#side note i am gonna

[peppermintstarsonamintyway]

Burning Spice when he finds out that Elder Faerie is most likely Sour Butter's father (*insert the "it should've been me, not him" audio*) /silly

ansdiawiyda *wheeze* poor burning spice-

[tagidearte]

My internship has started and I'm overloaded with doing historical illustration + writing a whole ass roman history of the region book for children, so... No time for finished stuff any time soon (except one I've already started and will probs post within the next few days). Take this quick messy shippy little concept.

If they ever got separate bodies, I know they would be touchy. Trying to get as close as they once were.

[greenglowinspooks]

(DCxDP) The obligations of a rogue versus those of a parent (Pt. 4)

—

Tw: descriptions of body horror, Dr. Crane has PTSD and Does Not Realize, Crane has an actual panic attack and just doesn’t care, the Riddler makes one (1) sex joke about Batman

Will be crossposted to AO3 eventually

(Pt. 1 here) (Prev here) - (Pt. 5 here)

(Masterlist here)

—

Dr. Jonathan Crane is in his lab, the acrid scent of chemicals filling the air, and his hands are shaking.

Danny’s health, for the first week that he had him, had been steadily improving at an extremely quick rate. However, his healing had begun to stagnate. Danny said that it was because his body had run out of ectoplasm, and that while there was a lot of ambient ectoplasm in Gotham, he needed a stronger type in order to heal.

And so, that led Dr. Crane here.

He had stolen the research notes from the Penguin years ago regarding his experimentation on him.

(He quite vividly remembers the sound of bone creaking and groaning as it twisted, lengthened. The squelching of shifting tendons and muscles, the strange fabric-like tightening of skin. The feeling of going from man to monster, of losing all claim to his humanity.)

Danny had called him Liminal, part ghost. He had said that he was transformed by, among other things, a kind of synthetic ectoplasm.

Danny needed ectoplasm.

Crane had the research notes. He had every ingredient necessary. And yet, attempt after attempt failed.

The chemical smell burns his nose. His hands tremble.

Dr. Crane is not afraid.

He doesn’t feel fear anymore. He’s tried to, many, many times, but nothing has worked. And yet, his hands are shaking still.

(The horrifying sensation of vertebrae pop-pop-popping along his spine, growing and lengthening. The unbearable itching beneath his skin as toxin glands begin to form. The feeling of his teeth sharpening and elongating, of his skull growing, of his vision changing and brightening. The awful stench of chemicals. The awful stench of ectoplasm.)

Jonathan takes careful note of his shaking hands, his blurring vision, his accelerated heart-rate and shallow breathing.

(Human hands. Human vision. Human heart and lungs and organs.)

He takes note of them, but he does not let that distract him from the task at hand. Danny is not a chemist, but Jonathan is.

The boy knows enough about chemistry in theory, but he won’t go anywhere near Crane’s equipment. He seems to have some sort of intense fear of laboratory settings, probably developed during his stay with the GiW, and Crane is willing to respect that, if only because he cannot afford to lose him.

As such, Crane is the only one qualified to do this. And, unfortunately, if he isn’t successful the boy may very well die.

He heats the chemicals to precisely the right temperatures, adding each one to its correct container.

Dr. Crane thinks of the Scarebeast, that creature born of cruelty and greed and a sense of superiority. That creature which he tries to ignore is a part of him, that can never be removed. A damage which cannot be undone.

He pours the contents of a small beaker into a larger flask, watching the liquids swirl together. The stench in the air is becoming closer and closer to the one burned into his memory.

Crane’s whole body is wracked with unpleasant sensations. It’s truly unfortunate, he thinks, that despite his mind’s lack of fear, his body still reacts so harshly.

Jonathan’s eyes wander, eventually settling on a purple and green card sitting innocently on the corner of the table.

Right.

Even if they wiped out the GiW tomorrow, and even if Danny could survive without ectoplasm, he would still be in danger.

Crane has to get him back to good health. It’s the only way he can be sure that the boy can defend himself properly.

The solution in the flask begins to foam, and Jonathan does not hesitate as he adds the final ingredient. He pours the mixture into a new container, capping it and placing it into a freezer set to -40 degrees.

Hopefully this time he got the timing right.

Jonathan tries to relax, the ventilation in the room slowly but surely clearing the familiar smell from the air.

He thinks of the letter.

Surely, he thinks, that man can come up with some better material for his jokes. Or, at least something new.

Same old threats, same old attempted poisoning.

Aiming his threats at Danny, though, that was new. New and utterly unacceptable.

Scarecrow did what he had to.

He doubted that his solution would last forever, of course, as with that man it never did. As such, he would prepare both himself and Danny for the inevitable moment that his choices came back to bite them.

However, for the moment, they were safe. Danny could rest and recover, and Jonathan could figure out a plan to minimize possible damages.

Jonathan is no longer shaking.

He’s exhausted. This is his fifth attempt today, and each one leaves an unfortunate strain on his mind and body.

With a sigh, he settles himself into his seat at a nearby desk, opening up his computer and logging his most recent attempt. He still has to wait for it to chill to know if it was successful, but he can always update the logs later.

Once he’s done, he stretches, joints popping loudly as he walks to the freezer.

When he sees the results of his tireless work, the ghost of a smile flits across his face.

Success.

Jonathan picks up the jug of ectoplasm and leaves the lab, which is in all actuality the basement of the new apartment that he moved himself and Danny into after receiving the note. The scrappy old woman who was his landlord had told him that as long as he paid her five hundred dollars up front, she would let him set up in the basement without any questions or cop calls.

And so, the most expensive apartment in the Narrows was his.

At least, he thought, the distance between the basement and the apartment was short enough that Danny didn’t have to sit in while he was doing his labwork.

Jonathan knew that he didn’t exactly have a strong grasp on the concept of ‘lab safety,’ proven by his built-up immunity to almost every toxic chemical he’d ever encountered, and he doubted that Danny should be around such an environment.

He was back to the apartment quickly, not bothering to hide the self-satisfied smile on his face. Danny is sitting in his armchair, trying to read one of his books. Danny looks up, ready to greet him, when he sees the jug in his hands and pauses.

“Is that..?”

“Synthetic ectoplasm,” Jonathan says proudly, “I found the Penguin’s research notes and decided to recreate it, since you said that you needed it to heal properly. I’m not sure if it’ll work the same as what you usually have, but I hope it’s helpful all the same.”

Danny is standing, now, and looking at Jonathan with a strange look in his eyes. He looks, Jon thinks, like he’s about to cry.

Then Danny is rushing forward and wrapping his arms around Jonathan, his scrawny form shaking.

Jonathan is, for a moment, horrified. Did he do something wrong somehow? Why is this child, who’s so afraid of touch, hugging him?

And then he hears Danny’s voice, and he knows that it was all worth it.

“Thank you,” he’s mumbling, over and over, “thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you so much.”

“Of course,” Jonathan says softly, because what else can he say?

The boy cries in his arms for a while, and Jonathan briefly wonders what his life must have been like before, if a person like him can be seen as a comforting figure.

Then, Danny pours himself a small glass of the synthetic ectoplasm, putting the rest into the small fridge which had come with the apartment, and he settles back down, sitting in the armchair once again.

Jonathan sits opposite of him, and they chat with one another as Danny drinks.

Danny talks to him about the stars and tells him about different spaceships, and Jonathan makes sure to pay attention and ask the boy questions.

He doesn’t miss the way that Danny lights up every time he asks him something about his interests. He’s so passionate, so smart, a trait that he seldom sees outside of his fellow rogues, and Jonathan wants to encourage that.

It’s…nice. Peaceful, almost.

And then the front door flies open, because Jonathan isn’t allowed to have nice things.

“Jon,” a familiar voice rings out, “what the hell?!”

Danny is frozen in place, clearly terrified.

Jonathan heaves a sigh, turning to face the nuisance who’s entered his apartment.

“Eddie,” he drawls, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Edward’s face is red with anger as he invades Jonathan’s apartment.

“Oh, I don’t know! Maybe it’s the fact that you sent a bunch of rogues a cryptic message and then dropped off the face of the earth for two weeks! I was worried, Jon!”

Jonathan hums in acknowledgement.

“I didn’t think it was that cryptic,” he says, picking up a book in order to pointedly ignore the Riddler.

“Oh, of course you didn’t, you straw-stuffed hickory dickory dickhead. I swear, you’re always—” he pauses, finally having noticed Danny sitting opposite of Jonathan, “—who is this?”

“My apprentice,” Jonathan replies, dreading the upcoming headache he was no doubt going to develop from Edward’s company, “he’s helping me hunt down the GiW. His name is Danny.”

Edward gasps dramatically.

“You—an apprentice?! And you’re letting him sit in the old man chair?! You don’t even let me sit in the old man chair,” he wails, draping himself over the headrest of the couch with a flourish, “Jonathan, I thought I knew you!”

“Edward,” Jonathan says, “get out of my apartment.”

“Oh my goodness, this is incredible. You’re becoming the bat!”

“I am not becoming the bat, Eddie, now get out.”

Edward has a shit-eating grin on his face as he waltzes over to Danny. Danny, who seemed terrified when he first appeared, is now looking at him with obvious amusement written all over his face.

“I mean, look at him! The hair, the eyes, the scrappy build. If you put him in one of those traffic light vigilante costumes, he could easily pass as a Robin!”

“I’m not doing this with you today, Eddie.”

“Riddle me this, Jon: I am a treasure hidden inside of a chest. You can break me, or steal me, or give me a rest. I can flutter, or pound, or attack, or drop, but if you don’t have me, you’re certainly fucked. What am I?”

Jonathan pauses for a moment before he groans, dropping his head into his hands.

“Eddie.”

Danny sits still, a confused look on his face as he repeats the riddle silently. Then, his face lights up in delight.

“A heart!”

“Jon, I like this one,” Edward says with a smile, ruffling Danny’s hair, “you are correct! A heart, something that I wasn’t aware that our dear Jonathan had!”

“Eddie, stop.”

“No, no,” Edward says, “I was worried about you, you deserve this. I mean, you even missed girls night! You never miss girls night!”

“Girls night?” Danny asks, absolutely delighted.

“Oh, of course,” Edward says, sprawling over on the couch, dangerously close to just laying in Jonathan’s lap, “we have it once a week. I’m invited because of Selina and Jon’s invited because Harley likes him.”

“And what does girls night entail, exactly?”

“Eddie,” Jonathan groans, “please.”

“Well,” Edward hums, “we usually paint our nails, or watch a movie, or gossip about the other rogues, and occasionally, we tell each other about any ‘encounters’ we have with Batman,” he says, raising his eyebrows up and down.

Danny’s jaw drops.

“Edward, shut up,” Jonathan says, an irritated tone in his voice that wasn’t there before.

“No way,” Danny says, “I thought that Batman, like, hated you guys or something. You mean he actually..?”

“Oh, the Bat is much like a bottle of liquor or a cheap cigarette, in that he was made to be passed around.”

Danny chokes on air.

“Edward Nygma,” Jonathan hisses, getting out of his seat and looming over the man, “get the hell out.”

Edward pales.

“Leaving, leaving!” Edward says, dashing away from Jonathan. He pauses, turning to flash Danny a quick smile.

“Remember Danny, I’m your favorite uncle! Not any of the other rogues, me!”

With that, he leaves, the room falling completely silent.

And, as per usual, that silence does not last.

“You full-named him?” Danny asks gleefully, “and it worked?”

Jonathan just sighs, sitting down on the couch and rubbing at his temples.

“Please, don’t take anything Eddie says seriously. He’s a moron.”

“Dr. Crane, please let me come to girls night with you,” Danny pleads, his eyes sparkling, “I promise I won’t embarrass you.”

Jonathan groans.

“Of course you won’t, Eddie will do it for you.”

“Come on, please?”

“I think we’re a bit busy with the GiW at the moment,” Jonathan snaps. He pauses as he notices the crestfallen expression on Danny’s face.

This boy is going to be the death of him.

“Perhaps, though, when all that is taken care of…”

Danny cheers, grinning wildly, and Jonathan is not at all relieved to see him happy again. Certainly not.

The rest of the day is relatively normal.

Danny works on trying to get information from the GiW database while Crane refines his his fear toxin, both preparing for a raid on the GiW base they located in Gotham.

It was only a temporary base, nothing of note, but there was a chance of discovering more bases through it, and that wasn’t something either of them were willing to give up.

Still, something like this would take time. Rushing would only lead to failure.

…

Late in the night, long after Danny is fast asleep in his room, Jonathan pauses.

The GiW are not the only threat out there. They aren’t the only threat to him or to Danny. Perhaps it could be helpful to reach out to someone with greater resources than himself.

He sends a quick message to Red Hood.

Hopefully, he thinks, everything will go smoothly.

—

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

thinking about Eddie & hyacinths again

[goldkirk]

I don’t know how to explain any more clearly that it doesn’t MATTER if it seems legitimate to you. You have got to fact check every single headline and post and claim on the left just like you need to do on the right.

The left is NOT immune to misinformation and rushed reporting. And the more emotionally polarizing or shocking the talking points, sound bytes, and headlines are, the worse it is and more frequently it happens.

Learn to verify through multiple independent sources. If you can’t do that, you can’t trust it.

If you have to wait extra hours for the real information to come through vetted channels—NOT just one individual somewhere everyone links to, and not just one single media source either, EVEN if it’s a major news network—thats just how it has to be. What news outside of genuine local disasters near you TRULY needs your outrage and post-sharing in the next hour specifically?

Misinformation works best by not seeming like misinformation and by fitting in with the rest of what you already expect to see. It doesn’t help anyone to not be able to recognize and avoid the stuff.

[crystalpallette]

frye inspires this sort of manic "i can do whatever i want" kinda will in people and god. I sure did do whatever I wanted here

[blu-ish]

Ok so how do you think Shadow reacted when Sonic wasn’t in his arms when he arrived back in green hill

(Sonic prime)

... (Here's my idea as a sample mini-fic cuz I have no self-control.)

He couldn't help the panic that sunk deep within his broken heart. He failed. After everything, and he was still unable to save one of the only people who genuinely cared about him. That was Shadows most rational thought at the moment anyways. Almost tempted to let out a pitiful laugh at the irony of it all.

The hedgehog felt stupid, naive, and absolutely pathetic. Just like before.

What did he think would happen?

His grip loosened after he feels the almost ghostly appearance of the chaos emerald in his quills, the one he'd spent hours scouring for in the past. He doesn't even remember why...

The emerald looked way to much like his eyes, eye's he'd never get to see again.

As much as Shadow was willing to give into the pain, the urge to scream his lunges out, he remembered the mountain-- the prism.

What if...?

Hope burns like a small uncertain ember in his heart, one where the slightest breeze would extinguish it forever. Shadow races up the mountain, emerald in hand, unsure of what he might see--or what he wanted to see. Who he wished to see.

Ruby meets emerald green, and Shadow can breathe again.

...

Shadow tries to ignore the emotional whiplash he had just experienced. He really does. But, he can't help but occasionally stare- no, examine the cobalt hedgehog who sat next to him.

He's here.

He's alive.

His gloved hand twitches, unbeknownst to its owner, it slowly inches its way closer to the hero. Stopping at an invisible barrier, Shadow clears his throat.

"I hope you've at least tried to learn something from all of this."

Sonic's laughter almost makes the agent jump, almost.

"Yeah, yeah. No more smashing super colorful rocks for me, that's for sure!" Sonic played the events they both just endured like another adventure, just another day for Sonic T. Hedgehog. Or so he assumed the blue hedgehog was trying to do.

"I think that would be for the best. For everyone." Shadow concluded, gripping the grass below him a little harder then he meant too. An action that didn't go unnoticed by the hedgehog next to him.

"I'm really gonna miss everyone though, seems kinda silly after everything but..." Sonic sighed, "I'm really glad the guy I ended up getting stuck with was you, Shads."

Turning to face the hedgehog fully. Shadow scanned Sonics face for any indication of sarcasm, only to be met by the most brightest smile he'd ever seen. The warm hues of the sunset didn't help either.

He'd seen Sonic smile, the guy seemed to do it whenever he could. But now, this... felt different, personal. It didn't feel unpleasant either. That scared him, not like he'd ever admit that though.

"And what exactly does that mean?" The darker hedgehog ignored the flush that was most likely on his face right now. Narrowing his brow at the other. He could unpack what he was feeling, later.

"Does grumpy want a list?" Sonic replied playfully. Since when did he start to lean on his side? The blue hero continued, listing his reasons on his fingers.

"Not to mention you've saved my life, more than once, all in practically the same day."

"You saved mine as well, that makes us even." Shadow reminded. It was getting harder and harder to keep eye contact with Sonic. He crossed his arms in mild frustration at himself more than anything.

"We had a bonding moment! You cradled me in your arms, dude!" Sonic exclaimed, moving in even closer somehow to wrap an arm around the flustered hybird.

His mind going blank to find a proper response, he resorted to grumbling. Sonics laughter filled the air again, taking another breath out of Shadows in the process.

"Anyone would've done the same, your life was in immediate danger, I was simply the fastest mode of transportation, simple."

"But it wasn't just anyone Shads... it was you." Shadow had rarely heard the hedgehog sound so serious, but gentle at the same time. As if he was talking to a frightened woodland creature, one that was only mere moments away from fleeing.

He didn't know when they started looking at each others eyes, he also came to the conclusion that Sonics eyes--while similar, shined way brighter than his emerald.

It was Sonics turn to clear his throat, accompanied by a chuckle. "So, yeah... thanks."

What Sonic wasn't expecting was dark arms wrapping themselves around his back. Bringing him close to his rival. Or the soft patch of white fur to tickle so much.

"Don't get used to it.." Was all Shadow said, burying his face unapologetically into his peach shoulder.

"Wouldn't dream of it." Sonic smiled, hugging Shadow tight. The pair stayed like that until the night covered them in a blanket of stars.

It was good to be home.

[flickering-nightfall]

behold. ARM

(continuation of this)

[nxnamikento]

it’s missing Nanamin hours 24/7 in this house

[skitskatdacat63]

Oh to be kissed the way Fernando Alonso kisses his trophies

+

[the-way-astray]

you could theoretically read the series in the order 8.5, 9.5, 9 instead of 8.5, 9, 9.5 because books 9 and 9.5 take place parallel to each other but also sophie and keefe never interact between them so hypothetically there should be no difference (and no spoilers either way).

another thing you could theoretically do is alternate between reading books 9 and 9.5. a chapter here, a chapter there. it would be like reading a longer version of unlocked, with the povs alternating between sophie and keefe.

in fact, in theory, there could be a possibility of even less spoilers if you read it 8.5, 9.5, 9. for example, if vespera makes an appearance in unraveled, and you didn't know she would die yet, it could be a really cool way to see her last minute and have an extra layer about her before her death. whereas if vespera makes an appearance in unraveled and you already know she's going to die, it feels a little more empty. not completely meaningless, but like. kinda empty. like if vespera hints at a larger plan or something in unraveled and you didn't know she was going to die, you'd be super excited to see this plan shake out, but now that we know she's going to die something like that wouldn't hit as hard.

[reverse-pines-twins]

"Ok, it was a pain to get it- but here you go Belle"

Stab hands her over the amulet Stanford had taken

@reverse-falls-stan

*She's sulking in the corner until he says that. Mason's off on stage, playing to the crowd and causing at least five separate fangirls in the crowd to swoon. Even backstage, the sounds of cheering as he draws a heart in the air are clearly audible. Mabel seems bitter and angry about being grounded still. The instant she hears Stan's voice, she perks up, stands, and rounds on her heel to face him.*

Oh- hello Great Uncle Stan! I can't believe you're here! And with my amulet, too! I really can't thank you enough, Great Uncle Stan. You're so generous and wonderful and lots of other things!

*She goes to grab the amulet.*

[diodellet]

cw: unbeta'd rambling once more, all mistakes are mine. vague references to true crime content, nothing graphic. just thinking of what would discomfort the charas, im basically throwing darts 🥴

i hc'd that kalim doesnt really get scared by ghosts and urban legends and to add onto that: i think kalim would be icked out by people with an interest in true crime.

like, the content hits uncomfortably close to his own encounters and some people frankly take a bit too much pleasure in going through all the gory details - wait, you're telling him there are people who fall asleep while listening to true crime podcasts?! on that note, some psychological thrillers (especially the 'adapted from true events' kind, compared to the 'dystopic social commentary' ones) would also fit into this category - just being plain uncomfortable to sit through, a movie/podcast/tv experience making him sick to his stomach.

i just think that kalim doesn't get the appeal at all, no matter the explanation. if someone tried to show him a few cases, he'd just be sitting in uncomfy silence.

(on the flipside, i think jamil hates horror movies with an abundance of jumpscares compared to slashers. he has an uncanny sense foretelling when they're gonna happen, but he still flinches during the actual jumpscare. bonus points if a fakeout is good, u get to see his soul jump out of his body twice.

on the topic of true crime, jamil just doesn't vibe with it, especially when it's not well-researched and/or poorly handled in its delivery. and like, he's already gotten the fearmongering-type of warnings* from the adults in his life plenty of times. he doesn't want to see it packaged in a spooky, edgy, internet detective-way, but he's more rational? understanding? of its appeal to others.)

[kitchensinkchronicles]

i KNEW it was a tour thing!

[oidheadh-con-culainn]

I just got to reading a translation of "The wooing of Emer" online. Why is no-one (especially the online encyclopedias) talking about the fact Emer is fomorian?

why aren't the online encyclopaedias talking about it: bc they are not that useful for medieval irish literature most of the time, tbh, being heavily simplified and reliant on secondary sources that are often themselves not particularly reliable (although there have been efforts to improve some pages inc. wikipedia pages). loads of fun details missing from them, always

why isn't anyone else talking about it: eh. probably two main reasons

there's a lot of it around. cú chulainn's got a fomorian grandma (on lug's side) and no one ever really talks about that either. it's not that big a deal. i'm sure he's not the only one; can't throw a rock around here without hitting someone with a fomorian uncle or something. there's a lot more overlap / interaction between them and the tuatha dé danann than a simple oppositional binary would suggest, and family trees get fucky in general. being related to the fomoire doesn't automatically = being fomorian yourself bc belonging and kin-groups and stuff are a bit more complicated than that

i'm pretty sure it's only mentioned in tochmarc emire and only in passing and not directly in relation to emer herself, so it's easily overlooked even if you're dealing with that text and a lot of people will be dealing with other texts. it's also only in the later, longer redaction of the text and not in the earliest one, although so are a lot of things. if the authors thought it was important as part of her heritage -- whether they saw it as a good or a bad thing -- they would bring it up more often, but TE seems to be the only one that bothers to give background information about forgall's family tree, so mostly it looks like they think it's not that relevant. (although as it is not a particular focus of mine, it's entirely possible it comes up somewhere else and i just haven't noticed)

e.g. you might expect it to come up in fled bricrenn but it doesn't

sidenote: why the fuck henderson translations "ben ind fir as dech" as "wife of the best wight" i have no idea. it's just "fer"! it's just man! why are you trying to make cú chulainn sound even weirder than usual! it's a mystery to me. other than the fact it's from 1899 and people did whatever they wanted at that point tbh

(the parenthetical explaining the meaning of "Manach" is also editorial and not in the Irish; the meaning "tricky" may be more suitable bc it might have something to do with clessa, but that's getting into my friend emmet's in-progress research so i won't delve deeper there)

also, tethra, who is supposedly forgall's uncle in TE and who is described in the text as a "king of the fomoire" is a bit of a weird one iirc and there's potentially more going on with him than that phrasing suggests, although i can't remember the details and that's getting into cath maige tuired territory, at which point you're better off asking @margridarnauds bc it's not a topic i know a huge amount about

finally i'll be honest another factor is probably that there hasn't been a huge amount written about emer as a character. there's been a lot written about texts that she's in and her function there, but less on her just like, as a person (bc medieval celtic studies is a very small field, there are a lot of texts and characters, and there hasn't been that much written about anyone really). so lots of things don't get talked about. doesn't mean they're not worth talking about. just means nobody's got around to it yet.

[mildcicada]