#so above so below au

[alan-in-the-outernet]

PFFFF!

Well to be fair to Apotheosis Noogai... his God form was very based on Belief... so it looks a lot like a cursor with wings...

Then there's So Above So Below... who is, sticklike in form... but huge, with four arms, and a cursor face... but who says that's not just how they appear to sticks..?

There's VRN, who is... a mass of code and can technically... look like anything, really...

Then there's Creation & Destruction who are. Odd x3

Evil Noogai stop forcing adopting on people /silly

[birrdies]

dead; by birrdie 14.9k, 1 chapter (complete*)

[vivizzy]

I know someone has already done this, but I really wanted to make one to express my love for all these Prohibitedwish AUs! You guys are so creative and sweet and you inspire me!

AUs:

Swap - @r-g-d2

Lawful Joke - @chaosaliien

With a Heavy Heart - @frecklethejeckle

Scourge and Promise - @gnatryan

As Above So Below - me :3

Dimension Jump! - also me :3

Fairy Ring- @otherxagnela

[starry-bi-sky]

if i had the tools or the knowledge to make a Cult of the Lamb animatic, I would make one to "We Become We" from Journey to Bethlehem, but instead of being Narilamb it would be through the ages with Lamb and their follower spouses. The followers would be Joseph's voice, and the Lamb would be Mary's.

The song would go through at least four spouses, and each new spouse the wedding ceremony steadily grows grander as it signifies the passing of time, the expansion of the cult and the lamb's influence, as well as how many bishops have been defeated until by the fourth spouse, Narinder is already apart of the cult. As well as Lamb steadily growing more demure and reserved with each new spouse, until eventually the love is completely one-sided.

The first spouse would be before Leshy was even defeated, where the lamb is still getting the cult started and still trying to defeat the mini bosses. The ceremony is humble and they're both essentially wearing slightly nicer versions of their clothes. The only lights they have are the stars, the fireflies, and a fire. We would stay with this couple until the lines; "hopefully not ending in estrangement"

By the next line; "it's a step of faith" it would change to the next spouse. There's a bigger audience, the cult is bigger, their clothes nicer. The lamb has defeated two bishops by now, they look a little less in love. More demure. The ages has weighed down on them like water erodes a canyon.

We move to the next couple at "can mine become yours?" the lamb is actively trying to defeat Shamura now. The cult is near it's completion. The wedding ceremony grounds are ceramic and decorated, with lights stringing from pole to pole. The Lamb looks radiant and nearly outshine their spouse. The spouse looks less in love and more in complete overwhelming devotion, they don't even notice that the Lamb is not as engaged as them -- oh they look pleased, content. But not in love, but it's not like anyone by then knows what it looks like when the Lamb is in love.

We meet the last spouse by the very end when the dance and song ends. "I could never choose to love another." / "Maybe one day I could learn to love you, too". The Lamb is disengaged, just going through the motions. Demure and modest, the picture perfect radiance of a god among mortals. Their crown is a veil. They're looking into their spouse's eyes, but not really seeing.

Anyways that's what I would do if i had the tools to make an animatic.

[missathlete31]

As Above, So Below

Summary (link below)- Bradley Bradshaw is one of the leading alchemist and archaeologist in the world. Following in his late father's footsteps, his life's goal is to find one of history's greatest treasures: Flamel's Philosopher's Stone. When he learns the stone might be hidden in the catacombs of Paris, Rooster assembles a crew to guide and document his historic journey to retrieve it. But in order to be successful Bradley needs the best of the best with him, including his ex, Jake Seresin, a brilliant translator of ancient texts. Despite their disastrous past, both men agree to work together one last time. Unfortunately as they begin their descent, the team members have no way of knowing that they are entering their own personal hell.

*An AU based on the movie of the same name*

[llserenell]

Trick or treat!

I can’t..he’s so beautiful..

[softquietsteadylove]

Hello! 🫣

I had this idea: thenamesh academic rivals?

Gil is a top student, mostly getting a mark of 100. but whenever Thena asks her rival what he got he always says a lower point (for example he says 97 and she got a 98) , hiding his exam behind his back 🫣

Thena glared at the chair next to hers as it was taken.

"Uh," Gilgamesh attempted - yet again - to strike up a casual conversation, "hey."

Thena tapped her papers on her desk, waiting for the professor to come in, as well as tell them how they would be conducting the labs with their students for the day. "I trust you've already looked up what your score for the mid-term was."

"What was yours?"

Thena clenched her teeth in her jaw. It didn't matter what she got, he would get just the same, if not better. She had worked her whole life to become a historical scholar, as was expected of her. And this guy always managed to stand shoulder to shoulder with her, seemingly without so much as blinking. "I achieved 98. I believe the two point demerit was due to my oversight in the essay section."

Gilgamesh merely nodded, offering a nervous kind of smile. "Ah, well, the essay parts are always the toughest."

She slid her eyes over to him. She didn't truly wish to know, but she also couldn't resist knowing. "And you?"

"Ninety..." he trailed off, as he always did when they were discussing their academic performance. She glared at him to finish, "seven?"

Thena smiled, although she did her best not to appear smug and unbecoming. "An admirable mark."

"Thanks," he laughed off, like it was nothing. Professor Stoss was a famously tough professor despite his young age, and getting any good mark from him was already a feat.

Thena did somewhat believe that the affability Gilgamesh possessed made people go easier on him. And even then, she had to concede that he was intelligent and competent in their field of study. It infuriated her.

She had the weight of the world on her in the expectation to perform. She was even a teaching assistant entirely to advance her studies and career. Otherwise, the interaction with other students was far too much for her own preference.

But Gilgamesh said he was good in historical studies merely because his mother had possessed a fondness for them. Thena devoted hours to studying and research and Gilgamesh worked part time at a diner close to the university. And yet he used to consistently beat her in every assignment and quiz and test.

Only in recent months did he seem to be coming just a single point under her, and even that was not enough. Thena had already heard from her own family how outstanding this no-name student was and how those in their field of work were asking about him.

"Did you...do anything this weekend?"

Thena looked over, somewhat astonished that he was still trying to make conversation with her.

He shrugged, tapping his fingers anxiously on the cover of his textbook. "I heard there was a fancy party for the TAs, I mean. I assumed you went."

Thena frowned. There was indeed an event for the faculty and their chosen assistants--those who showed promise enough to earn extra credits in teaching. She hadn't attended because she felt no need (nor did Phastos, in her defense). "I assumed you had gone."

"Oh, no," Gilgamesh smiled down at the desk. "I take the late shifts on weekends. They're long, but we don't get many people, so I can get studying or work done, y'know?"

Thena swallowed her words. She had all this envy for his natural skill, but his work was just as legitimate as hers. And he worked to pay his rent, living off campus, while she lived in a dorm for female academic leaders. Gilgamesh stole his time studying as opposed to building his entire life around it.

"You deserve to enjoy yourself a little."

She looked at him again, still frowning. "I beg your pardon?"

"S-Sorry." He went back to staring down at the tattered edges of his textbook. But she kept looking at him, waiting for him to elaborate. The silence worked, dragging his words out of him. "I just mean...you work really hard, right? You're always top of the class. You should be allowed to have some fun, sometimes."

She did work hard. She devoted every waking moment of her life to her studies, and the one person who continuously thwarted her attempts at perfection was the one to point it out?

It would be easier to be angry with him if he were dislikeable in any way. As it stood now, all she had to go on was that he always beat her in academic achievement, and so effortlessly at that. But even with that, she had to concede that he worked just as hard, if not harder than her for it! And it was infuriating!

"Sorry," he repeated, looking away from her glowering at him.

She sighed. "No, I'm sorry. It was an innocent question."

He looked at her, completely astonished. She would like to snap at him for thinking she couldn't even just apologise for being overly adversarial with him. But that would defeat the point. "Well, I know you don't really like small talk."

It was that she wasn't good at it. She angled herself in her chair, destroying her perfect posture to face him somewhat more properly. "Should you not have also...enjoyed yourself? When do you have time to socialise if you are either studying or working?"

"Well, I have friends I can see in my other classes," he shrugged.

Oh. Yes, of course. Thena felt her hackles raise again at the idea that she was so unfamiliar with the idea of having friends in any of their classes. But she was trying to be nicer to him.

"But," he offered another sheepish smile, bending closer to whisper like children trading a secret in grade school. "This class is my favourite."

Thena just stared at him. She supposed that made sense. He always said he had the same like of history and classics that his mother had. But the idea that she was included in the categorisation of his favourite anything; a warm feeling spread in her chest.

"The lovebirds are here already."

Students began filtering into the small lecture hall, facing them seated at the front of the room. The one who made the comment plunked down close to the door. Another one looked in their direction, "don't you two ever sleep in?"

They got jokes and insinuations that they were together all the time. Apparently, everyone could see some kind of brewing, invisible tension between the two of them. Thena always found it ridiculous.

"We don't-!"

The student startled, as did the rest of the room slowly taking their seats. The declaration was sharp, and loud--far louder than was needed for a room this size.

Thena felt warmth rush to her cheeks, first for the outburst, then the realisation that it seemed overeager to deny something that wasn't even said. She cleared her throat, turning towards the board (since she had shot to her feet in her denial). "Sit down and start copying."

The student body present groaned but obeyed. Gil was the far preferred teaching assistant because he didn't scare anyone, and even if they under-performed, he had kind encouragements as opposed to scathing condemnations.

"Guys, come on, you heard her."

Thena barely glanced over her shoulder. There was nothing new about their students complaining about her teaching methods. But Gil usually didn't take quite so stern a tone with them. Even in her defense.

He peeked at her with a smile, perhaps hoping to show that he was indeed her ally and not her enemy.

Thena whipped her head forward again. So long as they were pitted against each other in any setting, he was no friend of hers. No matter how winsome his smile was.

[the-rainbow-neighborhood]

ฯ๏ย ฬเɭɭ ภє๒єг єรςคᎮє Շђเร Ꭾɭคςє ยรєɭєรร ๓๏гՇคɭ ђย๓คภ

Tw: blood, open wounds, may hurt some ears disturbing imagery

-.-. .- -. / -.-- --- ..- / .... . .- .-. / -- . / -. . .. --. .... -... --- .-.

[scaryscarecrows]

Any hurt/comfort fic in your scaryverse?

Loads. The below is 'Where Do You Think You're Going?' from Why Do They Kick Me?, but there are others in that collection and scattered throughout both volumes of Cigarette Smoke & Snark.

The rain’s coming down in sheets and Dove hates it, especially here, where there’s a crap-ton of ‘hitchhikers may be escaping inmates!’ signs.

She’ll be home soon, all done and over from delivering some handsomely-paid-for evidence that while the Riddler may be a criminal, he didn’t commit that crime and therefore is unlawfully detained in Arkham. He’ll be out by tomorrow and probably right back in on Tuesday, because Batman, but whatever, he’ll have a week. Maybe.

She kinda wishes she’d taken up Charlie’s offer to come with her, but it hadn’t been raining then. And it hadn’t been meant to take this long.

Between the rain and the darkness, she has no warning whatsoever before there’s a flash of color in her headlights. She hits the brakes and is like…eighty percent…sure she doesn’t hit them, but if it’s an inmate and they find out she didn’t stop, she’s screwed.

She rolls down the window. A bit. Sees nothing, and opens the car door, leans out and remembers too late that her umbrella’s in the backseat.

Oh, well.

The rain’s coming down in icy daggers and she knows it’s going to turn into snow later. She doesn’t see any color, at first, and figures maybe it was nothing-a misplaced jack-in-the-box, maybe-when she finally spots another flash of yellow on the side of the road.

It’s barely yellow, more grungy brown and now muddy to boot, but it’s there and it only takes a few seconds to register it as Robin-yellow.

“Oh, my God,” she breathes, sloshes through the mud and prays to anyone listening that she didn’t just kill Batman’s missing kid. “Oh, my God…c’mon, Robin, wake up…Jesus Christ, please don’t be dead…”

She didn’t kill him, anyway. She can hear him wheezing from here and when she gets closer he stirs, forces himself onto his back and tries to crawl away before going still, eyes closed and arms curled over his head.

“Fuck.” She crouches down. Partly it’s dark, partly it’s raining and partly he’s a muddy (bloody) mess, but she can’t make out what could be broken, ripped open…nothing. His limbs are all there, that’s the best she’s got. “Fuck, kid, okay…”

No way Joker let him go. No way. Dove knows he’ll come looking, if he isn’t already. She can’t just leave him here, the clown’ll be furious, he’ll kill him.

“Okay, Robin, okay, it’s gonna be okay, I’m gonna get ya somewhere safe, huh?”

She gets her hands under his arms and he jerks his head, coughs and whimpers, “Please don’t do it again.”

Jesus Christ--what was that?

She doesn’t know what idiot insisted on letting the woods around Arkham grow this wild. Crane may have been crazy and evil, but she’ll give him credit, the few escapees he had during his tenure were caught and dealt with very, very quickly, in no small part due to the lack of fucking trees. But whoever’s in charge now (they rotate so quickly…) either doesn’t have the budget or just doesn’t care, because they’re dense and dark and there could be anybody in them.

But right now, she doesn’t see anyone. She thought that was movement, but she was apparently mistaken. Or someone else is escaping, someone who just wants to get moving.

Not my circus, not my monkeys.

Robin’s shaking in her arms, hands clawing weakly at hers, and it doesn’t matter. They gotta go.

“Shh, shh, baby,” she soothes. “You’re gonna be okay. Think you can stand up?”

“Please, m’sorry…”

Probably not, then.

The mud is probably the best thing that could exist right now: it makes dragging him to the car a lot easier than it should be. She’ll worry about the upholstery later. For now, she’s good to lay the seat down and cover him with her coat before cranking the heater and flooring it.

And hope to God that flash of white out of the corner of her eye was an orderly.

* * *

Robin spends most of the ride either unconscious or otherwise unresponsive, but he perks up a bit when they hit midtown. Well. It’s all relative; he burrows into her coat and opens his eyes, anyway. Doesn’t react when she tries to talk to him, though. Just sits there, face tight and resigned.

Hospitals are out of the question. It’s easy, ridiculously easy, to get in there; murder a nurse and pop right in. Richardson does it all the time. She’ll call Jim, when she gets home, get him to get Batman and that shouldn’t take long at all. It’s safer. He got out of…of wherever he was (Arkham?), he can hold on until Batman can come and get him.

He’s capable of getting up, of letting her half-carry him into her apartment’s elevator, but he ends up on his knees before they’ve even hit the second floor.

Here, in the harsh lights, he looks awful; bloody and bruised and scared. He’s favoring his left ankle, trying to keep it away from the rest of his body, and Dove does not wanna know. 

His head’s slumped towards his chest and when she reaches down to lift it, see if he’s drugged, he flinches and whispers, “Please don’t hurt me, m’sorry, I won’t run again.”

“No, no, honey.” Maybe drugged, or maybe just sick; his skin’s burning under her fingers. His eyes are glazed over, pupils blown wide, and she doesn’t think he’s seeing her. “I’m not gonna hurt you, I’m gonna get you cleaned up a bit, try to get you home, huh?”

He doesn’t seem to understand.

“M’sorry,” he whispers again, a few tears carving tracks through the blood and dirt on his cheeks before hitting her palm, and she lets him go, watches the floor count go up. He wobbles a bit, fingers tensing against the carpet, and she’s not sure if she should try to steady him or not. She’s gonna go with not; they’re almost there and so far he hasn’t put up a fight.

She’d like to keep it that way.

Whatever’s up with his ankle, he gets to his feet when she tugs on his arms, shuffles down the hall with her and manages to stay semi-upright while she gets her door open. 

“Okay, kid, okay.” There. Door’s locked again, deadbolt ‘n all. “Let’s just…shower. C’mon, just a few feet, that’s all.”

She doesn’t even try to get his costume off, not now, not like this. It’s easier to just half-help, half-haul him into the bathtub and let him sink down, trembling and clearly trying not to cry.

The warm water makes him jump, at first, but he stays still after that, fingers knotted under his knees. The gunk that comes off him is reddish-brown and after a few minutes she can make out marks from barbed wire, and gashes in his uniform. He’s still and silent, gazing blankly at the rubber bath mat under him, and only flinches once when the water hits what turns out to be a ragged slash near his inner elbow.

“M’sorry.”

“Shh, don’t be sorry, sweetheart, there’s nothing to be sorry for.”

He’s quiet, after that, and she resolutely does not think about Joker’s ‘conditioning’ methods.

Once he’s sodden, she shuts the water off and nudges his head up, rubs a warm washcloth across his face. He sits there and lets her, doesn’t even try to struggle, and honestly…honestly, it’s unsettling. What happened to the boy that straight-up asked Penguin about the bottle in his eye socket?

“Okay, baby,” she murmurs, thumb rubbing dried blood off his cheekbone. “Okay, there we go… there you are.”

Sheesh. He looked bad before. Now? Without the excuse of grime? Those bruises are dark, like Harley’s can be, and the ones just under his jaw look like someone was trying to force something (pills food worse?) down his throat. He looks at her, still blank, before dropping his head back down and trying to hide a shiver.

“I’ll turn the water back on in a minute, but I wanna at least get your cape off, maybe the rest of this, huh?”

That rouses him a little more, makes him try to pull his head away and maybe try to get up, but he’s too unsteady to do much besides wobble.

“No, no—”

“Just to get you cleaned up, you’re a mess.”

He shakes his head but doesn’t fight her when she fumbles for the clasps on his cape. There’s nothing to do with it but toss it in the trash can; Batman wants it, he can come and get it.

She’ll worry about the rest of him later. Right now? Shampoo.

He cringes at the splop-splop noise it makes leaving the bottle and tries to pull his head away from her hands. But not for long-when her fingers dig into his scalp he stills, breath hitching in his throat.

“S’okay, kid, s’okay. Just gonna get some’a this crap off’a you, huh? Just a bit?”

He doesn’t answer her, just plunks his forehead against his knees and starts to cry.

* * *

He protests, once or twice more, when she gets him undressed the rest of the way, but once he’s out of the tub and in a shirt and some old sweats of hers he’s quiet again.

She has no idea what to do with him now. Call Jim, maybe. But first, bed.

Whatever kept him up and moving before-stubbornness, desperation, adrenaline-is spent and he doesn’t even try to help when she pulls him up. Surely he should be heavier than this, it shouldn’t be this easy to drag him around.

But it is this easy, and she’s almost grateful Cobblepot made her help him dump bodies in the river back in Ye Olde Days of his career. Almost.

She gets him tucked up in bed with a mountain of blankets on him and now he comes to life a little, blinking rapidly at the dim lighting and scrubbing his hand across his eyes.

“Where am I?”

Confusion is…an improvement.

“You’re okay, kid.” Well. All things considered. That ankle’s half-broken, not healing right, and even ignoring the cuts and bruises and fuck those are electrical burns what the hell, the rasp to his breathing is probably Really Bad. “You’re safe, you…you nearly got run over, but, y’know…”

More blinking, and that expression that people get when they’re trying to make sense of things. Then, “M-Miss Marquis?”

It’s something!

“Yeah,” she says gently. “Yeah. You’re okay, kiddo, I’m gonna…I dunno, I’ll get a hold of Jim or something and he can call Batman and he’ll come get you.” Robin coughs, tries to lever himself upright and she moves to prop him up. “Okay, honey, okay, there we go…think you can take a drink? That sound good?”

“Mm-mm.” He starts trying to go back down and she lets him, tugs the comforter back up to his chin. “What happened?”

“I don’t know, kiddo. You came outta nowhere.” She wonders where her phone is. “What about somethin’ to eat, huh? Couple’a crackers, maybe?”

“Mm-mm. M’sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Jesus Christ, he’s just a kid, no older than Charlie’s daughter. “Don’t be sorry, hon, you’re okay, you’re gonna be okay. Yeah?”

He just looks at her with wide, shiny eyes and whispers, “He’s gonna come for me.”

“Yeah, yeah, he is, he’ll be here just as soon as he can—”

“No.” He swallows, fingers creeping up to tighten around the edge of the comforter. “Not. Not Batman. J—”

His voice catches in his teeth and he squeezes his eyes shut, bunches the blankets into his arms like a makeshift teddy bear. Outside, the rain turns into hail, slamming against the patio with a determined TAPTAPTAPTAP!

“Shh, shh.” There’s two furrows running down from under his eyes, bruised and ragged. Fingernails, and she can just see those boney fingers, pale and heavy-knuckled, digging in and dragging downwards. “Don’t worry, honey, he won’t come.”

“You don’t believe that.”

Nope.

“Try to sleep, Robin,” she says. “I’m gonna call Jim, okay?”

He doesn’t answer. She goes, gets her phone out of her purse and tries to do exactly what she said she would, but Jim’s phone goes straight to voicemail.

Okay. Harvey, then…no.

No answer.

This might be a little bad. She knows, logically, that there’s plenty of cops who won’t hand the kid back over, but she doesn’t know who they are and she does know, because Harley had mentioned it not three weeks ago, that ‘Mistah J’s got ears all over this town!’

A side effect of watching people’s children sleep, she imagines.

Okay. She’ll try again in a little while. Everything’s fine. It’s Gotham, they’re busy. Maybe Batman’s there!

All the same, she triple-checks the windows, and the door, and kills all the lights before grabbing a water bottle and a box of Wheat Thins and going back in the bedroom. Robin’s not asleep. He’s still half-curled in the blankets, staring at the window with frightened eyes.

“No answer, but he’s probably busy.”

“Maybe.” He doesn’t sound convinced. “I hope so.”

“F’you want, I got these.” She holds up the water and the crackers and he shakes his head. “Try to sleep, hon, there’s probably just been a drugs bust or somethin’.”

“Don’t go.” His voice is barely audible over the hail. “Please. I’ll be quiet, I promise, just…”

“Shh.” She sits down on the other side of the bed. “This okay?”

“Yeah. T’anks.”

“Go to sleep, kiddo. It’ll be okay.”

He yawns and suddenly he’s moved and is now both burritoed in blankets and curled tightly against her side. She doesn’t know how that happened. She blinked, that’s all.

Whatever, it doesn’t matter. If it keeps him calm enough to sleep, he’s fine there. She turns her phone to vibrate and opens up the internet. This is fine. This is going to be fine.

Hopefully.

* * *

Robin doesn’t move from his blanket cocoon even after two hours. Hell, he doesn’t even move in the cocoon; just stays balled up with his head pressed against her side. Even asleep, he doesn’t look calm, not even close, but he does uncoil a little bit when she risks reaching down and pulling a few strands of hair away from his mouth.

Outside, the hail has only grown worse and she hopes the Joker is out in it, because it 

might hurt him and the mental image of a giant hailstone smacking him in the mouth is funny.

Neither Jim nor Harvey has called her back and she’s just about to try again when Robin suddenly starts coughing.

“Come on, kiddo, wake up.”

Shaking him makes him scrunch into a ball, arms over his head.

“Please—”

“Robin.” She gives him a little nudge. “Wake up, sweetheart, you gotta sit up.”

He eventually pulls himself up a little, arms falling to cradle his ribs.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” She reaches over and picks up the water bottle, cracks the seal and winces when his eyes light up.

“S’safe?”

“Yeah, just water. You gonna try?”

“Uh-huh.” He takes it, clutches it to his chest and drains it in about forty seconds. “T’anks.”

“Sure. You hungry?”

He makes a face and mumbles, “No.”

“Okay. Try to go back to sleep, huh? You don’t look so good.”

He returns to his ball-shape, arms curled in front of his chest, and doesn’t move even when she re-tucks the comforter around him. She’s just about to text Jim instead when the phone lights up. There. All better.

“Hey, glad you got back to me.”

“What’s going on?”

“You need to send Batman to my apartment. I…I sort of nearly hit Robin with my car.”

“What?” There’s the sound of running feet in the background. “Where?”

“Not too far from Arkham. He’s…I didn’t hit him, anyway, but—”

“Shit.” A car door slamming. “Shit, Dove, you need to get outta there.”

“What’s going on?”

“I’m just leaving Arkham, the Joker’s God-knows-where, he murdered his way out not three hours ago.”

Well, shit.

Robin stretches out a teeny tiny bit and presses his head against her hip with a soft sigh. He’s not hearing this, then, he’s gonna calm down, he’s gonna sleep.

And that’s fine.

She ruffles his hair, still damp and warm and just covering a couple of contusions around his ears. Joker doesn’t know where she lives, she’s mostly sure, they’ve got a window before he tracks her down--

--but that flash of white, earlier.

Oh, my God.

He could be anywhere. Could be hitchhiking, could be on the roof, could not even care. He’s unpredictable enough that he might not care, but Dove doubts it.

“Get Batman here,” is all she says. “Door’s locked, windows are locked and we’re up high anyway. The kid’s hurt and he’s sick, I don’t even know if he can walk.”

“Hrm?”

“Shh.” She presses the phone to her shoulder. “Jim just wants to meet us at the precinct, you’re not up for that. That’s all.”

“Oh.” A yawn, a wet cough and a groan of pain. “T’anks.”

“Mm-hm. We’ll see you soon, okay, Jim?”

“But—”

She hangs up on him. Robin burrows under the blankets a little more and mumbles, “I didn’t think I’d ever…I don’t even know how long I was there.”

A month and a half since Batman shattered a window, dangled Cobblepot over Main Street and demanded information he didn’t have. If Robin was missing before that, Dove doesn’t know.

“Couple'a months.” Too long. “Do you remember how you got out?”

“Th-there was a doctor. He brought her down to look at me because I couldn’t. He’d.” He swallows and tries again. “I can’t scream without coughing, an’ ‘e wanted to fix me. Said I was boring like this.” That’s not surprising. “He kidnapped her or somethin’, I don’t know, but she had to lemme go to look at me better an’ I just headbutted her and ran for it an’ she’s prob’ly dead cause’a me an’—”

“Shh, shh, baby.” She’d be dead anyway, so she wouldn’t tell. “It’s not your fault, honey, it’s not your fault.”

 “Yes it is—”

“Robin.” She makes him lift his head and look at her. “It’s not your fault. Listen to me, okay? It’s not your fault. It’s not.”

Next thing she knows, she’s got an armful of shivering kid and he’s sobbing into her shirt.

“M’sorry, m’sorry—”

“Shh, shh, shh.” Um. This isn’t. This is bad, what is she supposed to say, what the hell. “It’s not your fault.”

“Mm—”

“Just try to calm down, okay? Breathe with me here, c’mon.”

That’s a little difficult, what with the coughing and all, but eventually he manages to calm down, at least a bit.

“M’sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, kid. Don’t. Okay? C’mon, just lie back down—”

He shakes his head and tightens his grip and whispers, “Please.”

She’s not heartless, okay? She tried, because good employees are heartless, but she’s shit at it and the only reason Penguin keeps her is because by the time he figured it out, she had his backup e-mail passwords.

“Okay. Okay, kiddo, okay.” She moves so she’s propped against the headboard and he’s not about to knock her over and pulls the comforter up to wrap around his shoulders. “Okay, honey, you’re okay. It’s over. It’s over.” Well, providing the Joker doesn’t come knocking on the door, but he doesn’t need to know that. “Just try to sleep, okay, Robin? It’s all over.”

“You promise?”

Uh, sure?

“Yeah, I promise.”

“’Kay.” He yawns. “Night.”

It takes him about fifteen minutes to finally conk out, but conk out he does, still shivering in the blanket. Dove kind of wants a sign to inform any rampaging Batmen that he put himself here, that she hasn’t hurt him, so please don’t fly in and kick her in the side of the head or anything.

Hopefully someone gets here soon.

* * *

She’s startled out of an accidental sleep by a knock on the door. Jim, must be Jim. Or Harvey. Whoever.

Another knock. Okay, okay, hang on.

She moves the kid so he’s half-propped on pillows to help him breathe and stands up, grimacing at the pop-pop! from her knees. Ow. Ow, she regrets her life choices.

“Hrm…?”

“Shh, I’ll be right back.”

But he’s already awake, eyes alert and locked on the direction of the front door.

“Who is it?”

“Probably Jim. I’ll be right back, okay? He can carry you if he really wants you at the precinct.”

“’Kay.”

More knocking. Good God, Jim, give her a…damned…minute?

Jim does not have green hair. Green hair like the hair visible through the peephole. Green hair on a white face.

Shit.

She’s not home, is her first instinct. She’s not home, she’s at work or on an errand or some other non-home activity. Robin? Who’s that? Ain’t that a bird?

She’s about to run with that, tiptoe back to her bedroom and barricade the door and hope to God that he’ll go away, when the knob rattles and he sings out, “Yoo-hoo! Anybody hoooome? I seem to have lost my dear pet bird!”

Okay. Okay. Maybe she can get him to go away. She’s…interacted with him, a few times, at the Iceberg, and he’s always been civil. Careful wording is her one great skill, and it might work now.

Or at least buy her some time. Better, she thinks, to try and get this to go her way rather than have him break in.

She fumbles around until she comes up with the butcher knife she keeps by the door for emergencies, triple-checks the chain latch, and cracks the door.

“Hello?”

People forget, sometimes, that the Joker is a tall man. He rivals Crane, easy, but while Crane is unassuming until he wants you to look at him, the Joker is impossible to ignore. Especially up close. That grin of his is cheerful from a distance, even just from behind a bar, but now? Now it’s manic and angry, a chimp’s smile.

“Helloooo!” But his voice is always cheerful…up until he’s mad. “My bel-ooo-ved songbird flew away from me this evening!” His hands are still in his pockets. That means nothing. Nasty things can be found in the Joker’s pockets. “Have you seen him? I’m soooo worried.”

She’ll bet. Batman’s going to be furious when he sees the state of the kid.

“I haven’t seen anything,” she says, fakes a yawn. “I just got home a little bit ago, went to bed.”

The teeth glint. An elbow twitches. And then he moves, upper body lunging forward like a snake’s and a hand jamming in between the crack of the door, fingers scrambling for the chain. She throws her weight against it, slams it against his arm, and he curses at her, those purple fingers abandoning the chain in favor of her neck.

She remembers the knife. It’s heavy and clumsy in her hand, but she slashes at him anyway, tip gouging a chunk of flesh out of the back of his hand before he yanks said hand back and the door slams shut. She throws the deadbolt and rushes to the kitchen, snags a dining chair and wedges it under the knob. Outside, there’s nothing but silence.

Door as secured as it can be, she grabs another chair and retreats to the bedroom, barricades that door too. Robin’s sitting up, hands twisted into knots in his lap.

“He’s here.” God, he’s so resigned already. “He came.”

She hates to scare him, but it was impossible to miss that ruckus.

“Yeah.”

He tries to get up and can’t, ends up desperately muffling his coughs in a pillow.

“I’ll go. Just. Just can I have s-some pills o-or something, I can’t do this again, I can’t—”

“Shh, shh.” It’s quiet out there. That can’t be good. “Don’t be silly, it’s gonna be fine. Batman’ll be here any minute.”

He’s silent after that, eyes glued to the door. Dove rifles through her dresser until she comes up with the pistol she always carries at work and sometimes carries the rest of the time, checks the bullet count. Fully loaded. Six shots. No more security deposit, but hey…

She doesn’t notice, at first, the movement outside. The hail is still pounding down, after all. But then there’s a rhythmic shave-and-a-hair-cut-two-bits! against the glass.

She’ll tell the police, later, that he had a tommy gun and looked like he was going to shoot through the glass. She has no idea if that’s true; all she can think of are all those people who laughed themselves literally to death, and that like hell is she gonna be one of them.

Six shots. The first two break the glass but don’t hit him, but the next four do, driving him backwards and--

--over. Down. Gone.

Not even one last cackle. Just a pair of fallen novelty teeth on the cement, getting knocked around by the hail.

Said hail is now trying to come in, and she wraps Robin in the comforter, guides him to the living room to lie down on the couch and locks her bedroom door, just in case. The kid’s staring at her when she comes back, shiny-eyed and a little awed.

“He’s gone?”

The fucker lives through everything.

“I think so, kid,” she says tiredly. “I think so.”

* * *

Nightwing’s the one that comes, at least at first. She’s surprised to see him; last she heard, he was over in Bludhaven, making a nuisance of himself.

“Nightwing.” God, it’s been so long since he did handstands on Penguin’s Very Expensive Barstools. He’s gotten so big. “Been a while, kid.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess so.” He crouches down, hand half-reaching towards the kid in her arms. “Jesus Christ…”

“He’s sick,” she warns. “I think broken ribs, definitely broken ankle. Lotta cuts ‘n bruises.”

“Better than the alternative.” His fingers drop against Robin’s spine. “I thought…Little Wing? C’mon, buddy, wake up. Time to go home.”

Robin doesn’t stir other than to burrow deeper into the blanket and murmur something unintelligible. Nightwing doesn’t push, just lets his hand fall flat between the boy’s shoulders.

“Where was he?”

“I found him outside of Arkham. Nearly hit him, to be honest.” She gives him a little shake. “Wake up, sweetheart, Nightwing’s here to take you home.”

“Hrm…’Wing?”

Nightwing grins, relief clear on his face.

“Hey, brat. You awake?”

“Wh’re’s B?”

“On his way.” Sure enough, there’s a VROOM! a block or two over. “You ready to go home?”

“Sleepy.”

“I know. I’m gonna pick you up, please don’t bite me.”

“Once,” Robin grumbles, but he doesn’t protest when Nightwing hoists him up, arms tight, and cradles him against his chest.

“I gotcha, buddy, I gotcha…Thanks, Miss Marquis. For, um. Y’know. Everything.”

She stands up, feeling things snap and crackle.

“Take him home. And be safe, both of you. I mean it.”

“T’anks,” Robin squirms a bit, one hand falling towards the floor. She gives him a smile, stands up and cracks her spine.

“Feel better sweetheart.”

He nestles against Nightwing, and then they’re gone. Jim gets up there five minutes later, wide-eyed, and says, “Holy shit, Dove, what did you do? ”

Penguin does this all the time. She’s seen him do it. She shrugs, sinks back to the couch, and says, “He would’ve killed us both if I let him in. I thought he had a gun.”

Not that he needed one, as many an Arkham guard’s obituary can attest.

“Jesus Christ.”

Yeah. Jesus Christ, indeed.

THE END

[solver-frank-whmultiverse-au]

"I never saw you wear colours, so I thought giving you some was a good idea!"

They said after putting a flower crown of my head while I was laying on the grass. It's true that I was devoided of colours... While they harboured them as vivid as their own demanor.

We were young back then, watching worlds rise and fall while staying in this garden... They knew when one was created and thriving, I knew when one was forgotten and destroyed.

We both talked about those stories in those worlds and wondered... Could we ever live stories as well?

[zippycarlos24]

there they are! a different version of my favorite crumbling family with a little berry twist :)

[alan-in-the-outernet]

Do not reveal the true name of a God so boldly... they entrust very few with their true names... and to reveal it to the wrong being...

Could spell trouble for all...

[asheanon]

Since I posted the Mer AU prompt the other day... And am generally being a goofy goober and thinking about them once more… 🥴

Here are these two again. ☀️🌙

(I'm also thinking about how I still need to make more progress on the others, too. Also x2, I need to change up the arm fin designs a bit - I had a change of heart over them, as I would! Even still, these designs are worth sharing.) 🎨💕

[is-this-camera-on]

been thinking about how tragic and amusing it would be to put the cast of Marble Hornets into the As Above So Below plot. There's already CANONICALLY a operator symbol on one of the catacombs walls, it'd be so easy for Alex to just be like "Yeah, my movie is taking place in Paris B)" and the group sneaking into the French catacombs not knowing that The Horrors ™ would be awaiting them.

in my humble opinion, i think Jessica and Tim are the only ones who would survive the tunnels- though I absolutely think Alex is the one who rocked the stone-being's shit

might. write a fanfic depicting how the story would go. just for funsies.

[dzthenerd490]

File: As Above So Below

SCP#: AHF

Code Name: The Trial of the Seven Rings of Hell

Object Class: Euclid

Special Containment Procedures: All entrances to SCP-AHF have been sealed off with any records of them existing found and erased. Foundation guards disguised as patrol police have been placed around these areas to prevent civilians or even hostile Groups of Interest from reopening them. Testing with SCP-AHF have unfortunately proven impossible as AFA-1 or even AFA-2 units going in don't show any of its effects, drones show no different reactions. Foundation staff can't enter either as death is a 90% certainty. D Class should NEVER be sent into SCP-AHF due to the chance of them becoming an SCP-AHF-Alchemist instance. With testing being impossible, the Foundation will guard SCP-AHF and nothing else.

The only recorded living SCP-AHF-Alchemist instance has been captured by the Global Occult Coalition and regularly works with them with them as both a Researcher and a Doctor. She occasionally works with the Horizon Initiative as well in an effort to strengthen the ties between the groups. She seems to be treated well and is allowed to continue to stay connected with her friends and family. As such the Foundation will not implement Protocol "United Hands".

Description: SCP-AHF is a section of the Catacombs of Paris that is normally restricted by the French Government. The reason they do this is by the order of the Foundation and the Horizon Initiative, due to SCP-AHF's anomalous properties. SCP-AHF is a pocket dimension meant to be a representation of the seven rings of hell on earth. When someone enterers the only way to get back out is to go through the seven rings and survive. The best way to survive is to confess all grave sins committed by all those within SCP-AHF. Failure to confess to any grave sin that has been committed will result in either a quick or slow and extremely painful death. It is also assumed that when someone dies within SCP-AHF without confessing their sins they will be sent to the actual hell. It's unknown if one can be sent to heaven if confessing their sins yet still dying within SCP-AHF but such a thing cannot be testing by current Foundation standards and for obvious reasons is not worth the risk. 

SCP-AHF also contains a test within that allows someone to gain the power of the Philosopher Stone. The Philosopher Stone, for those that don't know, is a mythical crystal that's said to be the ultimate epidemy of all magic and alchemy. With the Philosopher Stone one can turn any item into a different item of equal chemical value, be able to heal any wound and even extend lifespan with little to no consequences, as well as be able to perform Thaumaturgic rituals without the need for a sacrifice, medium, or even need to prepare a ritual first. 

SCP-AHF offers a trial to collect the power of the stone, passing this test results in a person becoming an SCP-AHF-Alchemist. SCP-AHF-Alchemist is a person who passed the test and as a result has become an anomalous humanoid with the powers of the Philosopher Stone. This naturally means the person can now live as long as they like, perform alchemy and any thaumaturgic ritual instantly, and even heal others with a touch. The only known person to become a SCP-AHF-Alchemist instance is [data expunged] she is still alive but refuses to tell anyone how to repeat the process to pass the trial. Perhaps that is for the best. 

SCP-AHF was discovered in 2014 when three survivors of SCP-AHF suddenly came out form a manhole in the middle of [data expunged] road of Paris. Global Occult Coalition Agents were closest and investigated for any possible anomalous creatures. Instead, they were able to quickly find SCP-AHF-Alchemist but instead of killing her they recruited her and her fellow survivors. It should be noted the Global Occult Coalition is willing to show mercy to some anomalies in the same way the Foundation is willing to be lenient and provide freedom to the anomalies it has contained. However, the GOC prefers to do this for anomalous humanoids that can 100% pass as a human physically. 

SCP-AHF-Alchemist now works for the GOC begrudgingly as she was told the only alternative was termination. Though since SCP-AHF is an anomaly related to Abrahamic religion the GOC has agreed to let SCP-AHF-Alchemist be studied by the Horizon Initiative and by extent the Foundation for limited degrees. This has greatly lightened her mood especially knowing there's a whole world out there filled with other anomalous items. From the limited interaction the Foundation has had, SCP-AHF-Alchemist desires only to find the truth of the world and now that she is exposed to the anomalous world, she can see bits of it as time goes on.

The Horizon Initiative and shockingly even the Eight Wings of Mekhane have tried to make pleas to the ACPA court to have custody of SCP-AHF. It seems the Eight Wings of Mekhane consider the Philosopher's Stone to be a holy item and quite possibly another fragment of Mekhane so naturally they view SCP-AHF-Alchemist as a messiah. Despite still wanting to study her the O5 Council and Ethics Committee has agreed to not interfere with the custody battle over SCP-AHF-Alchemist as it will only bring her more distress and that will not work in the Foundation's favor in the long run. Instead, it's best to merely maintain a distant but friendly relationship with SCP-AHF-Alchemist and whichever organization she ends up with, if not the GOC. 

.

SCP: Horror Movie Files Hub

[birrdies]

Wait omg is "as above, so below" back?? I searched it up this morning and I can see it? I'm so happy I could cry, is it staying up for long or is it just a quick thing?

I love your writing!! This fic has been my favorite ever since I read it, and I used to keep my favorite chapters loaded to reread whenever. When you said you thought nobody would notice it gone, my heart broke in two because oh man :/ I'm in love with this fic so much, it doesn't get the recognition it deserves...

The plot, the writing, everything is sooo interesting, I find myself thinking about it every now and then. I would buy the hell out of the book you'll write with it.

Don't doubt about your writing!! I personally find it amazing, and I wish you the best ♡

this is so kind thank you <3