#boy with the bread

[sabsgames]

one thing i don’t think people talk about enough in the THG is Peeta’s rebelliousness. like sure we focus on Katniss because she played such a huge role in the whole rebellion but Peeta’s situation is so interesting to me. like he went into the games prepared to die, he knew that he hadn’t a chance (or if he did a very small one) of beating Katniss and the Careers but still he kept loyal to who he was. he refused to bend to the animalism nature that lot of the children in the games develop. its also very telling when his talent in catching fire was a depiction of Rue in her bed of flowers thus showing that he refused to let the capitol ignore their crimes. he takes something so tragic that united the district (11 giving Katniss bread) and simultaneously calls outs the capitals brutality whilst also letting them know that they caused what they fear. unity. hes just so simple and calm in his rebellion compared to Katniss’s direct approach that i feel the smaller aspects sometimes get swept under the rug…anyway stan firegirl and breadboy <3

[lovekendri]

kids forever | peeta mellark

peeta mellark x fem!reader

request: may i request peeta x fem!reader fluff? just sweet friends to lovers, fake dating is always welcomed too!!

i absolutely love this! i literally wrote this at 2 am because i was in need of some peeta too. i hope this is what you're looking for, and i love writing requests, so keep them coming! ♡

summary: you realize you're in love with your childhood best friend while you try to stifle him with a pillow.

cw: tooth rotting fluff, shy!reader

wc: 1.8k

type: ❀

"Kids, time for dinner!" your mother called out, peeking her head out of the door, the setting summer sun beginning to burn your cheeks.

"Coming!" you yelled back, grabbing Peeta's hand. He dropped his chalk on the rough, pothole covered ground and followed behind you, his feet dragging on gravel.

You pushed open the screen door of your little cozy home, sunlight shining through the freshly washed windows, yellow summer glows and pink burnt cheeks on all of your family.

You pulled out a chair at your old, tethered wooden table, ready to enjoy your mother's delicious dinner, fresh chicken from the market, roasted carrots, fresh berries, and carrot cake for dessert. The dinner was special for tonight, as Peeta had come over and your father was paid at work.

"You guys dating yet?" your father joked, sitting down and taking a bite out of his chicken.

"Dad!" you whined, "We're only 7! He has cooties," you pouted, crossing your arms and giving your mother a pleading look to stop your father's teasing.

"Now, now, Mark, let's not give her ideas," your mother said, winking at you and sitting down to eat her own delicious dinner.

୨୧ ---------- ୨୧

"Peeta!" you shrieked, running down the hall to your room from the feathery pillow gripped in his hands, sliding on your socks as you slid around the corner. You jumped on your bed, holding your smaller pillow up in defense from his aggressive whack, trying to fight him off by kicking your feet.

"That's not fair! You can't kick!" he yelled back, smacking you repeatedly with the pillow, sending small feathers flying out of the pillow.

"You always did when you were a kid!" you shrieked back, finally landing a kick on his forearm.

"Ow!" he yelled, dropping the pillow and jumping onto the bed with you, taking your pillow and trying to smother your face with it, his full body weight on top of you while he struggled against your arms to push it onto your face.

"Ew! Mom, look at them! They're wrestling on the bed!" your little sister yelled from outside the door, Peeta stopped dead in his tracks and looked at you, his jaw dropped, your expression mirroring the exact same.

"Kids! I will not be a grandmother to two sixteen year olds!" your mom yelled from the kitchen, coming down the hallway with a basket of freshly dried laundry.

"Mom, we're pillow fighting, like we did as kids!" you said, frowning as she walked into the doorway.

Peeta was still on top of you, pillow half pushed onto your face, and your mother gave you a look of 'really'.

You nudged Peeta off of you, getting off of your bed to go talk to your mom.

"Just because we're teenagers now doesn't mean we're going to do anything, mom," you said. "Let us hang out."

Your mother sighed, a smile creeping up on her lips as she switched the hip the laundry basket sat on, looking at you.

"Behave."

You shut your door the second she turned away, jumping onto Peeta and tackling him with the pillow that he tried to smother you with. You fought hard, his arms a lot stronger than they used to be, his body a lot bigger and much taller. In good ways, of course. They made him look older, more attractive.

Wait, why were you talking about your best friend like that?

The yelling and laughing stopped as you paused again, staring at Peeta like a deer in headlights.

"You okay?" he asked quietly, his eyebrows knitting together in concern as you went quiet.

"Yeah, I just need to use the bathroom," you lied, immediately hopping off of him and rushing down the hall to the bathroom.

You slammed and locked the door, turning your back and sliding down against the wall.

You began to think about him, the way his muscles moved when he fought you, the way his arms strained against your body weight when you'd try to shove him over as you did as kids, how tall he had gotten. You thought about his broader shoulders, his longer hair, his defined jaw, and his beautiful blue eyes. His eyes had stayed the same, but carried so much maturity. The boy who carried so much of your childhood had changed, he was much more attractive and unspeakably amazing to look at. You thought again, over how attractive he had become. You thought once more about his arms, the thick biceps he had developed, able to throw you over his shoulder when you'd try to run from him in the square.

Your best friend had grown up.

You wondered if he thought about you like this, but you knew he couldn't. You were falling in love with your best friend, something that couldn't happen. Friends since forever, never more than that. He was only that cute blonde boy you met one day in the square with your family when you were six, the baker's boy, the goody-two-shoes who made bread for your mother's dishes.

You knew your friendship was all fun and games, there had never been any more than platonic love in your relationship, a shared love for one another that was unspeakable. Like a brother.

Now, it was different.

You were looking at him like a partner, like someone you'd see in your future, more than just a friend.

You felt love.

Not just the family love you felt to people like your mother and father, or your sister, real love.

You were in love with Peeta Mellark.

Your childhood best friend, your favorite cookie maker, your brother from another mother, your chalk buddy. Yours.

You sat on the floor for almost another twenty minutes, contemplating on whether or not you should just tell him, tell him how you're thinking, tell him what you're feeling. Tell him that you love him.

You figured he was growing concerned anyways, so you took a deep breath before unlocking the bathroom door once more.

You walked down the hallway quietly, peeking your head into your room and seeing Peeta still laying on your bed in his sweatshirt and jeans, playing with a feather that had flown out of a pillow.

"Peeta?" you murmured, his head snapping up immediately to you in severe concern.

He hopped off your bed immediately, coming up to you swiftly and grabbing your hand.

Your body erupted in butterflies, your face raising a rosy tint.

"Are you okay?" he asked, covering your hand totally with his.

"I'm okay," you said quietly, looking down to hide the blush on your cheeks. "Can I talk to you?" you croaked out.

"Of course, what–"

You shushed him, still holding his hand and leading him to come sit on the bed once more.

He sat down next to you, layers of concern still growing on his face as you sat down, scooting far enough on the bed to cross your legs underneath you. You sat quietly for a few moments, looking down at your lap as you figured out a way to say it.

"I need to tell you something. I don't want to ruin our friendship," you whispered quietly, now realizing that what you believe is out, and your throat began to burn at the thought of losing him because of your stupid love for him.

You began to play with his fingers in your lap, too afraid to let go. Peeta moved to sit the same way as you did, his body turned toward you.

"You can tell me anything," he said, placing his other hand on your knee.

You took a deep inhale and a quiet exhale, sitting quietly for another few moments.

"I like you," you paused. "And not just the like you like a friend, like– like like you, like– love you,"

You didn't dare to look up to him, too afraid to see the expression on his face, whether it was fear or hurt or disgust. All were terrible. He was dead silent, and tears began to well in your eyes.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it–" you began, until his hand moved swiftly from your knee to your lips, pushing your chin to look at him.

"I love you too," he whispered, his beautiful blue eyes searching yours for happiness, for an emotion of something for reassurance.

"You do?" you asked, your jaw falling open slightly in surprise.

"Of course I do, I've always liked you. I've liked you since the day I saw you in the square, little six year old me. I've liked you since I watched you learn how to draw a flower with the silly pink chalk your dad would give you. Since you learned how to ride a bike, since we had our first dinner together. I've liked you since the day I taught you how to make bread, and how to frost a cookie. I've liked you since you met my mother and made fun of me all night for my taste in food choices, I've liked you since the first night we watched the stars together."

Your jaw dropped more in awe, staring at him as tears coated with happiness filled your eyes.

"I've loved you since the day I laid eyes on you."

The tears finally fell, and you threw yourself against Peeta, sobs of happiness racking your body as his arms flung around you, squeezing you tight against him like he wouldn't let anyone take you from him.

"Don't cry, you'll make me feel bad," he laughed, you could hear the cracks of tears in his voice.

"You shouldn't cry!" you said, pulling out of his embrace and looking up at him, a tear slowly falling down his cheek. You took your hand, shaking a little, and wiped the salty water off of his face.

You couldn't help but give him a small peck on the lips.

"Woah," he said. "That is so different from when I kissed you on accident when we were eight."

You laughed, truly laughed, your hand still holding his face from wiping his tears.

"I know."

The night outside finally grew dark, though it wasn't entirely late, it was late enough to go to sleep.

"Would you...stay with me tonight?" you whispered, fiddling with his hand. "Maybe...cuddle?"

"You don't have to ask twice," he smiled.

Your face lit up, pulling him by the shoulder and slamming down into your bed, snuggling up close to his body, engulfed by his arm and tight against his chest. He held you close, the sound of his still racing heartbeat making you giggle quietly. You pushed your leg on top of his, wrapping your arms around his neck and snuggling into the warmth once more.

"Can I say it just one more time?" he asked, squeezing you playfully.

"Not if I do first," you giggled.

"I love you," he said, wrapping his other arm around your back to hold you closer.

"I love you too, Peeta."

main masterlist | my profile | thg masterlist | request | proof-read: ✓

[naocreative10]

« You were dead! Your heart stopped »

« It’s okay, it’s working now. »

[scribblesandsherlock]

I was watching Hunger Games today with my friend and I made the joke like what if Josh’s inspiration for Mike Schmidt, was Katniss? Dark and curly haired, ISTP, borderline stoic and shy with trauma just desperately looking out for their little sister?

Then it made me daydream about an AU where Mike went into the Games with Abby and the whole movie is just him protecting her until the end. Then my dreams turned sad when I realized he wouldn’t do the suicide pact with Abby to get out of the whole winner thing, he would just [you know what] himself and let her win. So, probably best that fanfic isn’t written but an idea was made, people.

[girls-and-guts]

peeta mellark is the most baby girl to baby girl in the history of baby girls. that man is soooooooo baby girl and if you disagree you’re wrong

[chuffed2bits]

[motherhenna]

I've always wanted to draw the famous "boy with the bread" scene from the first Hunger Games novel, especially after seeing how badly the movie butchered it back in the day. Hopefully I did it justice!

[emptyjunior]

Let's talk about Peeta, I believe he's a fully genuine person and a lot of what he said was authentic. Like he can be manipulative, he has that gift of gab, and we see it a lot more in Catching Fire or later on in the series.

But I do believe he was being very strategic in the first book as well! Like right out the gate!

Kind of the story presented to us is:

-katniss suspicious of him for being nice

-thinks he's playing the game to screw her over

-oh she was wrong he's just a good human being

And I think a lot of elements of that interpretation are true! Katniss is wrong about him trying to screw her over!

But he is still being strategic, he does have plans and he is trying to save himself, not just sacrifice for her.

We all remember the "she came here with me" moment, life changing, showstopping, hilarious. And that was a true moment! He does love Katniss!

And Haymitch interprets it as what it is, a gift to Katniss to make her seem desirable = attract sponsor attention.

But it was also very beneficial to him as well! Like ask yourself what happened just before that.

Katniss had just received a 12, the entire team was excited about just her, immediately forgetful of his 8. Peeta had just told Haymitch they could train without him, something Haymitch says he offered himself (which I believe) but Peeta is not a fool. He was aware that what happens now is: the mentor focuses attention on the one who will win! And Peeta was sparing himself the pain of Haymitch telling him that first.

So Peeta is being forgotten about by Effie and the wardrobe crew (their entire PR/propoganda department) and he is losing training from Haymitch.

So what does he do?

He goes on television and presents the plot of Star Crossed Lovers. Sells the story of the Duo, the Couple.

And it's a valuable story! Effie eats it up, Haymitch knows he can sell it, but the only way to sell it is if the two are a pair. Two lovers training together, coordinating together, being publicly mentored together.

Peeta made sure he was given every advantage Katniss was getting with one simple interview, he's always been strategic. Even more strategic then Snow cause he actually knows how to sell the truth.

And immediately after that is him and Katniss's little moment where they talk about humanity together. Peeta confesses that his greatest fear is becoming like the people in the capitol, becoming not himself.

And Katniss doesn't really understand what he's talking about! And my first read I didn't either!

He's feeling guilty cause he just sold himself. He participated in the bread and circuses, and he's reeling at how easy it was and how good he is at it.

[shepscapades]

[audible eye roll] yeah they’re soooooo bad

[officialspec]

hi! i love your brisbane meshi au and saw you mention that you headcanon senshi as japanese-iranian. genuinely curious, is there a reason why?

a lot of the reasons i read him as japanese are most likely little bits of cultural influence from miss ryoko herself but i still think its fun to tack them onto his characterisation (like the type of food he makes and his quiet, self-sufficient style of masculinity)

the iranian part mainly comes from how hes drawn in modern au sketches/with his helmet off hehee i was reading the ddh volumes in between chapters and it rly struck me how much he looks like a very beautiful middle-eastern man LOL

[lovekendri]

painter | peeta mellark

peeta mellark x fem!reader

request: I saw a tik tok of someone painting on their s/o back and now I can only imagine peeta doing that

this is singlehandedly the cutest thing on this planet. i am absolutely sobbing. ♡

summary: peeta ran out of canvases, but can't he just make you a canvas?

cw: the sweetest fluff you'll ever read.

wc: 1.2k

type: ❀

"Baby!" your boyfriend, Peeta, called from the other side of your cozy home inside Victor's Village. "I ran out of canvases!"

He was coming down the hall with his box of art supplies under his arm, a soft blanket slung over his shoulder.

This wasn't the first time he had run out of canvases.

"Can you be my canvas?" he begged, setting his box down at his feet where you stood looking out the window.

It was a brisk summer day, a light wind breezing through the windows and the glowing yellow sun setting in the distance, casting a pale orange glow throughout the large windows in your house. The sky was a pale blue, fluffy, white clouds spreading across for as far as you could see.

You sighed happily, looking toward him and nodding your head.

A large smile spread on his face, and he proceeded to set down the blanket on a small clear area of the living room.

"Turn around!" you yelled, giggling at his startled reaction.

"I'm turning, I'm turning!" he said, spinning on his heel and making a dramatic cover of his eyes with his hands.

You began to take off your shirt, throwing it off to the side before you moved your hands to your back.

"You act like I've never seen you naked before," Peeta said, scoffing as his shoulders slouched, the click of your bra coming undone breaking the silence as you tried to come up with a smartass comment.

"Well, we're not doing that now, are we?" you asked, getting on your knees and laying down, your now bare back hitting the cool air and turning your head to face him.

He turned around, sitting down to your right and pulling his nearly falling apart cardboard box of paint toward himself.

"We need to get you another box," you said, your eyes meeting his big, blue doe eyes.

"I know," he nodded, pulling out a thicker paintbrush with an incredibly long wooden handle and setting it next to his leg, pulling out a plastic palette piled at least two inches high of old paint.

"Two things," you began, utter confusion coming out of your mouth as you gave him a weird look. He hummed, looking up from squeezing his paint onto the palette. "One, who the hell needs a paintbrush that long, and two, why haven't you cleaned off your palette?"

He paused, pondering the question before coming up with some snarky comment.

"I personally don't know why the paintbrush is so long, but I do know why I haven't cleaned it off," he squeezed a small portion of a brown onto his palette over a pile of greens, blues, and purples. "It's too much work."

You scoffed, turning your head back and placing your chin on your hands folded in front of you.

The first stroke of paint startled you.

"That's cold!" you squealed, your shoulders arching back as he began to paint a large stripe above your hips.

He set a hand gently above your butt, the waist of your shorts pulled down so he had room to paint.

The stroking of the paintbrush was easing, it had a slight peace and relaxation to it when you had eventually gotten used to the coldness of the paint.

It was quieter now, Peeta focused on his painting and you laying in the sun as his hands working skillfully over you, like a true canvas. He would occasionally pause to get more paint or to wash off his brush, the short sound of sloshing of water and sometimes the sound of his palette scraping on the floor from moving, to which he would groan at and take his hand off of you.

You watched shadows on the wall dance, affected by the beautiful trees and leaves fluttering in the wind outside as he painted along your back, eventually reaching toward your shoulders.

He paused, setting his paintbrush down and moving his hand carefully to your side as to not smudge the paint. He took your hair into his hands, gently pushing it over your shoulder, making sure he had every strand, and letting it go so it fell at your cheek.

You hummed a thank you, and he exhaled softly in response, picking up his paintbrush once again and painting over your upper back.

You felt him going in different directions and organic ways, but you still had no idea what he was painting. His paintings always consisted of something he remembered from the Games, or another form of memory, but they also consisted of nature and beautiful sceneries he had observed.

The few times he had painted on you before, he refused to tell you until you could see it for yourself.

"I'm almost done," he said after awhile of no talking. You could hear the smile and proudness in his voice as he said those three words.

"I'm excited," you said back, not being able to help smiling yourself.

A little bit later, he lifted his paintbrush off of you, the sloshing of water and the sound of the wood hitting the floor. The sun was almost entirely set now, the sky a dusky orange, purple, and blue.

"I'm done!" he said, standing up and groaning as he stretched his limbs.

You stood up carefully, trying not to disturb your hair and covered your chest with your hands. He took hold on your arm and lead you down the hallway to your shared bedroom so you could see in the floor length mirror, covering your eyes as he turned your back to the it.

"Ready?"

"Of course," you smiled.

He uncovered your eyes, and your head immediately turned around to look into the mirror.

Your jaw dropped in awe, a small 'wow' escaping your throat as you admired it.

He had painted a bouquet of sunflowers. The yellows of the perfectly shaped petals contrasted each other, the colors flitting in and out between one another surrounded by beautiful lookalikes. Dark green leaves sprouted from outside the flowers, perfectly crafted and painted with the curves and veins of each little detail. The center of the flowers were stunning, dotted black and brown seeds engulfed in a sea of beautiful oranges, yellows, and browns. The grass and stems below them connected, entangled by one another and painted into an ocean of green grass.

You almost wanted to cry at it's beauty.

"That's so beautiful, Peeta," you breathed, exhaling and laughing in disbelief and amazement.

"I'm glad you like it, you look gorgeous with it," he smiled, his eyes creasing in the corners as he admired your expression.

You moved to hug him, careful not to smudge the painting, your arms wrapped around his neck and his hands met your lower waist.

"I love you," you murmured into his shirt. "Thank you for this masterpiece."

"I love you more than you could ever know," he whispered back, placing a light kiss on the top of your head.

main masterlist | my profile | thg masterlist | request | proof-read: ✓

[naocreative10]

My rendition of Peeta Mellark. What do you think?

[greenglowinspooks]

(DCxDP) The obligations of a rogue versus those of a parent (pt. 2)

—

Tw: N/A

Will be crossposted to AO3 eventually

(Pt. 1 here) - (Pt. 3 here)

(Masterlist/subscription post)

—

It was a beautiful morning. Somehow, against all odds, the sun was shining through the thick smog perpetually covering Gotham.

And Danny hated it.

He was in pain, he was exhausted, he was grieving, and all he wanted to do was sleep for at least a week.

In an act of celestial mockery, the sun shone regardless.

After around twenty minutes of tossing and turning in bed, trying to get back to sleep, Danny gave up and pried himself out of bed.

He stumbled through the hallway and into the living room, staring openly at every splash of color he saw in the small apartment. He hadn’t forgotten what color looked like in the time he was in the lab, but it was comforting to see.

Someone cleared their throat. Danny whipped his head around, eyes falling on a scrawny, gangly man sitting down in a worn armchair, hunched over a laptop. He was looking at him with a dull, bored expression.

Right. Scarecrow.

His escape.

The chase.

His mom.

“You look a lot less terrifying without the mask,” Danny blurted out, slapping his hand over his mouth. “I didn’t mean that.”

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t call my normal appearance frightening,” Scarecrow hummed, focusing his attention back onto the laptop, “that’s what the costume is for, after all.”

“Oh.”

After a brief moment of excruciating silence, Scarecrow spoke.

“You any good with computers, Danny? Hacking, and all that?”

Danny jolted. Scarecrow needed his help with something! This was great! Now, he’d have more of a reason not to get rid of him!

“Oh, uh, yeah! Not as good as my friend Tucker, but I think I’m pretty good.”

“And you’re familiar with the GiW’s systems specifically,” Scarecrow continued, beckoning him over. Danny complied, shuffling over awkwardly. “Right?”

“Well, I guess? My friends and I got into their stuff a couple of times before they…”

“Wonderful,” Scarecrow said, standing up with a stretch. He shoved the laptop into Danny’s hands and gestured for him to sit down on the couch. “Then you can hack into their system and extract whatever files you can find.”

Danny stared at the man like he’d lost his mind. He looked back at him expectantly.

Danny sat down.

“Yeah, I-I can do that. Tuck and I built a back door into their system ages ago,” he said, checking the screen. It was clear that for all the skills that Scarecrow had, hacking was definitely not one of them. “But, uh, don’t you have someone else that usually does this sort of thing for you? Not that I’m complaining!”

Scarecrow scowled, and Danny felt his heart fall into his ass.

“Usually, I do,” Scarecrow huffed, “but I chose to leave my most recent job with the Penguin early, so now there’s no way that he or Eddie will help me with anything until I make it up to them somehow.”

“Oh,” Danny said.

He had no clue whatsoever who Eddie was.

Danny got to work quickly, hoping that if he ignored the gangly man, he would leave him be. Luckily, he did just that, leaving to go work on something in another room.

Danny checked the laptop’s security before continuing Scarecrow’s progress, making sure that the GiW wouldn’t be able to grab their location.

It was…threateningly good. Whoever Eddie was, he had somehow crammed the functionality of a top-of-the-line PC into a tiny, beat-up old laptop. It almost reminded Danny of Tucker and his terrifying competence with his PDA.

Tucker.

Amity park.

Home.

Danny snapped himself out of his thoughts, tabbing back into the application Scarecrow had up and began to work his magic.

He had near full access to the entire GiW database within half an hour.

Mumbling out a quick thank-you to Tucker, he called Scarecrow over to appraise his work.

“Fixed up some food for you while you worked,” the rogue said, handing him a bowl of oatmeal, taking the laptop into his lap as he did so, “didn’t know how well you could eat, considering you’re recovering from… surgery, so I decided to stay on the safe side.”

Danny had no clue what this guy’s deal was.

He definitely did not tear up at the first genuine thoughtfulness he encountered in weeks, and he did not look away as he ate so that Scarecrow couldn’t see his face.

At least Scarecrow was too focused on the laptop to notice or care.

Or, maybe, he was just mercifully ignoring him.

Either way, Danny ate slowly, not wanting to make himself sick. He allowed himself to absentmindedly look around the room for the first time, taking everything in.

It was strangely homey. The space was filled with warm browns and yellows, a few splashes of color on the wall in the form of (obviously gifted) paintings. There was a beat-up bookshelf against the wall, clearly second-hand, filled to the brim with psychology books. On every available surface there was a different colored candle, all at different stages of use, clearly collected over the course of years.

Danny knew that the man next to him was a crazed, murderous criminal, but his home was oddly reminiscent of Jazz.

He was not about to cry.

“Danny,” Scarecrow hummed, snapping him out of his spiraling, “can you explain this to me?”

He looked over. The rogue was pointing to a new report, seemingly posted only a few hours ago.

Nodding, he took the computer into his lap, pouring over the contents.

He read the report again.

And again.

And again.

Danny swore loudly, crumpling like a wet paper bag, head in his hands.

“What?”

“It’s…” he swore again, glancing back at the laptop, “they…since you became liminal from synthetic ectoplasm, when we’re within about 500 meters of one another, our ectoplasm signatures resonate, and they can’t track us with any of their technology.”

“How is that a bad thing?”

“If we’re not that close to each other, they can track us down from anywhere in the world.”

Scarecrow went dead quiet. After what felt like the single longest minute of Danny’s life, he let out a truly exasperated sigh, slumping over in his seat.

“Yeah, me too,” Danny mumbled, utterly miserable.

“…I’ll have to move my plans back a little,” Scarecrow sighed, “I can’t drag an injured child with me when I attack the Gotham GiW base, you’ll just get in the way.”

“Oh come on,” Danny whined, “I can take care of myself just fine. Besides, Batman brings kids with him to do dangerous stuff all the time, and he’s fine!”

“Might I remind you that the second Robin died violently,” Scarecrow snapped, “and that Batman most likely has more traumatic brain injuries than all of the Gotham rogues combined. That really isn’t the winning argument you think it is.”

Danny paused, trying to think up some way to win the argument. Then, he realized what he had ignored before.

“Wait, Scarecrow, you’re gonna attack the GiW?”

“That’s the plan,” he nodded, “and call me Dr. Crane. I’m only Scarecrow when I’m in the mask.”

But,” Danny sputtered, “Sca—uh, Dr. Crane—that’s insane! The weapons they’ve got- they’ll rip you apart!”

“Not my first time,” Crane said, making Danny wince. “Besides, I have plenty of experience avoiding gunfire. I’ll live.”

“You…” Danny was silent for a while, trying to think of something to say, “fine, but you have to take me with you wherever you go. As soon as they see either of us on their radars, they’ll hunt us down.”

Dr. Crane sighed.

“…Fine. I need some time to plan anyways. Now, you’re going to help me download these files, properly format them, and send them out.”

“…Why?”

“Well, some of the other rogues might appreciate the heads up, and I’d quite like them to be indebted to me. Besides, I still need to pay back the Penguin for ditching him, and he loves knowing things that other people don’t.”

Danny paused.

“That’s an awful idea, no offense. If any of the rogues know our weaknesses, they—”

“Danny, we’re censoring everything. The only things they need to know about are the GiW specifically, and any sort of laws surrounding them.”

Danny snorted.

“You care about laws now?”

“Yes, because if we get taken to Arkham, they’ll hand us off to the GiW the moment they ask, and it’ll be completely legal.”

Oh. Danny had honestly forgotten that Arkham was an option.

“…Ok. I’ll help you. Who are we telling?”

“I don’t think you really need to know,” Dr. Crane said, the faintest shadow of an amused look on his face, “but I’ll humor you for now. We’re sending the files out to the Penguin, Riddler, Poison Ivy via Harley Quinn, Two-Face, and Red Hood.”

Danny nodded. He could live with that.

“Alright, then let’s get to work.”

—

[mumblesplash]

who is this “grian” character everyone’s always talking about anyway?

[jeonsupershy]

VERNON ?!?! CHWE ?!?!?! HANSOL ?!?!?!

[willouwood]

Joel chose to room with two birds and he is facing the consequences

He doesn’t really mind them though-