

Fukuzawa hummed in agreement, then became silent again. Not for long, though, since an amusing idea crossed his mind pretty soon.

“Speaking of diamonds, do you think Natsume-sensei’s saying was something he held onto when getting tired of us?” The first response he got was laughter, sudden and genuine. Something he always treasured.

“Bold of you to phrase it like a hypothetical, and to assume he stopped.”

“Fair enough.” Fukuzawa conceded with a brief snort. “Does that mean you did the same too, then?” Now Mori did turn his head, moving away just enough to stare at him with a smirk.

“Oh, you have no idea. In fact, if Akutagawa-kun and your tiger kid ever manage to test Dazai-kun’s patience like that… serves him right. Not only that, but if one of those two ever tries to keep the tradition, then he shall suffer the same annoyance as a side effect. Unlikely so far, though, since none of them seems exactly the scheming type.” Definitely not, opposite to Natsume, Mori there or Dazai.

“Dazai-kun says more or less the same.”

“Yes? And what else does Dazai-kun say?” Funnily enough, when Fukuzawa answered next, he hadn’t meant for those words to be teasing, merely informative.

“He sometimes laughs at your expense with Yosano-kun.”

Of course, it became crystal clear as 1) he  had finished speaking and 2) his partner pouted.

(Also on ao3.)

[an-inky-fingered-lass]

illuminate the no's on their vacancy signs

A collection of ficlets set in the 'get out my machete and battle with time once again' universe. And yes, I'm realizing I definitely need a catchier name. Full series on Ao3.

chapter 3 -- as we lay our wars to rest

It was a restless night. 

Pines whipped, thunder crashing like someone was bowling with furniture on the roof of the world. May lay awake for a long time, listening to the rain, and thought about myths that bled just like they did, about the pieces this world would never be. 

It was hard to reconcile how small it was, in the grand scheme of things. The world. May had spent so much of her life flying over greens and blues and browns, looking down, but that had still been under the sky. You couldn’t see it the same way once you’d looked down from the other side.

Her dreams, when she finally fell asleep, were a jumble of familiarity. A warehouse, a little girl; but this was a girl with faraway eyes and trust in her hands-- and another girl, with rumpled blond hair and her father’s eyes, her mother’s nimble, curious fingers. It was an old home, not a warehouse, walls that were no longer hers but that she remembered loving. May dreamed of her cockpit, no splinters in her palms; peaceful evenings and threat she’d spent years comfortable in, safety she was learning. She awoke slowly, as dawn arrived, like her body hadn’t decided whether it had actually gotten any rest or not. 

It was an indecisive sort of morning. Melinda liked those even less than the bad ones; she’d spent years learning to live with those, live through them, and they didn’t come around often any more. The indecisive, thin unease was just annoying.  

Tai chi helped. There was a reason why she’d settled herself into routines, why she’d built them into herself and her time even when nothing much else in her life had been predictable. Phil did fine with less structure to his days, could unwind easily in that flexibility, but these had always been her hours, the first rays of sun crawling into a drowsy sky. 

It had brightened into a pale, breakable blue by the time Phil was up, the air cold and crisp and no longer so heavy with damp. There were pine needles scattered everywhere, a thick bed of leaves that swallowed up sound instead of crackling, but the storm had come and gone without doing any damage. 

May went out to coat her boots in mud after breakfast. There was a worn old trail out back that looped around on itself, that brought her back home if she just walked far enough. 

Phil had been gentler than he needed to be, that morning, patient enough for the both of them. He'd set the kettle like there were at least five people waiting for tea. It just wasn’t a day for talking, at least not yet, and there wasn’t any urgency to their days any more. She hadn’t known how to breathe without it, at first, but she’d had a handful of years now to ease into the relief of it. She was starting to be able to feel like they’d been doing this for a long time. 

May stepped back onto the wood of the porch with her pockets full of wild golden raspberries (she hadn’t been planning on going that way, but once she did she couldn’t just walk past the bushes). Her thigh was aching again, knees putting up a protest she was staunchly ignoring, but she felt steady for the first time that morning. 

She came through the front door to the sound of music. 

It was acoustic, earthy tones. Folky. Phil was sitting by his desk, but he’d gone still, probably forgotten all about whatever he’d been doing. She knew he’d heard her come in, but she leaned one shoulder against the wall and just listened, eyes on the window and the sunlight tumbling in. 

Their tastes in music were as wildly different as ever, but this was nice, whatever it was. Something about sunshine and the time that you have. 

May watched the curve of Phil’s shoulders, rubbed a gentle palm against the wood paneled walls. 

They had grandkids now. They’d get to watch them grow. 

She stepped across the floor as the song ended. 

Phil stood to meet her, eyes soft and damp, and she smiled at them, at him, at how easy the peaceable emotion still came to him, after everything. She would never have that. She didn’t mind. She was learning her own peace, laying down her arms without needing it to feel right. This was a choice, calmness and patience and birdsong in the birth of a new dawn. 

She was burying her wars in long walks home and raspberries in her pockets. There were ghosts to both their names, hanging around this little cabin, and they were welcome to stay as long as they needed, provided they held their peace.

[branmuffins22]

Could you write a bit of Small Town Paranormal Investigations for WIP Wednesday please?

Yes I could, thanks for the push!

"Huh," Luz's voice pulled her out of her head, as she too looked around, "Looks like they got rid of the jukebox." And just as she was starting to get her confidence back, a new, confusing, human thing had to rear its head. "The… jukebox?" "Oh, it's like a— actually, I never figured out what you guys call 'em in the Demon Realm." She pulled out her phone, likely to look up a picture, "It's a box full of vinyl records, you stick a snail— er, a quarter— in the slot, then you pick a disc, and it plays it. They're like, classic staples of retro diners, even if most of 'em are just there to sit around and look pretty."

[euclydya]

hey guys. i um. accidentally started writing a ficlet (???) based off a joke When it's finished does anyone wanna read it.

[imurasakaw]

first impressions

redstarling, 1.9k, set a little over 5 years ago. pre-relationship.

•••••••

When Jodie found Special Agent Akai, he was, as the Special Agent in Charge had blithely suggested with a wave of his hand, in the break room, smoking.

“You’re not supposed to smoke in here,” she said, feeling the irritation rising, her patience already frayed from a rankling encounter minutes ago out in the office area.

Agent Akai looked up from his phone, cigarette dangling from his lips, nonplussed. He was slouched against the wall next to the trash can. And as Jodie got a better look at him, she grew even more unimpressed. Long hair that came down just past the shoulders—against regulations. A well-worn leather jacket with some noticeable scuffs and tears—dress code violation. As for the smudges of almost bruised-looking shadows and sunken bags under his eyes, she uncharitably decided were likely due to late nights spent smoking and drinking himself into a stupor at a pub. She knew the type; she grew up around the type.

No wonder the SAC asked her to come fetch him—she might have a glowing recommendation from Assistant Special Agent in Charge James Black, but she was still just a probationary agent, and newbies got crap detail. And this man? This man appeared to be a real piece of work. She couldn’t believe someone like this was an FBI agent. She couldn’t believe someone like this could remain an FBI agent.

He hadn’t said a thing since she entered the room, eyeing her in silence instead. She shook her head to herself, and proceeded with what she was sent to do. “Special Agent Akai? The Special Agent in Charge is requesting you in his office,” she announced, putting her hands on her hips, trying to project authority. “There’s an urgent matter that requires your presence.”

The man tilted his head ever so slightly. “Who are you?” he asked.

Jodie took a quelling breath before replying. “I am Special Agent Jodie Starling. I’ve just been assigned here to the New York Field Office today.”

“Ho…” Akai dragged out the single syllable into an idiosyncratic expression of emotion that was, objectively speaking, neutral in tone, yet Jodie couldn’t help but sense a hint of derision. “You’re the new probie?”

She bristled at the belittling moniker, but bore it. It wasn't the first time and until she proved herself to everyone else in the office, it wouldn’t be the last; she knew that. “Yes.”

“How old are you?”

She frowned and crossed her arms, not liking where this was headed. “I don’t see how that is related to the issue at hand, or any of your business.”

“You seem young for this position. That’s all.”

This time, Jodie had to physically swallow down the defensive flare of temper that threatened to disrupt the evenness of her voice. In her mind, she heard all the insinuations that weren't being said. How did someone like you get this position? What connections do you have? Who did you have to bribe or fuck? “I assure you, they would not have assigned me to the Violent Crimes Unit of New York City had I not been qualified.”

Akai’s expressionless, studying gaze did not waver, and as Jodie stared right back, she was beginning to feel as though it was a competition, or perhaps a test, and she did not like it, not from this man who looked like he should model the “Before” picture of an agent rehabilitation program’s brochure.

Finally, just as Jodie had about had enough, Akai seemed to come to some conclusion within his own head, chin dipping in the slightest hint of a nod. “Can I call you Jodie?”

“You may call me Special Agent Starling,” Jodie snapped.

The corners of his lips ticked up, ever so faintly, and the realization hit Jodie that he was probably just trying to get a reaction out of her. It made her feel even worse, because she had met no shortage of men like that, had encountered a group of men like that just minutes ago, her new colleagues. Men who would never view her as their equal in competence and ability, who would bait and provoke and taunt just to see her lose her cool—and she had just lost this round with this Agent Akai.

And now that the root of anger and humiliation had taken hold, it was even harder to keep it in check.

“Well, if you’ve had your fun,” she forced, hearing the bitter tremor in her own voice and feeling the rising sting of indignation clog her throat with heat, “are you capable of following orders, or do I have to report back that Special Agent Akai could not be bothered to part from his nicotine fix?”

She took some measure of satisfaction at seeing Akai blink, his self-possessed composure disrupted for all but a second.

He paused to consider his next words. “I had not meant to insult you,” he said, almost carefully.

How farcical. “Hadn’t you?” Her words were clipped—as far as she saw it, he had not done anything to deserve courtesy.

His brows twitched in displeasure.

“You can go tell the SAC, then,” he said, looking away, “that I will be there soon”—he took another drag on his cigarette, and smoke furled out alongside his next blasé words—“if he has anything new to say to me this time.” 

And what she did then—she knew it was rude, beyond rude—but slapped in the face with that man’s flippancy and his flagrant insubordination against a superior’s demand that would’ve gotten most disciplined if not fired, her self control splintered.

She strode forward in four brisk steps and yanked the lit cigarette from his mouth.

She would later learn that, at that time, Akai had just come off of a three-month-long deep undercover stint in a local crime ring, and that it was with an adamantine force of will that he managed to smother a reflex for violence into a barely-there flinch, but in that moment, she attributed his lack of response as yet another sign of either his ineptitude or his total disdain for her. The flicker of surprise in his eyes had been quickly suppressed, and he regarded her now with stony composure, as though an adult rebuking a wild, recalcitrant child: What do you think you’re doing? His hand that had been raised to his mouth, now empty, fell slowly into a crossed-arm position across his chest.

“You…” She wanted to scream. Am I not enough for any of you to even take me seriously? Is a child all you’ll treat me as?

Then, a more sombering thought struck: Is that all I am acting like? A child? Throwing a tantrum because she isn’t being noticed?

The cigarette in her hand kept burning in the severe silence—until the lit end finally singed her skin. 

The sudden pain wrenched her fully back to reality.

“I—” she began, the steam of her anger lost, a train sputtering to a stop. She took one step backwards. The cigarette lay on the linoleum floor between them, where she had dropped it in shock. “Agent Akai, I apologize,” she made herself say, face hot with shame. “My actions just now were totally out of line.” 

Her father had always told her, ever since she could remember, to not let anyone tread all over her; however, he had also taught her that, when the injury was not grievous, a noble person knew to turn the other cheek. And, divested of her father’s presence so early in her life, she had tried hence to cling hard onto every word, every doctrine, his teachings all the more precious for its scarcity. Her anger had just made her lose sight of it all, and now she stood there, beating herself up.

Something in Akai’s flinty demeanor softened.

He extended a hand, palm up, and she realized he was asking for the cigarette back. She swallowed, her pride balking against the act. But, there was no denying it, she thought; the one squarely in the wrong here was her.

She knelt and picked up the still-lit cigarette, and passed it over. 

As he plucked it out from between her fingers, on his hands, she saw knuckles that evidenced years of regular martial arts training and combat, saw scars and old injuries and gun calluses. 

This close, she can tell that her previous assessments of the agent, colored by personal animus and prejudice, had been wildly incorrect. Contrary to what she had assumed to be the case, she could now see that Akai was well-built under that scuffed leather jacket, and the marks on his hands said that this wasn’t a body cultivated in a gym to be looked at but something to be used. Even his slouch, indolent though it might seem, was controlled. It brought to mind the image of a panther—it might lounge lazily up on the branch of a cypress tree, but its muscles would always be ready to coil and pounce.

This was not some derelict who fancied himself a tough, daredevil guy—this was a true field agent, through and through.

Hadn’t she fallen prey to the very thing she hated others doing to her?

She swallowed again, and tasted something that was not quite humiliation and not quite apprehension. She forced herself to look up and meet Akai’s eyes again, but there, instead of the reprobation or animosity she had expected, she found with surprise a hint of a smile.

She noticed suddenly how startlingly green his eyes were, and how, when not overshadowed by a dour expression, his features, angular and striking and sharp, were exceptional.

“Well, as you said,” he said, “I am not supposed to smoke in here.” He reached to the table beside him for a plastic cup that held about a half-inch of water, and dropped into it the cigarette he had just gotten back. The cigarette fizzled and went out. Then, he tossed the whole thing into the trash. “So, how about we say the blame here was fifty-fifty”—he reached out a hand, and that ghost of a smile solidified into, nearly, a real one—“and call it even, Agent Starling?”

He did not have to give her an out, nor offer her the olive branch. But here he was, extending a hand to her, affording her the choice of whether or not to accept. 

I had not meant to insult you, he had explained, and she had spat in his face, thinking it a flimsy cop-out. Now she thought she might have been incorrect in her judgment of that, too. Perhaps she had just gotten too ingrained in the habit of looking for mockery, even when there was none.

She reached out and grasped his hand. His shake was firm, and his hand, unlike how the man himself had seemed at first sight, was warm. “Agent Akai.”

He nodded at her, once, in acknowledgment, in respect. “Welcome to the team.”

•••••••

[extra snippet, probably takes place during/after they work on a case together.]

“You need not be so defensive. You’re better than the majority of the rest of them out there. You have nothing to prove.”

“You don’t get it.” Of course he didn’t; he didn’t have people whispering behind his back that he only got here because he’s pretty and fucking someone higher up the line. Probably. “Proving myself and establishing myself as an outstanding agent is the only way I can get access to the files and data and resources that I need.” Realizing how that might sound, she added, “There’s someone that I’m looking for. That I need to find.”

The moment she mentioned that she’s on the hunt for someone, his demeanor shifted, ever so slightly.

“Long-lost family member?” he suggested, casually, but she thought she could hear an undertone of intrigued commiseration. 

“No,” she replied flatly. “The opposite. The woman who murdered my entire family.”

[mydetheturk]

i remembered rip hunter is booster gold's son in comics canon and i was like "well that could make post-oculus stuff Interesting" and also booster's supposed to be like, the person fixing the timeline. so. i don't know, i chucked canon in a blender, have rip calling booster "Dad" for six sentence sunday

~~

Gideon’s calm “Captain Hunter, Marshal Carter is on the bridge waiting for you,” had Rip on even more on edge than he already was; the Legends had blown up the Oculus, had stopped Vandal Savage, but he’d still lost Miranda and Jonas, and Snart had been lost with the Oculus. Rip wanted nothing to do with whatever Marshal Carter was doing on his the Waverider.

Storming into the Waverider’s bridge, Rip was stopped by the sight of Marshal Carter, in his stupid, six and a half foot tall glory, saying, “Before you bite my head off, Captain Hunter, you have a man that’s supposed to be dead and a delightful woman and little boy in your medical bay.”

“With all due respect, dad,” Rip said, eyes welling up with tears, “go fuck yourself.”

“Go see your wife, Mickey,” Rip’s dad said, a sad, sad expression on his face. “The timeline’s fixed, she’s safe, and we’ll have a good long talk about how we can get rid of the Time Bureau again later.”

[asmoshoebox]

you weren't wondering what asmoraius tastes like, but that's okay, because i was. here u go

he tastes like green wheat in the sun, like the hot damp earth painting their knotted fingers, like fresh sweat on old linen

he tastes like fall, sticky figs and honey in the corners of his lips, the wine on his breath a libation over their offered flesh

he tastes like salt and oil, red fruit juices on his cheek, gristle and spice between his teeth

he tastes like human-bacon grease and cherry chapstick, until his lip splits under their teeth, spilling fire and copper and brimstone over their tongue

he tastes like shampoo and vaseline, hairspray and lipstick, like a dirty knife with the silver and steel hooked through his mouth

he tastes like sleep, like rain, like beer, like blood, like the dmv carpet, like misroch's office chair, like cigarettes in bed, like a G flat major chord

like nothing else

[reconstructwriter]

Jocasta Nu lives. Her life the hardest-won under the Empire. But Sidious wants her dead. So Jocasta concludes that it is most prudent she survive, even over killing the monstrosity Anakin chose to be. She flees, for the Force is life and life is its own salvation. The Sith apprentice’s denial echoes in the empty Temple

Her beloved Order is so scattered. So lost. The barest glimmers of light dim against a hungry void. Yet she is a Jedi. She will follow the Force. Her faith is rewarded for she finds a Padawan lost, another betrayed. In one universe, they Fall. Here, they Rise.

AotJ is the galaxy’s biggest secret. Billions if not trillions know about it, despite the Empire’s purges. A place where anyone can post anything (except fascism) or read weird poetry and ancient history from ten thousand worlds – whatever floats your ship.

The site gets taken down periodically, as the Empire tries to infiltrate, but the mods and admin are good. Anytime the government gets too close to user data, the entire thing is purged, moved elsewhere and put up under a new name.

“This isn’t right,” many rebel groups hear from new recruits. “You read on AotJ, or whatever it’s called now, about what’s really happening out there? You hear it confirmed? You can’t just…not do something. Everyone has a breaking point.”

Sidious kept burning out rebellions, but each ash-choked remnant of the last fuels the buds of new growth as the news of his atrocities spreads. Farmers and factory workers alike take comfort in old, strange beliefs – and spark Light in new ones.

Jocasta Nu can’t run and hide forever. Not with every Inquisitor and Sith wanting her dead so badly. But her new archivists, Reva and Hett, Trilla and Vos, they will continue the archive. A million civilians will continue the archive. A billion will spread the archive

When Darth Vader finally catches up to her, finally defeats her, she raises her head for the killing blow. “You can kill me, but you cannot kill the archive.” And as he takes her head, the brutal execution is streamed to a hundred billion users.

DARTH VADER #7 written by Charles Soule art by Giuseppe Camuncoli and Daniele Orlandini YES, LET ME TELL YOU WHY THIS IS THE PERFECT STORYLINE. The Grand Inquisitor doesn’t understand why they’re going after Jocasta Nu as a primary target, he never even saw her fight or anything!  So why her? Because Palpatine deals in lies and propaganda.  Because his Empire isn’t just vulnerable to people wielding lightsabers (though, it is that, too) but people who have information and who would know what to do with it. Sidious wants the information she has, he wants it to use it for his own nefarious purposes (the list of names she has, for example), but also he wants to make damn sure the entire galaxy forgets about the Force being a thing (the Empire was intolerant to any Force-based cultures (x)), he wants to make damn sure the entire galaxy never knows the truth about the Jedi, only what he tells them (and it’s horrifying how successful he is in this! (x) (x) (x)), wants to make damn sure no future Jedi can learn of the history and culture and selflessness of the Jedi that came before.  And one of the biggest threats to that? The Jedi who holds the information. The Jedi who would know exactly how to pass on their history, their culture, and the truth.

[fonulyn]

since I've seen it talked about in several places recently:

if you are going to do a whump- or kink- or ANY-tober or other similar challenges please please please don't post them as one fic with 31 chapters unless it actually is one coherent fic. if they're 31 completely separate fics or ficlets then please just make a collection for them or just post them as separate fics. it doesn't matter if they're only 100 words or if you think they're too small or insignificant to post alone, they're not.

and why this?

because if you post all 31 of them in one fic the tagging is absolutely useless. if I look for things to read on ao3 I'm gonna look at the tags, and if the tags include something that's a dealbreaker for me, i won't even click on the fic. I might not even SEE the fic because I've filtered out the nope-tag! so I'm gonna lose out on reading 30 perfectly nice fics because of one fic that my nope-tag applied to.

ao3 is about archiving. it's about clear tagging and being informative. there is nothing informative about it if the tags in the fic apply to random chapters while others have nothing to do with it. it makes so much more sense to have each work as an individual fic with its own individual tags and warnings, so readers can make informed choices.

of course, you do you. I can't police what other people decide to do. but personally, I find it incredibly frustrating to weed through 31 chapters to find the ones I actually want to read. so I don't. I automatically scroll past all works posted like that. and I know some others do, too.

there is absolutely no shame in posting short things on ao3. there is no minimum word count. no one is going to look at you funny if you post a small ficlet on its own, I promise. it's just going to make some readers very happy when they can actually find the things they want to read.

so, please. at least consider the upsides of posting each work as their own fic.

signed, one very frustrated fandom grandma.

[mtchacffinz]

what a blunder!

prompt!!! Arlecchino personally deals with your unwanted marriage proposal in her own unique way.

content!!! fem!reader x arlecchino, SFW, impatient arlecchino, violence mentioned, marriage proposal, possessive arlecchino

note!!! "Farlahr" is a made up character for the sake of this ficlet. The Doctor here is NOT Dottore. something about arlecchino tweaking and losing a few screws is so hot to me so here you go girls this one is for my strap on arlecchino riders 🙏 im so normal

"He told me that if I consider him as my betrothed, I would be set for life." You smile up at her, albeit nervous. "Huh? Oh— Where are you going?"

Long empty corridors could carry even the faintest whispers. The moon peeks from the shadows, it's serene light softly caressing the harbingers figure— still, quiet, tensed. Her heels clang echoing all throughout the corridor, her gaze that was pinned straight forward seemed to pierce through the thick air surrounding the atmosphere.

Long empty corridors could carry even the faintest whispers, and Arlecchino failed to notice she started to hear her uneven breathing.

Peculiar. Truly peculiar..

"Right this way, Ma'am." Arlecchino set her gaze towards the head butler, greeted with the sight of a tensed figure in return. The head butler winces, stammering on his words. Was she glaring? She doesn't know. That's not important. She's needs to get through the door. "I- I will inform the Master of your arrival—"

"That will not be necessary." Her sultry voice cut through his words. "We have been long collaborators, a reunion shan't wait too long."

Her monochromatic figure heaves a soft breath, looking blankly towards the excessively pretentious door, it's sheer size looming over Arlecchino's figure— the entrance towards an office.

Eloquent and graceful, although her lips were painted with a polite smile, the person before her couldn't tell if the crimson woman was brewing something from within. The Knave was calculative and perceptive, an expert at keeping herself cold despite the scorching flames imbedded within her. The man kept his gaze at the floor, lacking the courage to even contest her gaze.

Those eyes, terrifying crimson hued crosses that could mess with your head tried to dare his optics to even catch a small gaze. Staring into them was ill advised indeed. The butler knew this for his heart was racing, and what added to the cold sweat undeniably trickling in his jaw was that Arlecchino stood unnervingly still— as if contemplating something under deep thought. Before anything could be done, Arlecchino firmly gripped the mansion door's handles in a few momemts, swinging it open with great force.

There had always been an air of nobility in Arlecchino's presence. As soon as she stepped foot into Farlahr's office, the doctor stood up in shock, startled.

"Please, excuse my abrupt visit, Doctor." Arlecchino deliberately spat out the title, a composed smile tugged at her lips. Farlahr's eyes widen at the sight of her monochromatic elegance painting his mansion floors with her presence.

"You're not too busy, I presume? Do let us catch up, I insist— I truly do." It was way beyond the wee hours of the night, the breeze was cold and unforgiving, and the doctor could feel it crawling up his spine. The Harbingers assertive words leave no room for arguments. As if there was an invisible wind from the room, forcing every bit of his movements to bend at her own will.

"I admit that it's quite off fashion to visit at this hour empty handed, Lord Harbinger." The man chuckled in an attempt to disperse the growing tension in the air. He swings his hands— decorated with glimmering stones to mask his nervousness. The woman quickly responded.

"I won't be empty handed for long."

"Pardon, Lord Harbinger?"

Arlecchino doesn't clarify any further, but directs her unwavering gaze to him. Dark, piercing. It was like a warning, a ticking bomb for the doctor to diffuse except there seemed to be no signs of dismissal any time soon.

His crisp smile quickly dropped.

"...I merely jest." Farlahr quickly followed up, as if it was the most amusing joke in the world. Arlecchino doesn't seem to share the same opinion, as her expression stood the same. Whatever The Knave came here for, he doesn't know just yet. And if he fails to catch on, Farlahr just might lose something. His head fell from the deep crevices of his panicked mind falling into one topic he suddenly could bring up as distraction.

With their history of collaborative partnership of 13 years, Arlecchino didn't have a single problem in regards to the business and it's contributions to the House of Hearth. Arlecchino didn't care for his obsessions with women and adulterous activities, the poised lady simply stood her ground due the information the Doctor withheld about the history of medical fallacies and treatments alike.

Arlecchino's rigid gaze quickly looked relaxed, unbothered. Her voice had voice lowered and her arms and legs sit crossed.

"I came here to offer a deal."

"And that is?"

It was no surprise to Arlecchino that Farlahr was a worldly man. Riches to riches, he has re-married at least three times and he's proud of that. Arlecchino didn't bother to comprehend his thought process. She believes that his brain was processed waste ideally converged with multiple nerves. His body reeked of metals, teeth gleaming brightly with silver. She kind of wishes she could rip it all out of his jaw..

"You will retract your marriage proposal." Arlecchino starts, "And I say this, your wealth, status, and people— all safeguarded as per usual."

Farlahr was taken aback by the sudden demand. He doesn't know if her statement stemmed from concern for his safety or a wake up call to his unethical hobbies. The opportunist in him say the opposite, it says that maybe you are some sort of leverage in this world— so valuable that even the 4th Harbinger of then fatui would personally come and abolish his plans of marrying you.

But the curiosity of his consciousness gnaws it's way out of his lips, asking one particular question.

"You disapprove of my wife and I?"

How disgusting. Utterly repulsive. Its almost an offense to your whole existence to be called a wife to someone as repugnant as him. The monochromatic grace managed to suppress her disgust by responding in a more poignant tone.

"Ah, forgive me." Arlecchino very slowly tilts her head, eyes unblinking. She effortlessly stands up from her seat, her coat elegantly swaying with her refined and poised movements, breath light as a feather— a shadow cast on her face.

"But I don't disapprove of your proposal, pig." In a moment, there was a switch in her tone. Her pointed high heels shoes dragged themselves against the expensive velvet carpet, dreaming to at least peirce through the back of a certain crisp, fragile cranium. With every step closer Arlecchino gets, the more Farlahr's heart pounds in his chest, daring to jump off.

She raises a hand and firmly places them on his shoulder.

"...I forbid it."

Serenity was all that could be described throughout the night. And you, as a person of idle leisure in the evening, appreciated the tranquil breeze that brush past your cheek. A soft sigh escapes your lips, falling into deep thought. What is there to do? With the last 28 hours you were given to decide on an answer, you're left quite bewildered. Tapping your fingernails on the terrace by muscle memory, your train of thought was disturbed when you head familiar foot steps behind you.

You turn around to see a sight of dignified beauty, standing before your sleepless eyes. Arlecchino's presence, despite the abruption, quickly calmed your disgruntled nerves down.

But something was wrong. Before you could ask about the residual crimson stains on her cheek and darkened hands, she speaks in a tone softer than any voice you've heard her.

"If I may ask, my dove, could you marry someone with an absent ring finger?"

Wow. What a random question. Completely uncalled for. Maybe the ungodly hours of the night got to her? Despite the conspiracies flowing through your mind, you try hard to think of an answer.

"Hmm. I should rephrase that. Could you marry a man with no fingers?" Arlecchino ponders out loud, "Despite a marriage contract, you must need a ring to put on his finger, right? Quite a shame, really.."

"No, I don't think so. Wedding rings are to be put on ring fingers, if I recall correctly."

"That's a relief." You raise a brow, completely lost. You gaze at Arlecchino, a subtle triumphant look paints her expression, her fingers play around with her numerous rings that sit comfortably on her fingers. Taking one out, she approaches your figure.

"May I embrace you, my lady?" Suddenly, the Harbingers sultry voice was sullen, sulking. My, what's up with this woman? A moment ago she shows up with (possibly) blood around her person, and now she's asking for sudden physical contact? After just a consonant of the reply 'Yes' was uttered, Arlecchino quickly took you in her arms, embracing you deeply— taking in your presence wholely.

"How I wish I could rid you the scent of that swine." She loosens her grip for a moment, putting a stray hair strand behind your ear. All this feels like a fever dream.. you remember that just mere hours ago, Arlecchino's face looked grim and unpleasant when she received news of your sudden proposal— her reaction left you perplexed. You thought it would be a good idea since Farlahr was a good business partner of hers, why the grim expression?

You pat her back comfortingly. Before you could say anything, Arlecchino quickly lets go of you, standing perfectly straight. Her face once again unreadable— she speaks in a calm and collected manner.

"That fool said that if you'd marry him, you would be set for life." She recounts, almost irritated. Arlecchino's crimson crosses gaze was away from you, but hands traced their way back to your arms, carefully holding them in hers. Her thumbs brush the back of your hands affectionately, with tenderness and care in her voice. Arlecchino's knee made contact with the floor, and her hands delicately handled yours as if they were the most precious thing in the world.

"You must marry me. All he could offer you, I could provide tenfold."

All of the sudden, the wind started to pick up, and the ethereal lady before you never looked so grand. Her monochromatic hair danced with the cool breeze, and her crimson eyes looked from above, transfixed on your figure. Your throat felt like there was too many words you could spit out in one go, and you were terrified that you'd ruin the atmosphere by stammering over your words.

"Marry me so you are mine to gratify. This is a promise I can keep, unlike that farce. Even at your grave, my everlasting flames will be buried with you in the dirt where you lay— in turn that you will never freeze from the cold kiss of death." The Harbinger adds, tenderly placing a peck on your knuckles. Her gaze could contest even the eyes of Archons at this very moment, possessing full confidence that upholds the standards of her capabilities.

Compared to her, what could a limbless man offer you?

my dumbass just woke up and decided to edit it a bit cus I was writing this at like, 3AM LMAOO, hello (⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠) its me again, just dipping my toes in the water to see if I could still write 🤔

[akela-nakamura]

DPxDC Prompt

Summoning is an imperfect art, mispronouncing a name or having an incorrect symbol can lead to unexpected, and sometimes explosive results. Summoning can open unexpected doors. No one's prepared for what--or who--steps through when a rising gang tries to summon backup.

My little ficlet for this is below the cut:

Smoke. The acrid slam of it in the nose, brought on by the screaming wind. Chanting. A chorus of voices, steady and thrumming. Pain. Everything is hazy, and it’s equal odds on it being from the smoke or the potential head injury. 

Bruce stumbles to his feet, body throbbing. 

This was not how he’d planned this night. 

Of course, he hadn’t planned for Gotham to suddenly be overrun with a new…gang? They claimed to be a government organization, but Bruce has his doubts. He hadn’t had a chance to go through the GIW’s information, but according to Barbara, their claims were sketchy at best.

The shouting about ghosts and waving around sci-fi weapons with no trigger discipline certainly didn’t help their claims. 

Government organization or not, they had no right to raid homes, to drag people out onto the street, or overall threaten his city.

His ears ring, and the chanting rises in volume, impossibly. His chest reverbes with the sound. It’s steady enough to feel like a second heart. His blurry vision locks onto the center of the summoning circle. Because this night couldn’t get any worse, of course. 

First the GIW had rocketed up his list of threats with one simple move. 

They’d gone after Jason.

Jason, who even now was laid out in the middle of the summoning circle, eyes bright, bright, bright green through the haze. 

First they’d taken his son. 

Then they’d used him as a sacrifice. 

Bruce bared his teeth, locking eyes with the closest GIW agent. The man held up his weapon, a glowing baton. His form is weak. 

The baton gord flying, Bruce’s armored elbow slamming the man to the ground. The agent curls up, groaning. Nightwing’s escrima sing electric in the background, followed by the whip of Tim’s bow staff. Damian’s sword glints through the haze, and purple flashes through the crowd of white, white, white. 

He can’t see Cass, but he doesn’t expect too. 

The ground rocks under his feet, and it takes several precious seconds to regain his balance. There seems to be an almost endless flood of agents, with more and more meeting his fists as he tries to make it through the gauntlet. 

Suddenly, the air shifts, the scream of it heading for the circle instead of out. 

The circle glows toxic green, and Jason’s at the center, frozen in the light. 

“No!” Bruce shouts, the sound ripping from his soul. 

It’s echoed by Dick, who stands just outside the circle’s boundaries. His hands are pressed against the light, his blue eyes a shock against the green. 

It’s a confusion of people - GIW white and the summoner’s black. The GIW is here to end whatever it is they need Jason to summon to them. The summoners themselves seem to have broken away from the “agency” and want power from the being they’re calling. It’s a fight on multiple fronts, with the GIW fighting the summoners and Bruce and his family fighting them all. 

The temperature drops. 

“HOOD!” Dick screams, as Jason is swallowed by the green. 

The chant is all he can hear, even as he shoves towards the circle, even as he slams against the same wall Dick’s against. 

The world goes bright and he can’t keep his eyes on Jason. On his son. 

When the light fades, Jason’s not alone. 

A being sits six feet in the air, Jason collapsed over his lap, somehow hovering with the - what is he? He looks human, but there’s something wrong. Off. Bruce can’t quite pinpoint his age. A crown glows on his head, an ever shifting cape spills down his back, dragging close to the floor. His eyes are green as Lazarus, and just as deep. Jason is breathing, Bruce notes. The being’s hands curl in Jason’s hair, playing with it idly. 

The air is *rigid, and everyone’s stopped fighting. No one can draw their eyes away from the being. 

“You dare to summon me with one of my own?” The being speaks, and it’s like crackling glaciers. Someone whimpers. 

“We - wanted to give you a gift,” One of the men in black says, his voice chattering. 

It’s like breathing in ice. 

“A gift?” The being says and the sound is fury, banked in a waiting avalanche. “What kind of gift is this? A denizen of my Realms, trapped and tortured? Used to summon his king, against his will? This is no gift.” 

“B-but we didn’t know,” another speaks, and then obviously realizes he shouldn’t have. 

“Ignorance will not save you,” the being says, and it - he’s? - still holding Jason like he’s something precious. “And I am not the only one you have infuriated. 

“I am not the only one you have awoken.” 

To a man, the GIW agents cry out in panic. Bruce turns, looking for the threat but - the agents are buried to various depths in the cracked concrete floor. The ground is decidedly solid beneath Bruce’s feet but the agents would obviously not agree. They flounder, like the concrete is quicksand. The summoners are next, but it’s ice that gets them, crawling up their bodies until they’re locked into place. 

“My lord!” One cries and promptly finds himself gagged. 

Bruce can’t stay silent any longer. “Hood was used against his will to summon you,” he starts. The being’s eyes meet Bruce’s. “He didn’t want this. Is he alright?” 

“Your son is fine,” the voice is rough, but feminine, and obviously not from the being. It’s around him, dancing through the steel beams and pushing through concrete. “You are mine, my knight. You and yours are mine. The little king will not harm him, nor you.” A figure forms off to his right. 

“Holy shit,” Dick whispers. Bruce has to agree. 

She’s made of concrete, of broken brick and dust, of bone and police tape, of twisted metal and more. 

“Gotham,” Bruce breathes, and he doesn’t know how he knows but he does.

“Hello, my knight,” she says, her form shifting. She turns slightly, and there’s something sharp in her movement. “Hello, little king.” 

“Lady Gotham,” The being - the king? - returns. “You look well,” 

Lady Gotham laughs, a ringing sound - it’s bells and gravel, fresh air on a summer day and rising wind. “How you flatter me, little king. Do you fear me?” 

The being grins, mischief dancing around him, white hair floating high. “I respect you. It’s good to see you awake, Milady.”

“What is happening?” Tim asks no one in particular. Dick shrugs and Steph just leans harder on Tim. Cass holds Damian’s shoulder firmly, watching carefully. 

Bruce wishes he had an answer. 

“It is good to be awake,” Lady Gotham says, and she shifts closer to the circle, fingers skimming against the barrier of light. “How long do you intend to keep my reaper from me?” 

Reaper. Bruce thinks, and it’s a gut punch. 

It makes sense, to describe Jason. Jason can go where Bruce cannot, do what Bruce cannot. 

The king laughs lightly. “The summoning harmed him, Milady. I’m just keeping him safe. I’m not here to undermine you,” the king’s eyes glow. “But remember who is king.”

Lady Gotham smiles. “I’m aware of hierarchy little king.” 

“My son,” Bruce says, because there’s no point in pretending Jason is anything less. He’s talking to - the embodiment of gotham and a king of - something. “He’ll be okay?” 

Lady Gotham sighs. “He will be fine, my knight. The little king cares for his own.” 

“What - what are you the king of?” Tim asks, bold. 

The being smiles. 

“I am Phantom,” he says. “I am the Ghost King.” 

Jason stirs in his lap, and the implications crash over Bruce. Maybe Reaper has more meaning than he’d thought.

[savanir]

DP x DC ficlet

is it even a ficlet anymore, this thing has gotten incredibly out of hand...

So a while back I saw this

and I picked the Green Lantern one and then just kinda wrote a full fic so...

It had been a good party, official yes but despite that still festive enough and with just a bittersweet hint. as all good meaningful parties should be like, unless you’re looking to get absolutely shitfaced.

But hey Rowan deserved a proper sendoff for making it to this point and not dying in the process. Hal is going to miss the old pilot though.

"Hal, I got something for you, before I forget"

"Hm, what is it"

The old man puts a small intricate glass model of a f16 fighter in his hand.

"Back when I started I was given this for good luck and protection"

Rowan presses it down firmly and stands there all official like "may it grant you both as it did for me"

They both stand there for a second before laughing.

“Feel free to shelf the whole luck thing, what’s really important is skill and experience. Still, knowing you, you can definitely use the protection ”

Hal grins, "Thanks, I'll keep close"

"You better, the sentimental value is sky high" Rowan slaps his shoulder with another laugh.

Good lord what a dork.

The old retiring pilot wasn't paying attention, too caught up in everything else but Hal saw the faint and brief green hue coming from his hand.

In a panic he slammed his other hand over top. Completely missing the quietly whispered "protect"

Too busy cussing out his ring in his head, he swears that thing is trying to out him on purpose sometimes.

This time it wasn't the ring though, so it's a good thing it's an inanimate object and can't be upset at how wrong Hal is being right now.

"Everything alright?"

"Yeah! Let's get back to the others"

The evening ends uneventfully.

---

It's really only until quite a bit later that things start to happen.

"Green lantern" its batman's business voice.

Both Hal and John look up.

"Jordan" ah shit.

"I'll catch you up later" and he leaves Hal behind, traitor.

"What's up spooky"

"You need to update your file, it is missing critical information, and on that note I wasn’t aware that the lantern suits grant you intangibility now"

"I... what..? It doesn't? What are you talking about spooks"

"Hrn" Batman pulls up a screen and shows him footage of the latest fight, in it you can clearly see something was supposed to hit Hal but went right through him "You're telling me you didn't know or notice this?"

Hal just looks kinda sick. That would have been a bad hit and he just straight up didn't even notice.

Batman just kind of silently looks at him and he must have come to some conclusion because the next thing Hal knows this comes out of his mouth.

"I've already ran your blood through the lab, it's not a sudden emergence of a meta gene so it's either from the lantern corps or you've otherwise externally been affected by something that's causing this"

Hal closes his eyes and internally counts to ten, it doesn't help.

Batman takes his silence to mean he can keep talking. The man is on an unusual roll. Hal would have been ecstatic if he didn't hate the topic quite so much.

"It would have been best if it had something to do with your ring however you seem to be completely unaware and I've also noted that the green of your ring and the green glow that comes with the density shifting are different"

He has examples with corresponding color codes, Hal is so tired.

“let's set a time frame…” Batman pulls up some documents and graph on the screen “seeing as you are unaware of this development I will set the starting point of this potential change as of now to right after the last time you have been known to be hit in a fight and before the first known instance of you being able to density shift, that leaves us with a full month.”

Hal really, really does not want to be here anymore.

“In this month you have not gone off planet so whatever caused this is on Earth” Batman pauses for a moment, “has anything significant happened during that time that springs to mind now?”

“no, nothing significant has happened during that time, frankly it’s been a very pleasant uneventful four weeks in which I finally managed to catch a break and it figures something crazy has apparently happened anyway”

Hal rubs his face with both hands, “but right now I couldn’t tell you what, anyway, does this have to be a bad thing? I for one am very glad that hit didn’t actually land”

“So far only Superman has had the privilege of having sudden emergence of new powers work out for him” Batman huffs, “it would be best to monitor this carefully, if anything springs to mind do not hesitate to inform me, the sooner this is figured out the better”

“awww you do care” Hal is using humor cope, sadly it’s Batman, so it’s not very effective.

“Jordan” now Batman sounds tired, he’s not the one with random surprise density shifting, Hal understand that Spooky’s crippling chronic paranoia must be exhausting but right now he’s the one freaking out considering this is apparently not a meta gene related development, it would have been so much easier if it was, oh and about that, just how and when did Batman get his blood exactly? he would like to know now.

---

sadly he does not get to know now. or anytime soon (or ever). it’s chaos right after, because of course it is.

knocked out of the sky and lying amongst the rubble, if their enemy spots him he’s in bigger shit than he already is, but he can’t fucking move and the next thing he knows he’s invisible.

and there is just nothing enjoyable about it.

Barry doesn’t know that though, “that was something else, just one moment and schwup and you were just gone, some sort of green lantern light bending? he looked right through you, thank god he did too” 

shit shit, “no that was..." it was like he just ceased to exist, movies and books and whatever other media always depicts it as such a cool thing but frankly it was terrifying. And he would prefer things that are terrifying not to happen to him, for obvious reasons, “honestly actually it’s complicated, stealth tech” Grade A bullshit.

“well it’s awesome”

“it was useful just now but not really my style you know” 

Barry slings his arm over Hal’s shoulder and gives him a one armed hug, “everything worked out” Hal can feel some tension flow out of his friend, “well! better get busy cleaning this mess up” and with a blink he’s gone.

Hal does not want to talk about this with Batman, but knowing him, he probably already knows anyway, it would be less of a headache to go to him than have him go to Hal. 

Hal wants to enjoy whatever this is, he really does, but he doesn’t know what caused this, he doesn’t know what triggers the new abilities or whatever they are, he doesn’t know what effects this shit is going to have in the future, he just doesn’t know anything, normally he doesn’t mind not knowing some things, he’s fine leaving the knowing to the people better suited for the more complicated knowing, but he would very much like to know more about this please.

---

Then they face off against an enemy and in the process Hal drains his ring completely and the next hit is going to be bad, so what will happen? Will he somehow go intangible again? Turn invisible and use the confusion to evade and attack?

No

Apparently this time he just gets a glowing green dome shield. Something very normal for him to have and use, if only it came out of his ring that is.

Nobody notices that something is wrong, nobody besides Batman that is.

"That's three new abilities that only appear during life threatening situations"

Hal has actually seriously gone over that month by now, but nothing, no answers. He's physically fine, mentally a little damaged but nothing new there, they all are. Every test he begrudgingly went through answered nothing. He was fine. Whatever was going on actually had nothing to do with him.

And at the same time it had everything to do with him because this is only happening to him.

As usual (by now) he takes out his little glass fighter jet and runs his thumb over the wings. It is soothing strangely enough. Like a stim toy.

"The last thing to try is a thorough examination by someone from the justice league dark"

Hal groans, magic, ok then, "Alright let's get this over with. Who knows maybe I'm just haunted"

It turns out he’s not haunted, this is a good thing... supposedly, Well let’s just say that Hal would have not minded being haunted or something if that meant it could be fixed, or just explained.

It doesn’t really need to be fixed, whatever this is has been very helpful after all, but he would do basically anything for an explanation right about now.

“you are not haunted or otherwise magically compromised, but I do sense faint traces of energy from the infinite realms” Zatanna is a godsent, finally something to work with.

“from the who whats?” Hal is worried, the occult field is definitely not his area of expertise. He's a space cop, not a space demonhunter… oh that would be pretty cool though, with like a hood and twin cyber crossbows, maybe he should incorporate that somehow.

“the infinite realms… have you recently been in touch with any death related realities?”

Well there was that time when he got booted to the death universe and he died and then he was a black lantern but he got better, that’s all very much very behind him.

She better not be about to tell him that stuff still has lingering consequences.

oh god dammit that’s exactly what is going on isn’t it?

"How recently?"

"In the past week?"

"Oh, no" Hal would have known if that was the case, death stuff tends to be hard to ignore.

Zatanna frowns, that's probably not a good sign.

"But you said I'm not compromised right?" Right now what Hal wants to know the most is if this is changing him. Cause it tends to be bad for him when that's the case.

"No this is just lingering traces of something or someone else using their powers near you"

???!!??!?

"What are the infinite realms?" oh hey there Batman, was wondering when you would show up again.

"It's the afterlife, or... more like a collection of all afterlives. The infinite realms is very literal in their naming. It is home to powerful dead entities. As a general rule magic users are discouraged from interacting with it.

"Hrn"

"What did you say happened to you so far Hal?"

"Uhm, density shifting, invisibility and then a green dome-like shield, a lot like my own energy constructs"

"that sounds like pretty standard stuff for a realms being"

"Soooo what, did one leave the afterlife and decide to follow me around or something?"

"I cannot conclusively say, I can only say that you've been close to one using its abilities"

Batman folds his arms over his chest, "We shouldn’t form theories on these findings alone, Zatanna are these realm beings dangerous?"

"Hard to say, they come in all manner of forms, some small and harmless and others on the level of world destroying gods."

Great great great, awesome, well it’s probably safe to say that whatever decided to stick around Hal isn’t small and harmless, cause small and harmless doesn’t sound strong enough to casually turn him intangible or invisible… he could be wrong though.

“I do advise caution, beings from the infinite realms also have the ability to possess someone, they call it overshadowing”

Batman’s lips thin and Hal tenses up, mind control of any kind is always awful.

“I’ll place a ward on you, as a precaution” energy starts to gather in her hands.

Batman moves for the door, “we might need to look into a way to force this being to reveal itself, it would be best if we could convince it to return to their realm”

“Well I mean-” Hal starts, “like I get that, but they have been a great help so far” 

“they are a security risk”

“I’m just saying, I am grateful that they kept me from being confined to the medical wing for who even knows how long, who knows they might just be shy, wouldn’t it be better to convince them to become our ally, like Deadman. instead of telling them to leave. just cause we don’t understand how they work yet doesn’t mean they are bad and should be booted out of our reality”

Batman narrows his eyes at Hal and turns to Zatanna who is finished with placing the ward on Hal, “Zatanna please send me all you have on the infinite realms, I will do my own research” and with that he sweeps out of the room, very dramatic.

“Ass” Hal whispers under his breath.

“He’s worried”

“well he’s being a dick about it, as usual” Hal’s fingers find his little plane once again “... hey do you think they could communicate through one of those oejah boards?”

Zatanna snorts, “it’s Ouija- and please don’t”

---

No information from the JLD has been useful so far in coaxing the realms being to reveal themselves and for the most part things just go on as usual.

“Whoever they are, they followed me when I went off planet and it might just be my imagination but I had a feeling that their stuff was a lot more… potent? out there? I don’t know it was kinda strange, it just felt stronger”

“but they didn’t reveal themselves to you?”

“nope, they must know that I know now too, so they have decided to just… go on as they always have I guess”

“hrn” Batman is leafing through files, because of this whole mess he’s uncovered hidden government organizations targeting occult entities as well as inhumane laws that stand directly opposed to the meta protection acts.

Why is he working with paper regarding this matter? Well it turns out there is a infinite realms being that can possess electronica and it was only because of the protections the JLD had put in place on the Watchtower that the entity didn’t overtake it in its entirety.

Watching Constantine freak out had been mildly entertaining but Zatanna had once again reminded Batman to be very careful, Batman had begrudgingly admitted he had made a slight misstep while digging for answers… in his head, not out loud, god forbid.

“this whole thing is turning out a lot bigger than we thought huh, good thing we are dealing with it now” Hal stretches his arms above his head, “anyway I am going to go grab something to eat”

“the rapport-” Batman doesn’t bother looking at him.

“yeah yeah” Hal doesn’t either while walking out of the room, dismissively flicking his hand, “don’t worry about it spooky”

Hal takes his little plane out on the way to the cafeteria and fiddles with it in his hand, once there he puts it on the table next to Barry before getting himself something to eat.

They catch up, Hal complains (bitches) about Batman, others come and go, Zatanna quickly checks up on the ward she placed which makes Barry raise an eyebrow at Hal, “Ghost protection”

“... no such thing”

Zatanna glares.

Hal can see them both gearing up to start the magic is just science we haven’t fully scienced out yet argument again, “alright! I’m full” he stands up, “if you need me I’ll be writing that rapport, later” and gets the hell out of there.

It’s when he has just reached his preferred spot to work on the boring paperwork stuff when the alarms go off throughout what he can only imagine must probably be the entire Watchtower.

It seems like something triggered all of the JLD’s defenses in one go.

Impressive, but also very worrying.

The rapport is going to have to wait.

People are gathering in the meeting room and Batman is already taking the lead, “status”

“as of a couple minutes ago there was a build up of as of yet unknown energy which then burst in the cafeteria knocking out Flash” Martian Manhunter says, “Zatanna says we are most likely dealing with another being from the infinite realms”

Superman groans, this means he’s out.

It’s a good thing they now have defenses against overshadowing though. Being effectively trapped in a space station (because currently the thing is on lockdown) where literally anyone could suddenly actually be the enemy is the kind of situation a whole slew of horror movies like to be about.

“We will need to be extremely careful while finding and then dealing with this entity”

It has certainly been quite some time since the Watchtower got directly hit like this.

Hal pulls out his little plane.

or, he would, if he still had it.

thoroughly distracted now he suddenly realizes it’s no longer on his person.

Spooky is probably not going to like it if during the infinite realms attacker hunt he takes the opportunity to look around for his missing little fighter jet.

well what he doesn’t know won’t harm him.

His plan of looking for the plane while looking for the ghost is working out well enough.

In fact it is working out so good that he finds both at the same time.

At that point Hal had started wondering if maybe Barry had picked it up for him at the cafeteria before the attack happened and that the little thing was now in the medical wing with him. 

That turned out to clearly not be the case once he found the tiny thing glowing green and floating in the middle of the hallway.

“alright ghosty, that’s really important to me and I would like it back undamaged”

the tiny plane turned to now point directly at him, hmm, yeah that's not creepy at all.

 “... please don’t launch yourself at me” he foolishly says which of course means that’s exactly what it does next.

He uses his ring to construct a net with a pillow inside to catch the tiny jet, completely forgetting that it’s overshadowed and can thus easily just go intangible and right through his creations.

Instead it hits him square in the chest, rather painfully he might add and then just stops glowing and drops, making Hal scramble to not have it fall and shatter in a million tiny pieces on the ground.

immediately all the sensors stop detecting the presence of a realms being and the alarms die down.

Whatever was in the Watchtower has left the building.

or…

Hal looks down at the tiny plane in his hands, his talisman of protection and has a sinking feeling in his gut.

“Hey there little guy, might want to explain yourself?” he says to the tiny jet.

It vibrates in his hands.

“... yeah I figured, shit”

---

“I say just smash the bloody thing and be done with it, preferably that takes care of it once and for all” Constantine glares down at the tiny jet.

Hal is almost halfway over the table to shield the little thing, covering it from Constantine’s sight with his hand, “don’t you dare” he growls.

“it would be best for everyone involved, for all we known you could have gone full liminal what with how long you’ve been carrying the blasted thing around”

Zatanna is going over the little thing with her own magic, “it’s trapped”

“In that case just straight up trying to murder it would be the worst thing to do” Hal glares at Constantine some more. Who clearly doesn’t give a shit, figures, all stressed out about dealing with things from the infinite realms but whenever he feels he has the upper hand he’s more than happy to go full nuclear.

“it would be best if we had a way of figuring out their intentions” Batman looks down at the tiny jet impassively.

“Well, another reason to just carefully release this creature instead” Hal responds.

Zatanna’s magic fades away, “I would say that the fact it’s been protecting Hal for as long as he has it is a positive sign”

“hrn, but now it has gone and knocked Flash out, so what does that say” Batman huffs, “it’s too risky”

“Constantine and I will set up everything we can so it won’t be able to escape or try anything dangerous” Zatanna stops looking at Batman and turns back to the tiny plane, “if it turns out to be malicious we could simply banish it back to the realms, killing it would be rather stupid, we do not know what kind of connections it might have within the realms, we might accidentally anger something far worse with such a rash act”

Constantine groans but accepts Zatanna’s reasoning, Batman nods as well.

It’s only then that Hal moves out of the way.

Any plans of attack or banishment fly right out of the window once the two magic users are done and a young boy manifests from the tiny fighter jet.

Hal pushes Constantine aside to get to the boy’s side.

“Jordan, are you insane! Get back here!” 

“Hey, kid, can you hear me? please open your eyes, slowly, take your time” 

Batman has also moved forward much to Constantine’s frustration. Don't these two morons get that their protections won’t do shit if you just casually stroll into the circle?

Batman is mostly concerned in being able to step in should the boy prove to be a hostile entity anyway, but at the same time… well, that’s a child.

The boy kind of dazedly opens his eyes, looks at Hal and then seems to become aware of his own arms and hands, after opening and closing those a couple times he looks back at Hal and lets out a breath that can only be described as relieved and promptly passes out into him.

Well, Hal figures that settles it then. He doesn’t know shit about looking after a kid, and definitely not one who is probably quite dead, but this one is his, back off Batman.

they all startle rather violently when rings of blinding white light pass over the boy and suddenly the kid in Hal’s arms is a bit warmer and seems to have a sluggish pulse and also his clothes are different and his hair is now black and-

Hal is up and moving towards the medical wing before his mind catches back up with him. He can hear Batman behind him, it seems like Constantine and Zatanna aren’t moving after him as fast.

Well anyway his life is already so goddamn weird, this might as well happen.