#I can smell you

[itsjustevil]

Strange how Senshi was the only person who we didn't get to see what his succubus turned into.

They aren't trying to hide gay Senshi from us, are they?

Are they?

[muriel-not-the-dim-one]

@actual-changeling explained, beautifully in my opinion, what happened that afternoon in the bookstore. I did look in the window but only for a moment to thank Mr. Fell for the book Mr. Crowley gave me. At that moment, I realized what “broken heart” really meant.

I decided to write down some things for Mr. Crowley in case he ever came back by. I’m only a 37th scrivener, but I keep very good records.

From the journal of Muriel, 37th Scrivener, Assistant Bookstore Keeper to Mr. AZ Fell: Entry #1

It’s been *7 hours and 15 days*, since Mr. Fell and Mr. Crowley left. I keep finding things to keep myself busy, but I find myself missing them both.

I love the books. The rich smell of them. The sweet bergamot, leather, Earl Grey and Talisker that lingered in the back room especially.

Sometimes I take Mr. Fells soft, grey jacket off the coat rack, where it has lived since he left, wrap it around my body and sit in the sunlight, my body tucked into the chair I have come to love. The first time I did this, it was almost a guilty feeling. Like peeking into someone’s private memories without their permission. But as time went on, it became soothing, calming, loving.

I close my eyes and see flashes of memories. Meeting the snake/demon in the garden. Feeling that first rain, and the overwhelming feeling to protect the demon. To cover him with his wing, when what they really wanted to do was wrap him tightly, hold him close. To take away the pain they felt within.

Sometimes I never even opened the blinds in the shop. (That came as no surprise to anyone who was familiar with the bookshop and it’s strange hours.) The memories flooding through me, transporting me to a time that only a deep love can take you to. As much as I loved reading the books, wearing Aziraphales jacket was like BEING in a book, like living each moment.

Standing with Crawley/ Crowley feeling the rain on their face as the flood was beginning. Sensing the pain inside the demon as he looked at the kids playing. I knew something was wrong with this, but God had to do it, right? I just couldn’t put my finger on why.

Being in Rome, hearing Crowleys voice. Aziraphales heart (even though angels and demons didn’t need them) leaping in excitement, only to feel the overwhelming anger, anxiety, deep shame (?) not because of Crowley or what he had done, but because of the human capacity for evil, far worse than even hell and it’s demons were capable of. Trying to joke with Crowley about still being a demon, only to have it backfire in his face. Telling Crowley he was in Rome to go to a new restaurant. (I really need to try some of the human food. If it was as good as the cuppatea and cocoa I had tasted, I was pretty sure I would like it.) Aziraphale offering to tempt Crowley with oysters and the warmth that surged through their body when Crowley looked at Aziraphale, that half smile radiating like the sun within them.

Standing in a crowd, watching the horror they were inflicting on this beautiful, kind soul. Hearing Crawley/Crowley come up beside him. Turning to look at the demon, her beauty radiating. She cared deeply for the carpenter, and couldn’t understand until Aziraphale told her the message the carpenter was delivering, why they would choose to hurt him. That memory seemed the most painful to me.

Realizing Crowley would face a horrible death if Hell ever found out about Job and what Crowley had done. The pride I felt knowing that Aziraphale, his love of Humanity and Crowley, would be willing to sacrifice his life as well.

On and on the memories went, flashes of joy, love, and a never ending relationship between them.

The Globe and Shakespeare. Why did Aziraphale deny Crowley so much? I couldn’t decide if it was fear or protectiveness.

The way Crowley would do anything for him.

Saving him from the Bastille when he could have saved himself.

Realizing Crowley was always watching out for his Angel. The nazis and possible discorporation, saving Aziraphales beloved books. The touch of his hand as he gave him the sachel. The almost breathlessness I felt at that moment revealing the depth of love that Aziraphale felt for Crowley. The magic show Crowley gave him the confidence to do.

Crowleys note when he asked Aziraphale for insurance. The complete HORROR he felt when he thought Crowley wanted it in case he needed to destroy himself. It seemed to Crowley the way Aziraphale acted, he was appalled at him for asking. Like he thought he wanted him to possibly get into trouble for it. In reality, Aziraphale couldn’t bear the thought of a life without Crowley, the pain and terror showing on his face.

Later hearing about Crowleys “little caper” scared Aziraphale. It made him almost go mad with worry. He knew no one involved but he, understood what even one drop of Holy Water could do to Crowley. As much of a danger, sneaking Holy Water to a demon could be for Aziraphale, he was NOT going to let this happen. He was not going to allow a chance that anything could happen to Crowley.

The sense of relief, the deep love, the rush of feeling, I heard the words almost spoken with an ache, “Aziraphale DOES love me as much as I love him.” The power so strong, so beautifully pure it slammed me in the chest. I had to stand and take the jacket off.

Tears welled up in my eyes, and as I touched the wetness on my cheeks, unbelievably aching for an Angel and a Demon that were kind to me.

*End Journal Entry for the day*

I began sorting through the books, anything to keep myself busy, willing the tears to stop.

[a-random-mooshroom]

*grabs you cutely*

@samishiisam stop liking my posts before I demolish you <3

[real-blgb]

yo're are all fakers. I know it

[tognaeg]

happy for my flatmate having fun and getting high with a friend, but could you laugh a little more quietly past one in the morning

[jasperjv]

Teeth aren't supposed to be black and grey. I promise I'm not lying.

[pitsazawr]

Jack Stauber — The End

"It's only just the end", Tim

[excessivepyromania]

LOOK AT THIS FUCKING FACE

MY BUDDIE LEMON DREW THIS

[scissorcraft]

who cares?

[jangmi-latte]

yeah.

[keferon]

Okay I’m. Usually. Usually I don’t enjoy human aus and usually I hate drawing transformers as humans because it feels so wrong to my brain.

But then I stumbled upon Dream of something more by Gemma_Inkyboots and aaauuuhh fuck. Here’s the pile of the most vague and unspecific and undetailed fanart. Because I’m being torn between “I can’t drawing human designs” and “If don’t draw something for this fic I die”.

[your-fuccked-up-dad-volume61]

The urge to kidnap her & rape her in the woods. Chained against a tree & split open on my cock. The screams in pain drowning out all the pathetic cries for help. Carving our initials inside of a heart on, “our” tree afterwards so everyone knows what a sweet couple we are. 🔪🌹

[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.

—

[zivazivc]

the morning (afternoon?) after this messy stunt. Floyd got off too easy in my opinion, but it's hard for Les to stay mad at him when he makes those sad pouting faces... 🤦

If you think Floyd's being really dumb at the start of this comic before getting a reality check, you have to take into account that he's madly lovesick and was feeling very smug atm; he's also a 15yo pop troll who thinks making out with someone means they're together now; and he assumed Les's sour mood was entirely the result of a nasty hangover...

P.S. They forgot about Hed lol (I almost forgot about him too, drew him just before posting lmao)

[adastra121]

You know what. I’m gonna ramble about the Touchstarved LIs favourite places to kiss (based on the polls from @cacaobean760) — the most popular results — because I have thoughts!

Leander’s is the hands, because. He likes to be the special person, the only one who can actually touch MC’s hands without being affected, kissing them on the hand is a possessive thing. But also, even without the curse, he strikes me as someone who likes to kiss people on the hand in that classic romantic, gentlemanly fashion. He’s a performer, of course he’d go for that classic romantic gesture, raising your hand to his lips and kissing the knuckles. Kissing the inside of your wrist, your pulse point, he likes the amount of trust you place in him. And apparently he’s ticklish, so. Tickling under his jaw, he laughs and then he holds your hand there, and kisses your palm.

Ais likes the forehead or anywhere on the head, because he likes your mind the most, having lived in the Groupmind for so long, I don’t think he wants you to lose it and everything that makes you you. He strikes me as someone who really likes people’s minds, judging from the way he likes to listen to Kuras ramble about alchemy, judging from the questions he asks MC in the demo. He just seems the type to be genuinely curious and interested in what’s going on in your head. Kissing you on the forehead or temple whenever you’re lost in thought in those comfortable, quiet moments with him just to bring you back like: “Where’d you fly off to just now, sparrow?” Also he’s tall, so he can reach your forehead more easily.

Vere likes the intimacy, sensuality and power behind neck kisses. He likes the warmth, how your scent is stronger there. He likes how he can hear and feel your pulse under his lips. Gently tracing his sharp teeth along your pulse point, your carotid artery. With just enough pressure to make you hyper aware of his every movement. It would just take one bite. One quick slice of his fang, a spray of red and you’d bleed out in his arms. He thinks you’d taste heavenly. It doesn’t mean that he wants to kill you, he just likes that he can, he likes the amount of power he has over you — and maybe that you trusted him enough to give that to him.

[sancastarcs]

"your existence isn't a sin" "no matter what weapons you are carrying, you being there isn't a sin" oh........franky who has known about robin since his childhood and robin who tried to assassinate his brother and franky who has been taught to never assume something is inherently evil and robin who views herself and is viewed by the others around her as inherently a sin...and franky telling her that her existence is not a sin...