#another crack fic

[novirp13]

Nearly midnight but still can't sleep so I'm trying to tire myself out by searching through Legend of Zelda fandom. Linked Universe just updated, after all, maybe there are some new installment

Me, slightly happy: Oh! Warriors appreciation fic! There are 4 of em!

Me, squinting my eyes: ...wait a sec

Linked Universe fandom has two mood. It's either full of angst or full on crack :'D

[little-pondhead]

The Curse Of Hope

_

Danny is in another universe. He had a reason, but he doesn’t remember anymore. He can only stare, horrified and disgusted, at the sickest city spirit he’s ever seen. Shivering and swaying with every step, core exposed, and ectoplasm leaking from wounds that are decades old. A ratty blanket was thrown over their shoulders, barely hiding the spirit’s pale grey skin and protruding black bones.

The spirit didn’t even sense him until he reached out to touch its wispy shoulders. The spirit flinched, clutching at the dozens of trinkets hanging from their neck and tucking in on themselves like they were expecting a blow.

“Oh, shit,” He swore, floating back a few feet, hands in the air, to show he meant no harm. “I’m sorry. I promise, I’m not here to steal from you.” The spirit shivered again and rolled a pearl necklace in between their fingers. A nervous habit. “Uh, I like that pocket watch? It’s very nice.”

That got their attention. They peeked at Danny, and he saw that more tattered cloth was covering their eyes, blending in with the stringy hair that reached the ground. Their blanket fluttered weakly, revealing hundreds of thousands of tiny marks etched into their skin. Scars, really. Scars that wrote out curse after curse onto the spirit’s very being. They burned with evil intent, and even reached inside the spirit’s body and wrapped around their core.

Occasionally, blinding specks of color raced across their body, temporarily erasing the writing, but it always returned quickly. He watched, a little detached, as one particular line rewrote itself across their rough forearm, drawing fresh ectoplasm like someone was writing it with a thin knife.

“Are you…alright?” Danny stuttered. A stupid question.

The spirit cocked its head. He couldn’t see their eyes, but he felt their burning gaze as they pondered the question.

“The pain of others becomes mine own.” They rasped. “The lights of the city dim as rotten wealth clogs mine veins. Magicks long forgotten have eaten mine skins, pulled mine cloak, and darkened mine skies. Helios has refused to grace mine doorstep, and the seasons of the Earth have revoked their kindness.”

Danny held his breath. It felt like he was the one with the exposed core, not the spirit.

The spirit shivered once more. “Tell mine soul, little lamb. How could this Forsaken City know peace, when it was long since ripped from mine hands?”

Shit, he needed Frostbite. And maybe Clockwork. Now.

-Or-

Danny meets the spirit of Gotham City. The villains and rogues that have plagued the city for decades are literal curses that are taking quite the toll on Gotham, and honestly, Danny isn’t sure how much longer they can hold out. The heroes seem to be doing some help, and are probably the reason Gotham made it this far, but the poor city needs help from the Realms if they want to get better.

Luckily, Danny can provide that help.

But only if he could get Gotham to leave their city behind. Because recovery is going to take a very long time.

[cosmicstarlatte]

[MC wrestling the mic from Lucifer at the RAD assembly]

MC: No! NO!

Lucifer: Get off stage!!!

MC: WHOEVER TOOK BEELS CHIPS FROM THE TABLE, YOUR DAYS ARE NUMBERED!!!

[MC & Lucifer wrestling on the floor while the students watch & laugh]

Diavolo: (laughing & then looks down at the chips he's eating)

Diavolo: Oh. Oh no. I've made a mistake.

Barbatos: ...We have to put you into hiding my lord.

[walmart-miku]

ok people we gotta stop making mori the source of all evil with soukoku. Yes mori is evil about how he treated yosano and a lot of the pm members but that's a whole other can of worms.

Anyways with skk MORI WOULD NOT TRY TO GET IN THEIR WAY IN FACT HE WOULD ENCOURAGE THEIR ASSES TO GET TOGETHER THIS PANEL EXISTS FOR A REASON.

MORI SHIPS THEM SO BAD ITS ABSOLUTELY HILARIOUS.

Fics need to stop making this dude try to prevent skk from dating. I want a crack fic where mori is just like "Hey how was ur day do u like to kiss guys?" To both dazai and chuuya. I want mori shenanigans where he's actively trying so hard to set them up and Elise is sitting in a corner with kouyou and they're hard core judging him.

[aerkame]

Prwincess Wookong & The Dark Prince Macaroni

Everyone is having a great princess tea party until things go rogue. Hopefully you can save the day. (Slight Wukong and Macaque x reader)

A pile of books fell to the floor as a heeled shoe stomped onto the table. "As your princess, I demand a fair trial-no-I ORDER you to give me a fair trial!" Princess Wukong brushed down his messy fur with his hand, it was a mess from lack of care, all of these responsibilities as a princess really wore him down.

Placing his teacup down in confusion, MK spoke "I haven't even said anyth-" "Ah bup bup. Not a word from you traitor!" Wukong held his tail to MK's lips to keep him from speaking. "I trusted you as my loyal lady in waiting and here you are, framing me for the murder of my own scholar!" He pointed to a now 'dead' Tang who was lying on the floor slurping away at noodles. "I simply can not stand this heartbreak!" He fell to his knees dramatically, bringing his hands together in the shape of an imaginary knife as he hit his chest with it before falling off the table, bringing everything else with him down to the floor. Pigsy sighed, leaning further into the couch. They were going to have to clean that up later. He looked down at the small child they were babysitting, at least she was entertained enough to stay still and quiet.

Reflexively looking over to you, Wukong gave a wink before continuing his over-the-top acting.

"If...if only there was some brave and noble knight that could take me away from this terrible situation." He brought his hand to his forehead in a woeful display.

Laughter filled the living room as the little girl kicked her feet happily while you had to stop yourself from giggling to stay 'in character'. You stride over to kneel at Princess Wukong's side, holding his hand. "I am here my princess." You smiled down at him, giving the most heartfelt look you could muster. Beaming up at you he continued "Oh my, I must have been blessed by heaven itself to have such a beautiful knight at my side! Please fair knight, take me away from this situation!" You were about to answer when another presence made itself known.

Falling through a shadow behind you, The Dark Prince, Macaroni made himself known. "Not so fast my sweet knight." Your face grew hot as hands were upon your waist within seconds, pulling you away from the princess who was now fuming. "I, Dark Prince...Macaroni...can not let you ruin my plans!" Macaque didn't like the name, but everyone agreed to just go along with what the kid wanted. He twirled your body around to face the kid on the couch "Prepare yourself, for you must face my terrifying dragon if you want to save your princess!" Before anyone could say anything, a green dragon popped out from behind the couch to attack you, pelting you with it's deadly pillow breath, it's cardboard tail flailing around as it moved.

Observing the knight and dragon fighting, Macaque let the smallest of smiles grace his lips... which promptly disappeared when Princess Wukong gave him a small push with his tail, having gotten off the floor to stand near him.

"Oh. Hey 'Prwincess Wookong." Mimicking the way the kid talked, the dark-haired monkey gave a push back, ignoring the small glare aimed at him. Silence fell between the two as the rogue tea party continued on in the background. "I thought I made my intentions clear the other day." Wukong was first to break the silence. "And I never agreed to stop my pursuit." Macaque shot back. Stretching a bit as he picked up a stray pillow, he threw it onto the Monkey King's face chuckling...until it was thrown right back at him. "wha-Hey!"

Looking around the couch area, both you and Mei searched for more pillow ammunition but found none. You looked at MK and the others who were now seated by the TV for help, they pointed to the opposite side of the room where your gaze followed. The two celestial monkeys were now having their own pillow fight, wrestling on the floor once either of them ran out of something to throw. A stray pillow managed to knock off Wukong's plastic tiara, leaving the monkey man offended. "How dare you! That was my favorite tiara-" Another pillow nailed him in the face, cutting off his sentence. "That's your only tiara dumba-" Now it was Macaque's turn to be cut off with a pillow to the face, this time by you.

Sitting up, both monkeys calmed down enough to face you. Wukong stood up to embrace you, nuzzling his face into your side. "Oh my dear knight you have to save me from this terrible, evil, man! I simply can not bare to have my feelings tortured like this!" Before you could answer, another more rougher hand grabbed yours, pulling you into a close hug. Kneeling down in front of you, Macaque smirked at the princess's glare. "Sweet knight, you have bested my dragon and landed a daring hit on me. Truly, no one greater or better suited than you exists to stay by my side. So will you do me the honor of becoming my future queen?" The room went silent, Wukong went ape mode.

[ryssbelle]

My last post is a sneak peek to the next chapter of my crack fic which has just been dreamworks movie references so far XD

The most recent chapter can be found here

The BG are just the ones from Trolls 3 but I killed the trolls

[lizardkingeliot]

everyone at brakebills watching the same 6 people summon monsters from other worlds and kill god and break magic and nearly start the apocalypse 80 times in a row while the rest of them are simply trying to get an education and learn to make fire with their hands

[ptsdangeldust]

i'm thinking about this moment here. where alastor was visibly annoyed already and did NOT want to talk to husk and husk just had like an honest question to ask about why alastor is being so shady. and alastor is just like haha shut up. shut up stop talking about it. and the little ear pet comes off as cute aggression but it really feels like just straight up aggression-aggression.

[darthstitch]

The Shade of It All

Listen.

Titania, Queen of the Fae, can't accept that Dream of the Endless never took her up on a second invitation to her bed.

(For once, Dream decided to be sensible about his lovelife, which was, as everyone knew, tended to be catastrophic. That has since been addressed, but we'll get to that in a little bit. Give us a moment.)

So the vain, capricious, very dangerous Queen is incensed when she hears that His Darkness, the King of All Night's Dreaming, has taken up with a human. An immortal human, mind you, but the insult absolutely cannot be borne! It was insupportable!

And for the love of the Puck, they were married? Bound in heart, mind and soul, so Dream claims, that the very Dreaming itself recognized Robert Gadling as mate to its King and Heart? Yeah, Titania was going to challenge that, because Dream had been married before and gods above and below only knew how that ended.

So she thinks she's going to get a free show out of this, right? Bring the Lord of Dreams low, expose him in his passions before the avid, greedy eyes of the entire Unseelie Court, witness losing himself in the carnal charms of his chosen mate. She'll take whatever petty vengeance she can get.

(Perhaps there was a little bit of deviltry here from Desire's direction, because they were quite annoyed at the want and need that was currently centered around their brother. It was enough to make them reach for the Endless equivalent of Brain Bleach.)

Except she doesn't count on Feral Chaos Gremlin Hob Gadling.

Feral Chaos Gremlin Hob Gadling, who honed his eloquence and gift for words in an age where literary giants like Christopher Marlowe (and Shakespeare) had lived and breathed and spun their out their stories and tales to inspire the dreams of men.

Feral Chaos Gremlin Hob Gadling, who was quite capable of reading one capricious, glamour-ridden Faerie Queen for filth, stripping away her carefully crafted illusions with every word, every truth, with the sharpest wit and caustic humor that sent the Unseelie Court and the denizens of the Dreaming rolling in the aisles.

"Lubricate, Your Royal Nibsiness," Matthew the Raven tells him, nudging a whimsically carved goblet of dreamwine in Hob's general direction.

Hob takes it without missing a beat of his scathing read on Titania's grooming and beauty routine, which had already stripped her faerie web gown to ragged shreds.

The shade of it all was so epic that it had cast a cooling effect over the Dreaming, which had been suffering a bit of a heat spell, mainly because His Darkness and the Prince Consort had been thoroughly enjoying their honeymoon before they were so rudely interrupted.

Dream could only smile, cat-content and he had put a very eloquent period on Hob's Epic Read of Reads by dipping his consort into a kiss that was somehow far more passionate and hotter than the lurid fantasies that Titania and her Court had hoped to see. Frankly, they were all blushing like virgin maids in the end.

Desire closed up the Threshold and sulked for a solid six months.

Titania holed up in her chambers and was not seen for another century.

-end-

[zee-has-commitment-issues]

Hi, I wrote another crack fic because why not?

Simon Eriksson: Just Some Guy From Biology

The girls in Simon's biology class are obsessed with Wilhelm, but they seem to have no idea that Simon is dating him. If he finds himself in a study group with them... well, he's only having fun. There's no harm in that.

or

Simon is a little shit, but it's a whole lot of fun.

--

I started writing this months ago, lost it, and then finished it last night. Dani beta read and edited it this morning, and now we're here. Everyone go give Dani (@the-navistar-carol) love for putting up with this shit.

[gryffindorkus]

alright strap in I've got another scorpius & draco malfoy centered scorbus fic concept:

scorpius malfoy, the squib

draco malfoy, the widowed hogwarts professor

astoria dies when scorpius is around 5 years old, leaving draco completely broken since she's the one person who's ever been able to reach into his chest and touch his heart, so he's completely lost without her

eventually draco leaves his job at the ministry so he can move to hogwarts with his young son and take up a teaching position

which he's... surprisingly good at?? (shocking everyone even himself)

in a way he's able to relive the school days that he didn't really get to have for himself through his students. he wants them to be the best versions of themselves that they can, so he's hard on them (especially any trouble making gryffindors) but the kids really do love him

scorpius, meanwhile, gets raised at hogwarts

the castle essentially becomes the place he lives at, but the place he'll never actually belong

because he's a squib

everyone has always known he was a squib

and why would a squib belong in a school for witches and wizards?

that doesn't stop him though, he's always had an overwhelming positive attitude (draco attributes it to astoria)

scorpius knows pretty much every secret of the castle. he's friends with all the ghosts. has spent hours interviewing all of the paintings. he knows all the secret rooms, passage ways, and hide outs. he even regularly stops by to visit Hagrid (who's still the grounds keeper but, in his old age, needs a little bit of help getting everything done)

when scorpius turns 11 draco is amazed at how unphased his son is by not recieving his hogwarts letter. not that that thought he was GOING TO, draco just thought that the reality of the situation might finally hit his son

but it doesn't. at least not outwardly

since scorpius doesn't let himself cry before going to bed on august 31st (even though he wants to)

so there's a new flood of students, except this time they're scorpius's age (and he's never really been around kids his age, they've always been older)

he meets albus potter

he's heard stories of him, of course he has, he's the son of pretty much the most famous wizard that ever lived!

but the thing is... albus isn't what scorpius expected

he's nothing like his loud older brother, james, who scorpius tends to avoid as much as he can

he's quiet and soft and scared (especially when he gets sorted into slytherin, which no one really saw coming). but he also has a way of being funny, brilliantly funny, in a timid albus potter sort of way.

albus is the black sheep of his family

so what is scorpius supposed to do besides instantly become his best friend?

yeah i'm gonna write it.

[ferrarihamilton]

STORMCHASER?? 👀

this fic has been ruminating in my head for almost a year..... it's a chalex au where charles stopped racing after winning gp3, and alex's family moved to the US when he was young and he visits every summer break just before storm season starts.

Charles texts him at 3:18AM on a Saturday in the middle of July: Alex! I hope you are dreaming sweet dreams. I will be in Dogwood in a week! Can I stay with you?

Alex smiles when he sees it in the morning. Charles asks the same question every summer, and he’s always so polite about it. Like Alex hasn’t seen him throw up on himself after drinking a box of wine, and hasn’t been opening his house to Charles for four years now. Like he doesn’t know how the first thing Alex does upon waking is check the forecast. He might not have the fancy equipment that Charles has, but he can see the cartoon of a little raincloud with lightning as well as anybody else. They’re promised high winds at the beginning of August. Alex had already prepared the spare room.

He replies, Hey charlie. What day would you be arriving?

The typing bubbles appear immediately, and a second later a string of kissy faces come through, followed by Hmmm thursday I think

Alex thumbs up the message, and then sends a photo of his view of the sunrise for good measure. In the foreground, there’s his windowsill, littered with various trinkets that Charles has brought before, and then below, the cafe's porch awning, and the sprawling fields for miles to see. Even without opening the window, the air feels fractious, hot.

Alex knows Charles understands, because he sends back four emojis: a battery, an electric plug, a thermometer, and a satellite. Alex smiles again, helplessly, before tucking his phone into his back pocket and heading out start his day.

Chloe is already starting to make breakfast. She turns as she hears him come down the stairs, and smirks when she sees his face. “Charles due soon?”

“Shut it,” he says. Chloe just smirks wider as she hands him a bowl and a carton of eggs.

+++++

Dogwood, Oklahoma, population 300, sits on State Highway 39, and the township’s economy is mostly fuelled by the tourists heading north to Kansas. It’s completely unremarkable, utterly boring, and the perfect place to spend three weeks of summer when your day job normally consists of multiple timezones a week.

His mum had bought the house and the attached cafe soon after they moved to the US: Albon's, a classic tourist trap place with cheap sandwiches and coffee, morphed into half a farm slash petting zoo when Luca wouldn’t stop rescuing animals and plunking them firmly in their backyard. The tourists kept asking about the donkeys wandering around the picnic tables, and Zoe had said eventually, “Well if they’re not going away, we might as well make some money.” They’re proudly advertised as family-owned and operated, which is supposed to make the people feel good about spending their money there, but mostly gets brought up through gritted teeth whenever Zoe and their mum argue about finances.

Alex tries not to get involved. Even though he makes more than enough money now for them to not need the cafe, he thinks it keeps his mum happy, to be reminded of the first life they'd had that was completely theirs.

And the cafe is how him and Charles are still friends. Alex had been furious when Charles told him he wasn't continuing with racing after winning GP3. Alex would have given everything to have beaten him, and here Charles was, acting like it didn't mean anything.

But Charles had followed him to Oklahoma that winter, instead of going home. He'd helped out at the cafe, and the night before his flight back to Monaco, he'd told Alex that he'd enrolled at Oklahoma State, tentative major in mech-E. Later, Alex will think that he probably had wanted to be an astronaut. Instead, when Charles' prof in sophomore year had taken his class out in the middle of a thunderstorm, and Charles had dragged Alex along with him, Alex had had the almost religious experience of watching Charles’ face as the sky crackled with lightning.

They’re still good friends; they text fairly frequently, but it’s been a year since they’ve seen each other. Charles is a proper stormchaser now, galivanting around the country on grant money from the college. He looks happy in every photo he posts on Instagram, writes long blog posts using words like isobars and Doppler effect and mobile broadband MNVO. And without fail, he stays at Alex's family home for a week before the storm season begins in earnest, and Alex sends him off to run after tornadoes, like a wife watching her husband leave for war.

+++++

Charles arrives in a flurry, bringing with him a battered Jeep fitted with mods Alex isn’t entirely sure are legal. As she does every year, his mother comes out to stand next to him on the porch as they pull up, and her eyebrows are thoroughly unimpressed until Charles’ smiling face hops out.

“Oh Charles!” she coos. “He was always such a good boy,” and then Charles is kissing her on both cheeks, saying hello and how she looks as beautiful ever, before he turns his attention on Alex, and even though Alex is twenty-six, he feels himself flush.

“Alexander,” Charles singsongs, and then mushes his face into Alex’s collarbone as he hugs him. Alex huffs out a laugh, wraps his own arms around Charles.

“It’s good to see you too,” he tells him. Charles beams at him, and Alex hasn’t followed Charles on one of his tornado chases since he was twenty, but under his gaze, he feels supercharged, electric.

Charles insists on helping out around the farm, because Alex absolutely puts his foot down when Charles offers to pay them for his week stay. This would be useful, because it’s the busiest part of the tourist season, if Charles were not completely useless. He takes nervous steps away when the animals approach him, clumsy with the dirty plates when clearing tables, and even though Alex knows that Charles can operate software with GIS overlay and the college’s ham radios that tune into Skywarn frequencies, he stares at their cash register with the same trepidation most people approach large spiders. And despite all of that— he charms all the little old ladies that come though the café doors, even when he messes up the orders. He makes Melina laugh, which in turn, lets Zoe get on with the bookkeeping undisturbed. He also brings in a shitload of tips. Alex hides a smile, watching Charles flit around and somehow be totally out of place and completely at home all at once.

It’s hard not to be charmed by Charles, his quick hands and the way he looks when he’s concentrating. Alex was a lost cause when he was eighteen; he sees no reason why that might have changed now.

+++++

Alex is always worried that Charles will get bored when he stays. Usually, he’s a doer, not a worrier, but he still has a training regime to keep up, so it's not like Alex can skive off to entertain Charles.

But they do have one tradition, and there’s nothing else to do on a Saturday night. So Alex takes the pickup truck they usually use for moving animals, cleans the hay and muck out, and drives Charles out to the fields. It’s a clear night, and they can see the stars, and he spreads out the blanket over the truckbed, throws down a couple of pillows, and leans back to look up at the night sky.  

“Tell me about your year,” Charles demands, once they've settled in.

Alex shrugs. Anybody can find out how his year is going from every sports website under the sun. He nudges Charles. “Tell me about your year.”

But Charles shrugs too, even though he’s smiling, and starts telling him about clouds instead. “Cumulonimbus,” he says. “Cumulus means ‘heap’ in Latin and ‘nimbus’ means storm cloud. They mean a storm is coming— air currents care carrying the water vapour up. When they develop, they have this dome.” He cups his hands into shape. “And then they can become supercells.”

Alex knows about the team that Charles is going with this year: Lewis, who used to work for the National Weather Service but now he’s a storm spotter for fun; Seb, a professor of climatology and technically their team lead; Daniel, who looks like he’s only there because he’s an adrenaline junkie and a good driver.

Alex knows from reading the captions on Charles’ Instagram posts that storm season starts in August, and the café is the first stop. For the next two months, he’ll follows the weather patterns as they shift and morph on radar displays, driving into fields, into wide-open terrains of grass and dirt and lakes with no roads and a cloudless sky, and waiting for the winds to pick up before they go.

He knows their time is limited, so Alex drinks in the sight of Charles and all the ways he’s changed in the time they’ve been apart. He tries not to wish for anything more.

At the end of the week, two more Jeeps roll into the driveway, Seb, Lewis, and Daniel all get introduced in quick fashion, and then Charles kisses Alex high on his cheek, and waves at him the whole time they’re driving away. Alex watches him go, waving, sore.

+++++

August turns into September, and the season picks up again. Williams has a solid midfield car now, and it's good, seeing the fruits of his hard work, having a team around him that listens to him, takes him seriously. Him and Charles continue to text, infrequently, as they always have. Charles tells him about amazing tornadoes, sends photos of himself at the World’s Largest Ball of Twine in nowhere towns on the side of highways, miles and miles of cornfields.

In return, Alex sends photos of the track, some terrible coffee they make him try for a marketing challenge, Luca screwing his face up at his maths homework, the crowd of fans at Singapore.

This is why it’s particularly insulting, that Alex finds out from fucking Lando of all people, that Charles got struck by lightning.

“What,” he says. His hands are clammy where he’s clutching his phone.

“Yeah, Max mentioned it to me. Guess Daniel told him. They’re having one of their weird on again things again.”

Alex couldn’t care less about whatever drama Lando has embroiled himself in. He’d known, logically, the risks of storm chasing. Except it was Charles, who has always seemed bigger than it all, exempt from the rules of physics and karma and everything else that made the rest of them mortal.

He checks Charles’ Instagram after Lando hangs up. The last post is still there, from a few hours ago. Alex had already seen it, liked it, thought nothing of it. A photo of a long stretch of highway, Daniel’s exaggeratedly frown. Location tagged Humboldt, Tennessee: stuck here for a few days with an upside down smiley face.

There’s a shiver running up his spine, a tense, live wire. If he touched anybody right now, he’s be unsurprised if the venom of it ran straight through them.

That feeling only intensifies in the twenty-four hours between Landos call and him pulling up outside the only motel in Humboldt. He stands outside the car feeling angry and frightened as he figures out what to say to Charles. This is greatly ruined by how Charles stumbles out ten minutes later in socks and slides, and stops dead.

“Alex?” He blinks. "You're supposed to be in Austin."

Alex is; it's Wednesday, race week. He has media duties in the paddock tomorrow.

“Did you get taller?” Charles asks, when Alex still doesn't say anything.

“I don’t think so,” Alex manages to get out. He's still feeling that sickly furious feeling, and Charles must see it on his face, because he huffs.

 “Fucking— I’m fine, the car is ruined but it had to happen at some point.”

“Does it?”

Charles squints at him. “Is this a trick question?”

"Charles," Alex says, but he's stopped by movement in the motel. harles glances back. A door is open, and Seb is lounging casually against the door frame in sweats. Alex didn’t know it was possible for a man wearing a headband to look so frightening.

 “Let’s go for a drive,” Charles says.

+++++

Charles directs them back onto the highway. He riddles with the radio, turning the dials until it crackles into a frequency that’s giving a weather report. Alex has to keep his eyes on the road to drive, but he knows what Charles looks like even without turning his head: lips pursed, hands twitching like he’s looking for a notebook before his thoughts fly away.

"Here," Charles finally says. It’s a dirt road turn off that looks like it leads nowhere, but Alex turns off all the same.

“You’re here,” Charles says wonderingly, even before he's killed the engine. Alex takes a deep breath, turns to face Charles. Seeing his face, whole, open, looking at Alex in that way lets the last of Alex’s worry melt away.

“Okay,” Charles says, and Alex leans forward and fists his hand in the collar of Charles’ shirt, and kisses him.

[frownyalfred]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Batman - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Clark Kent & Bruce Wayne Characters: Clark Kent, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Lois Lane (mentioned) Additional Tags: Minor Injuries, Crack Treated Seriously, Blood and Injury, Kryptonite (DCU), Hurt Clark Kent, Fluff and Humor, Worried Bruce Wayne, pov you ask your best friend to punch you, "everyone has a plan until they get punched in the mouth", bruce "none of my teeth are real and neither is my nose" wayne everybody, no beta we die like jason todd, Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Relationships, but can be read as pre superbat if you want, yes this is a little like the x men first class scene sue me Summary:

“Contrary to popular belief,” Bruce said, “I don’t like hitting people.”

“But you’re good at it,” Clark said, “And I know you won’t hurt me.”

The look returned.

“Won’t hurt me more than what I’m asking for,” Clark clarified quickly, “Which is to punch me in the nose. About as hard as you can.”

[aletterinthenameofsanity]

Does anyone here remember when I decided to grab three randomass characters from two different seasons of Power Rangers, NONE OF WHICH HAD EVER APPEARED ONSCREEN TOGETHER, and went, hey, I wonder what the hell would happen if we shipped them together? Just for shits and giggles? And wrote a coherent 6k oneshot that actually made their character arcs deeper and make more sense than the show's? Now that was a proper crackship!

(Anyway, I was putting together the last of the playlists for this series and stumbled upon my Matt Griffin/Heckyl/Levi Watson fic. And remembered how batshit insane I could be back in the day. Because I don't remember how I thought of this concept, just that it worked out weirdly well. Also led to some of the funniest scenes in the series when Chase/Ivan found out that Heckyl was not only Riley's brother's Soulmate, but that Heckyl and Matt had another gold ranger as a Soulmate. I'm still tempted to write the world's funniest family dinner ft. Heckyl, Matt, Chase, Ivan, Brody, Levi, and Preston.)

[monstrousvoice]

Tw for alcoholism?

Husk starting to realize he is losing his power. His gambling is getting out of hand, he starts drinking more to combat the nerves at every table now. The tides turned, he can feel his luck drained away, ebbed, receded. He can't feel the next shift in the tide at all. So he drinks for false confidence.

It makes him sloppy. It makes him angry. It /scares/ him.

He sits in his office, empty bottles near by and half filled glass in his hand. Rings of condensation lay on the soul deeds spread out on his table. Many of them are piled for sending out to the new holders of the contract. More than half at this point.

A select few with recognizable names, and the mental image of the matching face, are on the couch beside him. Contracts only. So many of them, even those treated well, even those where the contract is just a formality of protection, don't even look at him anymore. The ones who do, he can't stand how they look sick with worry whenever he calls on them. Whenever they share a glance in passing. Whenever they see the false snarl fall when reality hits him.

It was getting bad. He was getting desperate.

His glass was empty again.

(Is that a good amount of angst for ya?,

frick-it-sugar-spice)

HOOOOOOOOOOOOO

I love it, that's so good omg - the fear, the anxiety, the worry - he knows he's going down hill and he can't stop it. He can see the cliff edge and it's too late to jump out of the car, to get to safety, to call it quits.

He isn't friends with his contracted souls, but he did have a somewhat safe space for them to stay and work. They were allowed to protect themselves, he never forced himself on any of them, he made sure they got food and even drugs of they wanted em.

And now so many of his people have been traded away because of his false confidence - his inability to stop himself - that they don't even try to beg for him to stop. They simply steel themselves and walk into the arms of their new owner.

It infuriated him.

If he could just win one hand, just the one, he'd be back on top, he could win everyone back, he'd get his money back-his reputation-

[theficlistpodcast]

The whiplash can be intense 😭☠️