#temporary au fic

[kineticallyanywhere]

@nicoforlifetrue‘s Rotten Relfections fic has carved out a space in my brain and just lives there now.

[centuryberry]

Queen of the Mountain AUs

With Act I of "Queen of the Mountain" coming to a close soon, I'd like to share little AUs and ideas I have of this fic that I'm considering writing. The first two are directly connected to Queen of the Mountain while the other two are AUs with more mature themes.

Unforgivable AU: In which, the Hot Springs Incident never happens and Shanzha is sent over to FFM as Wukong's bride like in canon. Despite RinRin and Yue's efforts to escape the clan's clutches and reach FFM, they were unable to save Shanzha, who had haplessly triggered her own route (platonic) and was killed by Macaque. While RinRin was eventually able to bring Shanzha back to life, the act was done and Yue has no desire to form a connection with Macaque - uncle or not. The three leave FFM and live their lives. Centuries later in the LMK era, a grown Yue reunites with Macaque and Wukong. (Angst/Eventual Forgiveness/Modern)

Warlord Shanzha AU: After the end of RinRin's Route, Wukong and RinRin renew their marriage, and Macaque and Shanzha (heartbroken) decide to focus on retrieving Yue from the Zodiac Monkey Clan's clutches. When the dust settles, Shanzha reluctantly becomes Clan Head and Warlord of the Land of Eternal Snow. Macaque becomes her advisor and trophy husband, and the pair end up being a platonic power couple. Wukong and RinRin reunite with them later during the JTTW era and old feelings reemerge. Yue may or may not be working behind the scenes to help set them up since the pining is ridiculous. (Humor/Second Chance/Parent Trap)

Fae AU: Faelord Wukong catches sight of Macaque hiking in his forest with his family (Shanzha and Yue) and falls in love with him at first sight. So he lures Macaque into a fairy ring and whisks him away. Macaque desperately tries to find a way back home while trying to resist Wukong's advances. This is made even more difficult when Wukong's wife and fellow Faelord, RinRin, decides to do the same with Shanzha. Or, as I'd like to think of it, two cringefail supernatural beings try to seduce a hot pair of mortals into staying with them forever while these two desperately try to get back to their daughter. (Mature, Dark Themes, Supernatural, Kidnapping, Eventual Poly)

A/B/O AU: In which, Wukong and RinRin (both Alphas) are longtime rulers of FFM whose lives and perception of themselves are turned on their heads when they offer sanctuary to a pair of traveling mated Omegas (Macaque and Shanzha) who are expecting their child. It's mostly an introspection on the gender norms for both primary and secondary genders, established unconventional pairings and how they make it work, self-repression due to societal pressures, eventual self-acceptance, and how inherently and gloriously queer the poly is no matter how you shake them and look at them. (Mature, Unconventional A/B/O dynamics, Eventual Poly)

I'm open to expanding on any of these AUs! Of course, my main focus is on the main fic, but it's nice to dabble in different ideas!

[fuckyeahgoodomensfanfic]

Good Omens Fic Rec: Pray For Us, Icarus (series)

For three centuries, Crowley has been reincarnated over and over as a human with no memory of his past. Aziraphale has tried to find a way to restore him to his true self, but all he seems to do is hurt them both. This time, he only means to steal a brief moment when he walks into Crowley's flower shop. But Crowley can't let it go...

Length: 65,836 words

AO3 Rating: Teen and Up

Best for: Safe in Public, At Home, Human AU, Canon AU, Angst, Romance, One Sitting

Triggers: Temporary Character Death

Read it here, fic by Atalan

*Minor Spoilers* There's nothing I can say about this story that probably hasn't already been said. It is one of the most popular and well-known Good Omens fanfics, and for excellent reason. I know for certain that I'm not the only one who has wept while reading it. Today was my third time with this story, and, whoops, I cried again.

I've tried to express my thoughts in this post in a few different ways. I can't wax poetic about how much I love this story—my writing skills just aren't there. And much of what I've tried to say feels redundant. I even had a whole paragraph comparing it to the themes in this art by chernozemm which is how this story feels to me.

What I've settled on is that you should read this story because it is intrinsically Good Omens Fanfiction. This series only works as Aziraphale and Crowley, and you could not repackage or retell this story for any other fandom, or, God forbid, traditional fiction. All the emotions we feel reading this come from the intimacy we already have with this world and these characters. The story, and the author, know we can read between the lines. Thus, it can drop a simple line and have us crumple because we already know the subtext behind it. That's why I am so addicted to fanfiction! I'm not saying this is the only story that has accomplished this. But I do think it's one of the most successful.

This series, in my opinion, must be read all the way through. In my eyes, this is a singular work and no one should be skipping any part of this saga. It bothers me that the hit counts between the parts is not equal. The first part has 99k hits and the final 47k. The drop off is criminal! Every section of this story is important and critical to the full picture. So if you read the first part, Flowers for Anthony, and did not proceed to the rest of the story, please get on this!

Completely safe in public, but if you can, I really suggest you read this one at home in one sitting. You'll want to devote all your attention to this story. If, for some reason, you haven't read this one yet, please make it a priority! This is one of the most heart-wrenching and romantic stories I've ever read, and it deserves its spot as a fandom classic.

Read it here, fic by Atalan

[castrian-amore]

Bitter had the Heart

Dead Tired(Tim Drake x Danny Fenton), Tim Drake-centric, unfinished, the author is plotting, temporary character death, please check out ao3 for full tags list

3/46 Chapters | Chapter Length: 3584 words

Chapter 3: We are Not Translating Fanfiction

Tim didn’t understand why he had even picked this class for this particular credit. He technically didn’t need it. Then again it seemed more interesting than the other classes and Tim had been hoping for a challenge for once. The teacher was big on working as team and while, yeah Tim could do it. He preferred to work alone on his topics and thankfully there was an odd amount of people in his class so when he requested to do the group assignments he allowed it. 

Until today. 

One Daniel “Danny” Nightingale, was a late transfer into the class for unknown reason. It was also the mysterious kid in the alley. He looked a little better in person but the vote was that he was definitely sick, whether just right now or long term had yet to be determined. He leaned heavily on a cane at the moment walking with a heavy limp.

Tim could point out his handsome features though. The higher cheekbones. The stunning raven hair, his piercing blue eyes. The kid definitely wasn’t immune to the streets. The way he held himself on the verge of running. The sunken wary eyes. This kid was far too comfortable with living in fight or flight mode. If he even knew anything else it would be surprising. 

The teacher pointed to Tim giving him the spot right next to him advising sitting next to the person he would be partnered with. It wasn’t required by any means but it certainly was an option, and he did. 

“So, now that that’s out of the way, where was I? Oh yes the IPA. The International Phonetic Alphabet.” Professor Kaivan began his speech as Danny pulled out a piece of notebook paper and pencil sitting next to Tim. 

“Uh, hi, I’m Danny,”The kid held out his hand and Tim shook it. A cold chill going up his spine from how cold he was, damn. 

“Tim Drake-Wayne,”he introduced with ease, expecting the man to back away or at least move seats because of his name. The Wayne name caught most people off guard but Danny seemed unfazed by it all. In fact he didn’t even flinch or stutter or reel at who he was talking to even. 

“Nice to meet you Tim,”Danny gave him a bright smile. “Apologies for having you stuck with partnering for me after I’m already a late transfer.”

“No issue. Can I ask why you had to transfer?”Tim raised an eyebrow at the man. Their words quiet as the professor droned on. 

“I was in Latin, and I can fluently speak and read latin. The professor kept getting things wrong and I kept correcting them. They kept insisting because they’re the ‘professor’ but I kept insisting I was right, which I was. She didn’t like that so she kicked me out. She got so annoyed she refused to teach me. Thus leaving me with about to loose my credit I really needed this semester so I asked if I could late transfer into another language based class.” 

“And here you are?” 

“Here I am. Only teacher that was willing to give me a chance.” 

Tim snorts a little. Tim had only almost been kicked out of a class one, and that was one of his law classes. Tim kept correcting the professor over and over and over again, and it kept pissing off the professor so bad. Tim had a sneaking suspicion he was going to like this guy. He just hoped the guy was as intelligent as he seemed. 

Being fluent in a dead language was no easy task. None of the bats were fluent in a lot of dead languages but they all knew several spoken languages and a little of a few dead ones. Tim more than others. Books were always his specialty. He preferred to spend the house researching alone in his room or the bat cave. It was part of the reason the other claimed he had a coffee addiction. He did not by the way. He didn’t know what Dick was even talking about. 

“Professor Kaivan is pretty relaxed about that kind of stuff. He assigns minimal homework and prefers to do the group projects over everything else.” 

“Yeah his rate-my-professor score is pretty high.” 

“Sounds about right,”Tim agrees, turning back to the topic at hand for the moment. 

“Now, learning the International Phonetic Alphabet is not for the faint of heart. Having someone to listen and assist when learning this is vital. One of the many reasons everyone in this room has a partner. Learning it is vital for the rest of your success in this class. Breaking down specific sounds a language makes and making it easy for everyone to read any language in this format.” 

Professor Kaivan was an interesting man. Until four and a half years ago he had some of the worst rate your professor scores, but it was rumored that after the death of his partner he sobered up and wanted to help people. Since then, he has been a great teacher. Using his partner method to teach people, becoming a caring professor, giving students days in class to study and work on whatever work needed to be done. He wasn’t a super hard professor to have. 

His hair was graying as the man was into his late 40s going on 50s. Sideburns and his beard graying though. He dressed pretty chill too, half the time coming into class wearing a casual cardigan and a beanie. He was an accomplished guy with a full on doctorate in linguistics. Masters in Psychology and bachelors in the study of Italian. Most of his focus seemed to be on the intricacies of the Italian language but Tim was fluent in Italian and didn’t care to take any of his italian classes. Not that the man had many. 

“I know the 107 letters can be difficult and if you don’t know what to listen for they can sound similar to each other, but that’s why this whole unit is just on breaking down the IPA, and making sure all of us can read, and understand it. Okay?” 

Mummers of okays and yesses echoed through the lecture hall. Tim opened his phone, scrolling to Dick’s phone number and clicking on it. 

Timmy Boi: Guess who just walked into my Linguistics class as a late transfer?

Dickie Bird: Who? 

Timmie Boi: Alley kid

Dickie Bird: No fucking way. Is he that rude in person?

Timmie Boi: No not yet at least. We’re partnered up for the semester though, so plenty of time for me to find out heh. Dude’s got a cane. 

Dickie Bird: So not our so-called mystery vigilante Jason wants us to meet?

Timmie Boi:  Unlikely, He also looks sick as a mother fucker Dick. Like it’s bad. 

Dickie Bird: Damn, so still no leads until Friday? 

Timmie Boi: Unfortunately not. Cams still distorted as fuck with those symbols?

Dickie Bird: Just like all the others. Only copies we have are hand drawn references. No one can get a clear pic. 

Timmie Boi: Anyluck on the Distortion dude? Anything on him?

Dickie Bird: Uhh, he showed up 3 years ago? Works for Jason mostly. Started as a runner, then became body guard and personal protection for a lot of the shipments going in and out of Jason’s domain. That was only after bribing over 15 inmates too. 

Timmie Boi: How the fuck did Jason keep someone, a meta namely, from us for so long? 

Dickie Bird: Who knows. One guy said something about protecting a child. The child is Jason’s guard dog. Brutal when he needs to be. Maybe he’s scarier than he looks? People kept quiet over fear? 

Timmie Boi: You’re the people person, but even then if people are scared we would have heard something else. I just think we have something else in the picture here that we’re missing it all. 

Dickie Bird: Well, any cameras he passed by that night went to static. I had Barb check it out for us. 

Timmie Boi: So his gift can mess with cameras? Only mildly concerning. 

Dickie Boi: Wait, why are we having this conversation right now Tim? You’re in class?!?!?! I’m leaving you alone. Pay attention, and don’t fall asleep, and DRINK WATER FOR ONE IN YOUR CAFFEINE ADDICTED LIFE. 

Timmie Boi: YOU CAN’T STOP ME DICK. I’M GETTING COFFEE RIGHT AFTER THIS. 

Speaking of coffee, he could probably get mystery-dude’s phone number for their homework and stuff. Maybe he could even get coffee with him and help him with his classes. And maybe find out more about that night in the alley. 

“What are you doing after class?”Tim spoke up to look over at the man. Danny wasn’t even paying attention to the lecture. He was… drawing? Way better than anything Tim could draw that was for sure. Maybe he would get along with Damian? Tim liked the easier stuff, taking pictures. He could draw but he didn’t like it nearly as much as being able to get behind a camera and take some beautiful photos. Man, he should get back into that again. Dick was always pressing him to get back into a hobby outside of crime solving. He liked to stick with what he was good at though. 

“Oh? Uh nothing really, just contemplating existence. Why what’s up?”Danny gave a soft shy smile. Oh no. His smile was cute. Also wait, contemplating existence?

“Well, I figured if we’re gonna be stuck together all semester we could get coffee and talk about the project and get to know each other a little better.” Tim could watch a wave of anxiety slip over the man. 

“Well, I don’t know maybe,”a small shrug then a quiet moment of contemplation. “Actually, sure that’d be nice!”  

“Great!”

“Wait, we already have a project?”Danny’s eyes widened looking from his doodle of something? Tim couldn’t make it out but it was pretty? Looked like a pool of swirling water sketched in a gray scale. Who knows. This guy must have been so distracted he didn’t hear the teacher’s words about their project. Rewriting a speech in a non-english language into the phonetic alphabet. 

Tim couldn't help but laugh a little at him. 

This caught a small look from the teacher and Tim stifled his laughter a little even as Danny began to fight his own laughter as the two looked at each other. That was so dumb. Why was he even laughing at that?

“I’ll explain after class.” 

“Sounds good to me, I’m just sitting here… doodlin’.” 

“I see that..” Tim gave him a smile as Danny chuckled himself turning back to his drawing. The man stretching his arms upwards turned to actually pay attention to the teacher. A small frown coming across his face noticing the thin spindly scars edging up the side of his neck across the back of his neck. What the fuck was that? He shook his head. 

Tim stayed mostly alert the rest of the hour long class. Kaivan had started going through the various letters of the IPA and their origins and why they were chosen. It was interesting to say the least. He had learned a lot and the class was definitely different than what he was used too. Danny on the other hand. 

Fuck Tim hoped the dopey smiles and spaced out stared was how he payed attention or their partnership was going to be a lot more strenuous than he originally thought. He swore he saw him falling asleep a couple times there before jerking himself awake. Not that Tim could blame him. He averaged only about 3 hours a night if he was lucky. Then again, Tim didn’t exactly play the whole “catch up on sleep” game. 

It did take a gentle nudge from Tim to get the man away and on their way to the coffee shop. He was slow as he walked with the cane but Tim didn’t say anything about it. Everyone had their little quirks and issues. Lord knows Tim had his. 

The cold autumn air in Gotham was settling around them. 

“What’s your major?” It was Danny who spoke up with a quiet smile. 

“Oh, business. I plan to take over my father’s company,”Tim replied. 

“Wow, impressive.” Danny looked up at the sky with a small chuckle as Tim raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Thanks, what’s yours?”

“Engineering, I was going to do Astronomy but we’ll the Gotham Skies aren’t exactly the clearest.” Danny chuckled softly as Tim gave a nod. 

“The smog helps no one. Glad you found a major you like though.” There was a silence settling between them but it didn’t lessen the mood in fact it almost felt welcomed in a quiet way. 

“Same to you!” Danny looked up at the crows stopping the duo in their tracks. There were almost 10 crows just watching them. Tim, had never seen that. All them staring at Danny. “Boo.” The man whispered and with a small chuckled, all 10 flew off the branches and into the air leaving Tim to watch and then follow. Missing how the birds simply landed up ahead. 

Tim was sort of lost in thought about the revelations they could possibly have about the whole Distortion situation. 

“Heyo, Timmy,”Danny’s voice dragged him from his thoughts and his slow pace holding the door open. “Don’t hurry up and you’ll be soaked.” He hadn’t even noticed a slow drizzle starting to fall from the sky. He held his hand out before running to meet the man. 

Tim joined the man into the warm coffee shop. The scent of pumpkin spice filling their noses as they moved to get in line. 

“Didn’t get too wet did you?”Danny asked concern surprising Tim. 

“Ah, no, don’t worry about me though.  I might be more concerned for when we leave here though.” 

“I’m not too worried.” The man gave a nonchalant shrug. “Can’t kill me worse than I already have been.” Was that a death joke? 

“Oh?”Tim gave a smirk. He wasn’t normally one for puns, those were Dick’s thing but also… Dick wasn’t here. “Did it have you rolling in your grave?” Dick could never find out about this but then Danny’s shit eating grin only widened across his face. 

“Oh, for sure it was to die for after all.” 

“I can’t I’m sorry,”Tim laughed with a smile. “What’re you getting? I’ll pay since I invited you out.” 

“Oh, I might scare you with my order.” 

“I promise you won’t. Mine is insane myself.” 

“One of those extra large pumpkin spice lattes with 10 shots of espresso.” 

“Extra large americano with 8 shots of espresso,”Tim quipped. “I see you’re a man just as insane as I am.” 

“Oh, for sure. I’ve never met someone with an order just as bad as mine,”he admitted as he stared up at the menu. “How are the sandwiches here? Are they pretty dead-licious?”

“Oh god..” 

“Or I don’t know, pretty frightful?” 

“Please Danny.” 

“I bet they’re boo-mbastic.” 

“Who ever uses that word anymore.” 

Okay Halloween was coming up admittedly. Yes there were halloween and fall decorations coming but, but god dammit Danny. It was like having another Dick around. 

“You decided to fuel this.” 

“I did not decide to fuel anything!”Tim complained just as they got to the counter ordering their coffees. It was a barista Tim was familiar with. A kind girl named Sarah who seemed to be all too familiar with the two of them. 

“Oh! Can I also get the mac and cheese please!”Danny offered another charming smile putting some money in the tip jar. “I can pay you back Tim.” 

“No worries.” Tim gave a shrug. 

“Alrighty and here you are Tim.” Sarah handed him his card back with the receipt as he himself put some money in the jar. 

“Damn, she knows your name?”

“I know you too Danny, Mr. 10 shots of espresso at midnight last week. You also fucking work here.” 

“Love you guysssss, and I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Danny practically purred out with an innocent smile. 

“You two together, scare me,”the barista motioned between the two of them. “But honestly, we were waiting for you two to meet.” 

“I’m innocent,”Tim vouched.”Also wait, what?” 

“I watched you order an extra large cup with only espresso shots in it for Finals last semester.” Sarrah refused to answer the apparent group that had been waiting for Tim and Danny to meet each other. 

“I was busy!” 

“You weren’t sleeping!” 

“Anyways I’m going to go over there,”Danny pointed to an empty table by the window. 

“Yeah, Tim. How about you go over there. With your little Date,”She emphasized the word as Danny was already over sitting down unpacking his backpack onto the table. 

“He’s not my date! We literally just met!” 

“Yet. Next in line please!” 

“Sarah-- no-- I swear to--”Tim could have sworn he saw an exchanging of cash behind the counters. Were they betting on something. What the fuck were they betting on?!? He hissed and moved to join Danny in the opposite seat. 

“So did you even catch what the group project is? How much have you studied of the Linguistics 101 class anyways?” Tim pulled out his laptop setting it in front of him. He logged in giving a small smile of the silly chaotic and group picture they had gotten last year at Christmas. Bruce stood on the far right and Jason on the far left Dick’s arm wrapped around his shoulder. Damian was trying to stab Tim again who was moving to dodge it. Steph chaotically cheering the gremlin on. Cass quietly wondering if she should intervene in the middle. Duke full on panicked at what was going on as it was his first Christmas with the family. Barb covering her mouth in laughter in front of Bruce. He wanted to make sure she was included. It was his favorite photo of him and his siblings. 

Fuck. Danny had been talking to him. 

“Earth to Timmy.” A wave of a hand in front of his face. 

“Please just Tim,”he laughs. “Sorry, yes?”

“I was asking about the IPA. Are you familiar with it? I have no idea on anything about it.” 

“I know like half of it? I’ll have to learn the other half,”he admits. “But yes, the project.” 

“Fuck, yeah okay what’s this project?” 

“It involves reading.” 

“No! WHY!” 

“In another language.. That neither of us speak.” 

“Oh god.” 

“Yeah, so we’re supposed to write down a 1,000 minimum word speech, or chapter from a book or whatever and put it into the International Phonetic Alphabet.” 

“I don’t know about you but I speak a lot, like A lot of languages.” 

“Yeah.. I feel the same way.” 

“What do you speak?” Danny playfully pushed Tim’s computer screen down from booting up the program the professor had given them to use to type out the phonetic alphabet. It was still apparently a nightmare program, but he had decided to type it so he wouldn't be deciphering shitty handwriting. 

“Mandarin, Chinese, Italian, German, French, russian, Japanese, tagalog, spanish, I think that’s all of them?” 

“You speak Tagalog too!” Danny’s words switched with ease to the language. 

“No fuckin’ way,” Tim had to laugh at that one. “What else do you speak?” 

“Same things are you but, Esperanto, Swahili, Cantonese, javanese, Sardo(technically a dialect but you know same difference),  Ukrainian, I think that’s all?” 

“I thought I was the Polyglot. Oh! I also speak ASL and BSL.” 

“I know bits and pieces of ASL, definitely no BSL though,”he laughs softly. “But wait what other languages does that leave?”

“Well, a lot but I mean. We could always pick an easy one we both know.” 

“Italian?” 

“Yeah, please. I do not want translate someone in a non-latin based alphabet. It registers funny in my brain.” 

“I gotta ask though Danny… Esperanto?” 

“Okay, leave me alone! I had a friend who spoke it and taught me it so we could shit about others.”  

“That’s fuckin’ hilarious though,”he smirked. “But what should we translate?” 

Danny looked like he was about to burst out laughing. “What if we just fucking translated the Divine Comedy.” 

“Danny Nightingale, are you telling me we should rewrite one of the most famous works of Italian writing, ever. That is also notoriously translated, a lot? And is--- you know.”

“Ma Divine Commedia,”Danny laughed. Tim could not with him right now. “E la fanfiction Tim.” 

“YEAH I KNOW, that’s why I can’t believe you’re suggesting it.” 

“COMMEDIA.” Danny proclaimed with a snort. Fuck that was cute. Thank god his name was called to grab their stuff. He could ignore the small twinge in his chest as he brought them their coffee and the food for Danny. 

“Let’s get this over with I guess.” 

“YES!” Danny threw his first into the air in excitement. “This is the start a beautiful friendship Tim, I promise.” 

“Are we about to be nightmares to our poor professor?” 

“What? Nooooo.” 

“Oh yes we fucking are,”Tim rolled his eyes and smiled as he sipped his drink pulling up the original document. They were so fucked, but at least it would be funny. If Danny was his new partner for his class maybe Friday would come sooner than he thought. 

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[delimeful]

let my mind reset (5)

this is a grim/angsty one, so mind the warnings, take care of yourself, and remember that they'll get their happy ending <3

warnings: captivity/imprisonment, psychological manipulation, dissociation, injury and blood, self harm, unethical surgical implants, offscreen torture, panic attacks, mentions of dehumanization & smugglers, non-consensual drugging with addictive drug, let me know if i missed any  

-

The two of them stayed like that, slumped close, for as long as they could.

Roman’s mind continued to try and slip out of reach, his thoughts sliding back into that hazy, formless state, but it was much harder to truly lose himself when he had the heavy weight of a Human pressing against his side.

For Virgil’s part, he had originally twitched and stirred at every stray sound or movement Roman made, his body tensing in preparation to draw back the moment he was no longer welcome. Roman had to work hard each time to not let his own body stiffen up in turn.

(Even with every startled waking, each reflexive flinch, the Human’s hand stayed soft and harmless where it was wrapped around his own.)

After a few rounds of this, though, Virgil seemed to grasp that Roman wasn’t going to randomly get upset about the situation, and he’d finally dropped into a much deeper sleep.

Apparently, Humans were alarmingly quiet and corpse-like in their sleep. Or at least, this one was.

The pallid skin and dark circles only added to the effect, especially since none of the other Humans seemed to have them. Virgil had waved off his questions, and obviously the Humans working under Marta couldn’t be trusted on word alone, but the physical differences between them and Virgil were striking.

Struggling not to let phrases like ‘malnutrition’ and ‘severe vitamin deficiencies’ echo in his mind, Roman shifted a thumb to rest over Virgil’s wrist and let the steady rhythm of the Human’s pulse soothe his nerves.

They’d burned through the time like that, switching who was awake and who was asleep with relatively little fuss, like a beast with two heads from one of Roman’s old bedtime stories.

When the sound of footsteps heralded their next visitor, Virgil was already conscious, and he wasted no time in springing to his feet and shuffling, slightly off balance, to stand near the other side of his cell.

Roman had snorted himself awake, bewildered at the abrupt sensation of cool air where warmth had been, but didn’t say a word as the cellblock door swung open.

He’d been losing his voice more often, the stress of the situation binding his mouth closed more effectively than any muzzle. Virgil had been understanding about it, had even picked up on a few signs commonly used on the Mindscape, but it didn’t stop Roman from feeling miserable that he couldn’t even bring himself to explain the truth of their situation.

It was Roux, again, who came to retrieve Virgil, and it was still them who came out on top when Virgil lunged at them.

“Nice try,” they said, waiting out his thrashing with a knee pressed squarely against his spine. “You know, you have a pretty interesting way of moving. Self defense classes?”

Virgil hadn’t responded, only heaved shallow, strained breaths from where he was pressed into the cold floor.

Roux shrugged, hauling him back up to his feet with his arms wrenched behind his back. “I guess we’ll find out soon enough. Either way, once you’re a little less pathetic, it’ll be fun to see you in the ring.”

They left the same way they’d come, dragging Virgil off to some unspecified fate without even glancing at Roman, and the door sealed after them with a pneumatic hiss.

Roman was left there, alone. He hadn’t even managed to stand up. He didn’t know when Virgil would be brought back. If he would be brought back.

He lost track of himself in mere moments, mind slipping far away from his numb body.

—

The clang of the cell door closing snapped him back with a jolt, though it took him a few long moments to recognize the sound and what it meant.

Virgil hadn’t come back cleaner this time.

His limbs were scraped raw and bloody at the joints, streaks of dirt stained his clothes and hair alike, and there was a visible sheen of sweat along his skin.

He hadn’t come back drugged, either.

Despite the way his body was trembling, he was already pushing himself back to his hands and knees, barely seeming to notice the way it put pressure on his scrapes.

Roman’s ears flattened back on his behalf, making a low kh-kh of sympathy in the back of his throat as he drew closer. “What happened?”

“They called it— training,” Virgil replied, yanking ineffectively at the clothes they’d put him in. “This huge, brutal obstacle course—,” he muttered a low Human swear, “I don’t even understand how big this place is.”

His hands were shaking, Roman noticed, and they didn’t seem to be doing much of anything to the clothes despite all his efforts to tear at the fabric.

“What is it?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s something on me,” Virgil hissed, gliding his fingers along the seams of the bodysuit. “Something sewn into the clothes, or something, because— Every time I tried to stop, or even just pause, they’d shock me. The obstacles weren’t all metal, there weren’t any wires, so there has to be something on—,” he stopped short, going predator-still.

Roman was still trying to grasp what he’d been told— obstacles? training?— so he didn’t fully notice the way the Human’s eyes flickered down until Virgil was already tearing at the bandages wrapped around his upper arm.

“Virgil!” he yelped, startling forward. “Wait, you can’t—!”

The Human obviously could, though, because the bandages were off and his arm exposed before Roman could even finish the sentence.

They both stared at the short, precise line of dark red that sat a few inches above his elbow. An incision, with neat stitches across it.

There were a few numbing patches stuck to the skin above and below it, but that didn’t stop it from being horrific. Was sewing wounds up like one was mending fabric common for Humans?

Virgil settled his fingers around the wound, prodding delicately at the skin for a few seconds— and then going still.

“They put something in me,” he said in a faint voice, his eyes wide and unfocused.

Then, as though coming back into motion all at once, he started ripping at the stitches in a frenzy.

“Virgil, no!” Roman cried, louder this time, and shot forward to stick his arm through the bars as far as it would go, just barely managing to snag the Human’s wrist and pull it towards him.

The damage was already done; what he could see of the wound had been reopened, sickeningly deep, and it was bleeding heavily enough that Roman felt a little dizzy just looking at it.

Virgil tried to yank his wrist free, and when that didn’t work, he turned towards Roman with a frightening intensity, eyes wild. Roman hurriedly clasped the Human’s hand with his own, hoping his limb wasn’t about to go the same way as the stitches.

“I’ve got you, okay? We need to hold on to each other, right? It’s important, you have to hang on to me, we have to hold on. I’ve got you and you’re alright, you’ll be alright, I swear it.” Roman was babbling now, frantically searching Virgil’s face for a trace of comprehension. “Are you with me? Can you feel my hand?”

Dull Human fingers started to squeeze, the grip intensifying to the brink of unbearably painful— and then loosened, leaving him intact.

Virgil’s gaze was a little clearer, flicking between Roman’s face and their clasped hands. His chest was rising and falling too quickly, breathing shallow. He began to turn his head, as though to look at his other arm.

(There was only one question to ask himself when the Human was freaking out: What would Patton do?)

Running on pure, unadulterated panic, Roman tugged Virgil forward before he could see the injury, ignoring his shrieking instincts to try and replicate one of those all-encompassing Human ‘hugs’ that Patton had taken to as enthusiastically as a fledgling to an ice pond.

He clamped his free hand over the wound to try and stem the bleeding, making an apologetic churr when Virgil full-body twitched in response, and with both hands occupied, he poked his snout through the bars and sharply curled his chin down over Virgil’s shoulder.

After one long, heart-shuddering moment, he felt the weight of Virgil’s head drop onto his own shoulder— as much as he could with the bars in the way— and let his tail flatten against the ground in relief.

(Stars above, this position put the vulnerable underside of his neck far too close to Virgil’s teeth. Humans really did this for comfort!?)

Pushing past unhelpful thoughts, Roman started taking big, deep breaths, keeping their interlocked hands pressed against his abdomen in hopes of encouraging Virgil to follow along. His lungs weren’t as big as the Human’s, but anything would be better than the frantic little gasps Virgil was currently making, like a fish pulled from the sea.

Bit by bit, the panic eased. They’d only barely reached a state resembling calm when the door slid open and the four Humans from before came striding in.

A low, defensive rumble started up in the bottom of Roman’s chest, but Virgil pushed away from him, breaking the odd, stilted hug to face them.

“It’s okay,” he muttered under his breath, the words wobbling strangely “I’ve got it, I’m okay.”

Roman didn’t believe that for a moment, but he also wasn’t willing to tighten his grip and force him to stay. He let Virgil’s wrist slip free without a word. They didn’t need to be any more trapped than they already were.

Instead, he stood and watched as the older Human washed out the wound with disinfectant and bandaged it up and two of the younger ones clung to Virgil as though competing to see who could make the most skin contact.

The bystander— Iris?— watched him back briefly, with a strange, indecipherable expression, before turning her face aside.

The others were far easier to read; they kept casting the same sharp, resentful looks over at him. The glaring had previously sent a chill of fear through him, an almost tangible force that he’d ducked his head away to avoid.

This time, he met them head-on.

He had nothing they could shame him for, not now. This wasn’t a matter of unnoticed illness or lack of care. This was an invasive injury that had been inflicted by their boss, purposefully and maliciously.

Of everyone there, he was the only one not complicit in Virgil’s wound.

And if the Humans wanted to take his eye contact as a challenge, so be it. Right now, Roman was too angry to be afraid.

His growl had dropped to subsonic levels, but he could still feel it vibrating in his chest. Maybe it should have felt strange, to develop such stalwart protectiveness for Virgil so rapidly, after spending so much longer regarding him with wary resentment.

It didn’t. It felt right.

“Don’t try and get it out again, okay?” one of the Humans whispered to Virgil as they packed up, like he thought he was imparting sage advice. “They’ll only end up putting you under and sticking a new one in where you can’t reach, and I’ve heard that the back ones are way more painful.”

Virgil kept his head bowed, hair falling around him and blocking his face from view, but it couldn’t conceal the way his muscles were pulled painfully taut, a stubborn rigidness against every word and touch.

He could have been carved from stone, for how little he had let himself react to their presence, but Roman knew a thing or two about making oneself hard and sharp to survive, enough to recognize it now.

Sure enough, the moment the door closed after them, Virgil shuffled back to where their cells joined and collapsed onto the floor, burning through the last of the resolve that had carried him through it all.

Roman offered a hand, palm-up, because it was all he could give.

It was still bloodied, but Virgil latched onto it without hesitation anyway.

—

With no clocks or windows to see the passing stars, they filled the time with conversations.

“I thought it was going to be like before,” Virgil confessed after another ‘session’, forehead pressed against his knees as though he didn’t have the strength to hold it up himself. “The smugglers, they’d put me through… stuff. To spike my adrenaline before harvesting.”

Roman didn’t ask for specifics. He already felt ill enough at the very thought.

“That’s not what this is.” Virgil’s voice was troubled. “They’re wearing me down and I don’t know why, it’s– I didn’t expect them to target my mind.”

Roman squeezed his hand, gently. Between Virgil’s behavior and the way the clingy Humans always leaned so heavily on him, he’d quickly picked up on the Human affinity for pressure. “This never happened to you with the smugglers?”

Virgil barked out a low, unamused sound. “No. Messing with my mind would have required them to acknowledge I had one. To them, I was more like a particularly dangerous and valuable animal than a person. If it weren’t for Patton…”

He trailed off into silence.

“Why did you come after me?” Roman asked, unable to help himself.

Virgil stiffened slightly, shoulders drawing up like he thought he was going to be scolded again, and Roman hurried to elaborate. “If you thought it was going to be like before. Why risk putting yourself through that again?”

The question was apparently surprising enough that Virgil’s eyes flicked over to meet his, forgetting himself for a moment.

“I wasn’t going to leave you alone there?” he replied, as though it was as simple as that. As though it was obvious.

Maybe for him, it was.

‘If it weren’t for Patton…’

Maybe for Virgil, the only thing more horrifying than the memory of that torment was the thought of going through it alone.

Roman inhaled deep and slow, flexing his hands and forcing himself to remember that they were his, that he was here, in this moment and in this body, no matter how much he wished otherwise.

Virgil had come here to keep him from being alone. The least he could do was not leave him in the dark.

“The one in charge–,” he started, and found that the words he needed were too painful to speak aloud. That would make them too real. “Mind games are how she gets what she wants. Manipulating people. Do they say anything to you? During the… sessions.”

“They test my…,” Virgil paused, searching for the right word. “The reaction of my body and my mind. To see how tired I am. They won’t let me stop unless I’m completely exhausted.”

His hand twitched, the way it always did when he was thinking about clutching the bandaged part of his other arm. Roman interlaced their fingers more firmly.

“Do they… Do they give you anything?” Roman asked. “Put anything on you, or…?”

Virgil rolled his head to the side to look at him, brow scrunched up at the abrupt topic change.

“Not really? They just scrape me off the floor, push me through some ‘sterilizing chamber’, and then I’m escorted back here.”

Roman’s scales clacked, his heart jumping. “Hold your breath. In the chamber.”

“Why?” Virgil asked. His voice hadn’t changed, but Roman thought his pulse had grown just a bit faster.

“There’s something– I think they’re going to put something in there.” Roman floundered for the words again, frustration with himself prickling at the base of his spine. “Just– please?”

Virgil let out a long, exhausted breath, but nodded shortly. “Okay.”

–

Roman had guessed correctly: Whatever Marta’s plan was, it had started with simple, repetitive exposure to her haze, without the victim even aware of its presence.

He’d thought it was lucky, at first, that he’d figured it out early. Maybe the situation wasn’t as dire as it seemed. Maybe he’d manage to get the two of them out of here safely, after all.

Unfortunately, it had taken their captors practically no time at all to notice Virgil’s noncompliance and resort to alternate measures.

Once again, the gaggle of medical Humans seemed to be Marta’s weapon of choice. They normally only appeared when Virgil had taken a fall or gained some other injury in the process of his ‘training’.

Seeing as Virgil had barely a scratch from the last session, both of them were on high alert from the moment the door allowed them in.

By the time Roux broke routine to follow them into the cell, they were well beyond knowing something was wrong.

“Get away from him,” Roman growled, and was steadfastly ignored by every Human there as the guard boxed Virgil into the corner.

Whatever else the sessions were really meant to do, it couldn’t be denied that they’d certainly served their purpose of wearing Virgil out. His movements were sluggish and weak compared to how he’d fought when he first arrived, and his attempts to strike out were brushed off with seemingly no effort.

Unlike before, Roux didn’t drag him out of the cell when they got ahold of him. Instead, they settled onto the ground, Virgil forced in front of him, his limbs twisted into a hold that barely even allowed him to twitch.

“You’re really set on making things hard for yourself, huh?” one of the clingy Humans commented, and Roman dragged his gaze away from his trapped companion to see that the other Humans had busied themselves with setting up a new and unfamiliar piece of medical equipment. “The missus is going to love you, that’s for sure.”

‘I do so love to repair the broken ones,’ Marta’s voice echoed in his mind, and he struggled to keep his feet, to stay present while Virgil so clearly needed him.

“This is for your own health,” the older Human told Virgil, not even seeming to notice the way he tried to snarl and twist away from the plastic mask she was settling over his face. “Relax. Deep breaths, now. Once you’ve accepted our lady’s grace, you’ll feel better.”

The mask was connected via tubing to a canister, painted a shining emerald green, and Roman knew what was inside even before Virgil’s face started going lax and dull.

The sight of him slowly going limp in Roux’s hold was terrifying.

“You don’t have to do this,” he choked out, his gaze jumping from Human to Human, trying to find some sort of remorse or hesitance. “Please. She’s using you.”

He landed on Iris, who was staring at Virgil with lips drawn thin and bloodless.

“Please,” he repeated, shuffling closer to the bars, trying to fight off the dizzying feeling of helplessness.

Iris’s hand clenched, and she turned to him with the muscles of her jaw jumping. Her eyes flicked towards the others before she spoke.

“Everyone wants to use us,” she said, holding herself rigid. “Our lady at least gives us something in return.”

Roman’s hope sank low in his chest, and he didn’t say anything more until the Humans had finally finished their damned task and left, leaving Virgil sprawled out across the cell floor.

“Virgil,” he tried. “Can you hear me?”

To his surprise, the Human responded, stretching his limbs out grotesquely before rolling to face him. “Mmghm?” he asked, looking more relaxed than Roman had ever seen him.

He barely seemed to register their surroundings, or remember that he’d been writhing in panic mere moments ago. It was like a fog had descended upon his mind, obscuring everything in a heavy, relentless haze.

Roman let out a little choked noise, but he didn’t yell or snarl or rage. He didn’t have the will to try and shake Virgil out of it, not when there was nothing he could do to remove the heady poison from the Human’s lungs. Not when he’d failed to do anything but get him exposed to it even faster, in the end.

Virgil made a small, nonsensical sound back, the tone confused but not particularly concerned, and then shuffled sideways along the ground until he was close enough to stretch a hand out to Roman.

With a miserably amused flick of his ears, Roman accepted the lax, barely-there handhold, and settled in to wait for his companion’s coherence to return.

[half-deadmagicperson]

How Danny Broke His Favorite Star Projector

Hey y'all!!! This is my fic for @ecto-implosion on art by @midnightectosnack ! (WHO DID AN AMAZING JOB!)

Crossover: Danny Phantom, Hades (Videogame)

Rating: Teen (To Be Safe)

Characters: Danny Phantom, Zagreus (Hades), Cerberus (Hades), Cujo (Danny Phantom), Clockwork, Persephone (Hades), Charon (Hades)

Tags: Fluff, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Psychopomp AU

Warnings: Temporary Character Death, Death Mentioned, Cannon-typical Violence

Summary: It's been a long time since Danny became a half-ghost. After the fights in Amity ended, he began a new job: guiding souls to their respective afterlives. One day, Danny stumbled upon a strange soul he's never seen before, a soul from the House of Hades.

Link to AO3

Next Chapter

Link to Midnight's Artwork!!!

   It was a pretty normal day in the Infinite Realms, well as normal as it can be. Danny had just finished up his day at work and was making his way back home. He floated in the Zone for what felt like forever. His fatigue caused his surroundings to blur. Islands, doors, staircases, a bluish spirit looking thing, more islands. Danny stopped in his tracks. He must've forgotten one.

   About seventy years ago or so, before Danny left Amity, Clockwork showed up to Danny's house with a new job. He asked Danny to help guide souls to their respective afterlives. The boy accepted the offer and began shortly after. 

   Danny walked with thousands of spirits. Some were strangers, others were a little close to home. It started with Sam's grandma, then Tucker's parents, then Sam's, then his own mother and father, then Tucker, then Sam, then Valerie, then Jazz. Eventually, everyone he ever knew passed away. Amity Park moved on, and so did Danny, well he's trying to.

    Now Danny was staring at the Blue spirit in front of him. It was definitely a soul, but it looked different than the ones he's seen before. Its face was a dark void with yellow eyes and kind of reminded him of a blob ghost, but more sentient. He should probably go to Clockwork. 

   The ghost boy floated around, soul in tow, until he approached a large clocktower.

  “Hello? Clockwork?” Danny called out into the dark entryway. He glanced around until his eyes landed on a familiar purple cloak. The boy’s mentor, currently in the form of a baby, turned around to greet his pupil. The baby’s form shifted into a frail, old man.

  “Hello, Daniel, what have you come to ask?”

  “Ok, so I was on my way back home when I came across this soul, and I don’t know which afterlife it belongs to,” Danny pointed to the blue creature next to him.

  “Ah, yes, I haven’t seen one of those souls in a very long time. This soul belongs to the House of Hades,” Clockwork moved to inspect the soul, “ Usually these souls are sent directly to Hades, but it appears this one got lost. Would you mind, Young Daniel, escorting it back to the Underworld?”

   Danny looked up at his mentor, now in the form of a young adult, and nodded. The Ghost of Time passed the boy a scroll with directions as well as a giant sack of meat. It was time to go to the Underworld.

    

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

    

     In the darkness of the Underworld, the young prince prepares food for the fiercest of protectors, Cerberus the three headed hound.

  “Oh, you’re back, Old Man.” 

  Zagreus, Son of Hades, grabbed the sack of meat he prepared to feed his favorite guard dog. He walked down the cold, dry halls of the House of Hades until he reached the back of the Temple.

    The Prince wanders the halls of the House. He does not know what he shall find further ahead. Will it be a great ally? Or a deadly foe? Either way the Fates have something in store.

   “You know I can still hear you, Right?” 

   Zagreus sighed. There must be something, other than Cerberus ahead. Slowly, Zagreus crept down the hall, preparing for battle if necessary. He couldn’t believe what he saw next.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

   Danny just finished returning the soul. He decided not to venture too deep into the Underworld, totally not out of fear, and dropped the prodigal off at the main entrance. 

   When he first arrived at the House, he heard a large growl. Cerberus, the massive three-headed hound, showed three sets of fangs to the unsuspecting ghost boy.

   Danny, not having any concept of danger, decided to treat the giant beast like he would any dog, and allowed it to give him sniffs. He floated up closer to the middle head. The creature’s giant noses created gusts of wind as it took in Danny’s scent. Danny braced himself for rejection, but instead felt a large nose bump into him, more specifically, into the bag of meat. The boy mentally thanked Clockwork, and presented Cerberus with the meat.

   In an instant, the ferocious hell-hound turned into an oversized puppy. Danny smiled as he offered the dog pets. He kind of reminded Danny of Cujo. The boy continued scratching under one of the dog's ears. He didn't hear the incoming footsteps.

  "Who the hell are you?"

   Danny whipped his head around. On the opposite side of the hallway stood a rather imposing figure. A guy, who looked just a tad older than Danny, crossed his arms and glared. He was dressed like a Greek god, and was built like one too. This was gonna be interesting.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

   Zagreus didn't know what he was expecting, maybe some monster or a demigod or something, but it definitely wasn't a flying boy in a strange outfit. The weirdest part was that Cerberus had not attacked the intruder, in fact, the intruder was petting him? It was then that Zagreus noticed the sack of meat on the floor. Ah, bribery. Welp time to get this party started.

   "Who the hell are you?"

   The boy jolted into a defensive position. Zagreus noticed him analyzing his opponent. He was definitely a seasoned fighter, and not to be underestimated. The boy put on a nervous expression and responded:

  "I was…just leaving! Nice place you got here, uh, sir! I'll just be, uh, scooting out this gateway here."

  The culprit was trying to escape. Zagreus sighed. He may be new here, but he still must face the same justice. 

   "You are not allowed to intrude into the House of Hades, for that you must pay."

   He drew out Stygius, Blade of the Underworld.

   Danny eyed the blade carefully. It looks like there's gonna be a fight. Maybe he can talk the guy with the sword out of it?

  “We, we don't really have to fight! I can just lea-”

  Zagreus charged full-force at the stranger. The prince only had a few moments to process the glowing blue in his opponent's hand before he was met with another sword.

   Danny used his newly crafted ice sword to ward off his attacker. He eventually was able to get a lucky hit in and knock the weapon out of Zagreus's hand.

   “Could we maybe, I don't know, talk about things instead of fighting?”

   “No,” was the prince’s curt reply before drawing another weapon, a spear. Where the hell did that even come from?

   Zagreus spun the Eternal Spear into the intruder's sword. The ice shattered like glass. Looks like it was time for a new plan. 

   Danny summoned some ectoblasts and started shooting at the prince from a distance. Despite his efforts, Zagreus persisted and started backing Danny into a corner.

   Danny sighed.

   “I didn't want to have to do this, but you gave me no choice.” 

   The Underworld shook with the echoes of ghostly screaming. Stalactites cracked and crumbled onto the ground. Cerberus whined from the loud noise. Zagreus cupped his ears, yet still persisted. 

    Danny continued his Ghostly Wail until his throat was raw. Exhaustion waved over him. It's been a while since he's used that, he forgot how draining it was.

   Seeing the prince disoriented, he allowed himself to meet the floor. He couldn't fight more if he tried.

   Zagreus's ears were ringing, but he noticed his opponent was down. He did not hesitate to take the opportunity to trap the boy.

    Danny looked up at the two-pronged spear aimed at his throat.

 "WAIT!!!.....please," Danny croaked out. The prince stared down at him, refusing to let down his guard. Nevertheless, he let him continue.

  "I was sent here by my mentor to return a soul. I'm a psychopomp. I guide souls to their respective afterlives. I was on my way home when I found one of yours. I promise I never meant to intrude!"

   Zagreus looked down at the young ghost. He could be telling the truth, but he also could be lying. He scanned the boy for any indication of falsehood. He found none.

   Slowly, he let up on the ghost, refusing to break eye contact. The boy breathed a sigh of relief. 

  "Well, now that that's settled, my name is Danny, Danny Phantom, what's yours?"

[robins-on-lea]

SGT!Kim Rok Soo: You…You know those things kill you right?

OG!Cale: [Drinking alcohol] Yeah, that’s the point.

TCF!Cale: [Pouring another cup of pure coffee] We’re trying to speed up the process. 

TBOAH!Cale: [Nods while trying to eat a raw cookie dough]

(I can’t write the reaction fic for ya’ll, but I can give snippets :-))

[transingthoseformers]

Just thinking so many thoughts about Megatron sneaking a kiss with Optimus and saying "I love you" because he thinks this is his last chance because him, Optimus, and friends are going on an absolute suicide mission

[julek]

mortician au meet-cute. (is it a meet-cute?). read the series on ao3!

Geralt is giving Renfri some nice neck scratches when Aiden comes in through the door, the little bell above it giving a nice little chime. 

“Morning,” he says cheerfully, dropping a crisp newspaper on Geralt’s kitchen table and making a beeline for the old moka pot, stainless steel glinting in the grey morning light coming through the window. Geralt still wonders when it was, exactly, that Aiden became a permanent fixture in the Morhen house. 

Probably around the time Lambert started messing around with spells, rites, and harmless, bloodless sacrifices.

Probably.

“Morning,” he answers, his voice still a bit rough with disuse. “Please, help yourself to some coffee,” he says, eyebrows raised, as Aiden begins pouring himself a second cup. 

“Got anyone in today?” He wonders, nodding to the dark green door that leads to the mortuary downstairs. “The paper says there’s been a car crash.”

Geralt shakes his head. “No one in yet. But I’m sure they’ll start coming soon.”

Aiden nods sympathetically. This is why Geralt likes him, he’s reminded — anyone else would shudder at the dark yet accurate prediction, but he simply shrugs and begins snooping around Geralt’s kitchen, as he often does, lifting pot lids and making spoons clatter against the marble tabletop. 

“Lambert is in The Room,” he says gently, mentally nudging Aiden out of his kitchen and into his brother’s embalming room, affectionately and ominously nicknamed The Room. “If you were looking for him.”

“Oh.” Aiden deposits his mug into the sink, frowning slightly at it, and then looks at Geralt in belated recognition. “Yes! That’s why I came in, in the first place, of course. Thank you for the coffee.”

Geralt shakes his head at his retreating figure. “No problem.” The newspaper is still sitting on his table, and he turns back to Renfri, who’s looking up at him with curiosity painted on her green eyes. “Looks like we’ll have some work to do today, hmm?”

-

His apron, a sensible black, stares back at him from where it’s hanging on its little hook. The tiny and slightly crooked Morhen Mortuary embroidery at the front — Nenneke’s gift for who knows which birthday — makes Geralt smile, and he’s still smiling as he walks the stairs down to his own room. 

The car crash Aiden had noted had unfortunately taken the life of a young man, according to the paper and the EMTs who had driven the body to the funeral home. The man, they had explained, had been riding on his bike downtown when a truck appeared out of nowhere and made it impossible for him to avoid crashing into the left headlight. 

It had been a painless death, they said. Geralt could only hope so, for the victim’s sake. 

The light switch creaks slightly as he flips it on, the fluorescent bulbs flickering to life above him. Immediately, the strong scent of embalming fluid envelops him, and he breathes it in like one would a nice spring morning on a field. Nothing like a work-laden morning to bring his spirits up.

(Or sideways, he doesn’t know). (He’s been learning some interesting things with Lambert’s new hobby). (Half of those are lies, he knows, but still). 

(It’s nice to pretend).

The body on the table looks… rough. Whatever remains from the man’s clothing is rumpled and dirty, the fabric tattered and covering his body in uneven patterns. There are bruises all over his right side — his legs, his abdomen, up his neck and littering his face like a child’s painting. His handsome features are obscured by the blood trickling down his forehead.

He couldn’t have survived the crash, Geralt knows, but he has to check for vital signs anyway. He has no pulse, nothing but cold skin where Geralt presses his gloved fingers, and later, his stethoscope. His limbs are stiff and locked in place, and he’s unresponsive as Geralt touches his face, his eyes — incredibly blue — clouded. 

The perfect picture of death.

Sometimes Geralt wishes he believed in God. Any God, really — anything that could allow him to say a small prayer, to wish this person well in their path to… wherever they’re going, to honor their life and make it all mean something. 

But he doesn’t, so, naturally, he starts a conversation with the dead man lying on his table. 

“Hello,” he says politely, as he starts removing the man’s scraps of clothing from his skin. “My name is Geralt. I’m your mortician— well, I mean, I’m not your mortician. I’m… anyone’s. No one’s. It’s not like when you go to the doctor, you know— oh, yeah, that guy is my doctor. You can’t tell anyone about this experience, so I’m never referred to as anyone’s anything.” He tosses the man’s shirt aside. “But, you know, in case you do recall this to anyone, in the ol’ queue to the afterlife, you can call me your mortician. Or Geralt. Geralt’s fine.”

The man, unsurprisingly, says nothing. 

“I’m sorry I don’t know your name,” Geralt continues. “You came in without any personal effects— well, you were wearing that tiny Hello Kitty backpack, but there was nothing inside that could tell us anything about you.” The man’s jeans need to go next, but they’re so disfigured Geralt grabs a fabric scissor from the counter. “You kind of look like your name was… hmm. Nothing too generic, I don’t think. Balthazar, maybe? Or Timothy. Valdo, perhaps? That’s a name you have the face for. The eyes, especially.”

He starts cutting the man’s jeans, pausing to chuckle at the fact that he momentarily gave the man jorts, and then continues until he can peel it all off. 

“Your clothes are nice. I’m sorry they got ripped apart, though. And, well, sorry I’m ripping them apart now, too.” He starts untying the man’s shoelaces. “I hope you get some nice clothing wherever you’re going. Do you think you’ll need money in the afterlife?”

The man’s hand falls to the table in response. 

Before, Geralt would’ve jumped at the movement, but now, seasoned as he has become, he knows it’s just a spasm. His heart hasn’t gotten the memo yet, though, hammering in his chest.

“Ah, love a good postmortem spasm,” he chuckles, sliding the shoe off the man’s foot. “Keeps me vigilant. Did you know people used to think these kinds of movements indicated the deceased person’s will to live? They used to say it was a sign of perseverance— how the strongest people kept fighting death until the end.”

He likes to think there’s some truth to it; that someone could have loved their life so much that they would hang on to it with every fiber of their being. That death could be defied by stubbornness.

He pulls out the man’s other shoe, and smiles at his socks: ice cream patterned, glittery bright pink.

“You seem like an interesting person,” he says, peeling the socks off, leaving the man in his — also brightly patterned — underwear. “Would have been nice to meet you.”

Geralt turns around and moves to the counter, making sure the hose is connected to the water tap, and arranging all his instruments to his liking. He can hear the music Lambert’s playing in The Room, some sort of old-timey rock he knows but can’t quite place, and he starts humming along in his low, gravelly tone. 

“Mm, you got me so I can’t sleep at night, mmm…” 

“The Kinks? Really?”

Geralt turns around, clutching the hose to his chest.

“I mean,” the man says, facing Geralt and laying on his side like a really stiff art subject, waiting to be immortalized in a canvas, “I would’ve expected a man of your complexion to listen to something… darker. Tougher? I don’t know.” 

Geralt blinks. 

He really should have checked the carbon monoxide detectors last night.

“So,” the man says. “What kind of a place is this, anyway? Don’t get me wrong, I do, quite often, wake up half-naked in places I can’t recognize, but this is a new level of kinky shit. What is this table?” He props himself up on his hands, with effort. “Why are my movements so… bad?” He frowns. “Why’s my tongue… wrong? What is going on?”

“You’re… alive,” Geralt says, eloquently.

The man’s eyebrows shoot up into his hairline, and he’s still so pale and mangled, it’s grotesque. Like a really bad makeup job for a school play. “Well, I mean, I know that? Because if this is heaven — and I’m definitely not complaining about the view — it’s quite… underwhelming?” 

Almost automatically, Geralt surges forward and grabs the man’s head between his hands. “Don’t move like that,” he says, smoothing down the man’s skin. “The rigor mortis won’t go away for a few hours. You could get stuck like that.”

The man’s face falls. Well, tries to. “Rigor… mortis?” 

Geralt drops the man’s head like it’s on fire. It should be on fire — the man’s skin should melt into bone and he should put on a funky leather jacket and ride his black motorcycle straight into hell and out of Geralt’s humble and sensible funeral home. 

Upstairs, an old Dire Straits song starts playing. As if the world is supposed to just go on, while the very dead man that was laying on Geralt’s embalming table mere seconds ago is now making something akin to lively conversation with him.

He was dead. Geralt checked his pulse, looked into his very dead-looking pupils. He was about to inject fluid into his arteries, for goodness’ sake. 

“So,” the man says, sitting up, and finally looking down at himself. He pokes at a purple bruise on his ribs. “Either this is all part of a very elaborate joke on one of my friends’ behalf, or you’re just a very good-looking psychopath who will now proceed to make me witness my own autopsy, or something.”

“I’m…” Suddenly, Geralt has no clue what to say. How does he break it to the man, that he was about to write down ‘John Doe’ on a nametag and tie it to his ankle, without sounding absolutely insane and/or possibly psychopathic? He feels a sudden urge to take off his apron, not feeling so fond of the embroidered information on it right now. “You were in an accident.”

The man gapes at him, his blue eyes bluer, somehow. “I… was? What happened?”

Geralt takes a tentative step forward. He was trained on how to deliver painful and sensitive information to the bereaved family; he was not, however, trained on how to deliver it to the deceased themselves. 

“The EMTs said it was a truck. You were riding your bike.” 

“Okay…” The man nods to himself, taking the information in. “Why am I not in a hospital, then? I mean— I don’t mean to assume, but this doesn’t really look like the conventional emergency room, or what have you.”

Geralt looks around the dark walls of the basement, cringing internally at the framed You look good — open-casket good sign Eskel got him for Christmas. 

“You’re… This is…” Geralt leans back against the counter, steeling himself for whatever will happen next. “This is a mortuary. My name’s Geralt. I’m… I’m your mortician.”

The man’s eyes are so wide Geralt fears he’ll pop a vein. “A mortician…”

“You died,” Geralt says gently. “When you crashed into the truck. It was a painless death. Instant.”

“And now?”

Geralt grimaces. “And now… you’re alive. Allegedly.”

The man splutters. “Allegedly?!” He hops down from the table, and Geralt manages to catch him before his legs give out. “You mean to tell me I was dead and now, supposedly, I’m alive?”

This close to the man, Geralt can see small green dots in all that sea of blue fury. He shakes his head. “Yes. I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do. This doesn’t happen.”

“You don’t say!” The man sits back up on the table. His bruises are slowly fading away, and his cheeks are bright red, whether from the blood flow or the indignation, Geralt doesn’t know. “So it’s not routine for a legally dead man to come back to life on your table? I wouldn’t have guessed.”

“I’m sorry,” Geralt says, sheepish. “How are you feeling?”

“Oh, aside the whole hey Jask, remember everything you thought you knew about life and death? Well, scrape all that, because it’s bullshit thing? I’m just peachy,” he snaps, glowering at Geralt. “And cold.”

“Of course. Sorry,” Geralt apologizes. “I’ll go get you some clothes.”

“You do that,” the man says as Geralt walks to the door. “And do stop apologizing so much.”

His hand on the door, Geralt looks back at the man. “Sorry.”

-

“So, your name is Jaskier?”

They’re sitting at Geralt’s kitchen table now. After offering the man a pair of Lambert’s sweatpants and a t-shirt, and showing him the guest bathroom, he emerged a new person, his hair curling at the edges and his skin soft-looking.

“It is,” Jaskier says with a shy smile, pulling his knees up to his chest on his chair. Geralt feels an immense urge to wrap him in a hug. The closest thing is pushing a mug of coffee in his direction. “And you’re Geralt.”

“That’s me.”

“And I was dead,” Jaskier says, recounting the incidents. He’s calmed down now. “And now I’m alive.”

“Yeah.”

Geralt wishes he had something more eloquent to say.

“And this has never happened to you before? You’re certain?”

Geralt snorts. “I think I would have realized if any of the people I poked at with needles were alive.” 

“Okay, okay,” Jaskier replies with a smile of his own. “Just checking.”

Now that Jaskier is officially alive, Geralt can allow himself to really look at him. He’s young — maybe in his late twenties — and there’s something about his eyes that just draws him in; something other than the way they’re blue the way the ocean is when it’s about to storm, no, it’s something about the way they move. About the way they look at things, about the way they look at Geralt. Piercing yet unobtrusive, harsh yet soft.

He should really stop watching so many romantic films. 

His brown hair falls into tiny waves, shining in the mid-morning light pouring in through the windows. The hand that’s gripping the mug is dotted with freckles, his fingernails black and chipped. He’s swimming in Geralt’s shirt, an old one from his university days, and there’s something about his small smile that makes Geralt’s heart try to skip a beat.

They sip their coffee in comfortable silence. Geralt offers him an apple, and Jaskier takes it with grace. 

“So, what now?” He asks between bites.

“What do you mean?” Geralt replies.

“Well,” Jaskier says, leaning forward on the table. “I can’t die. For now. I’ll sort out the specifics later. But— what comes next?”

Geralt doesn’t know. “Well, what do you want to do next?”

Jaskier considers it. “I think, after I finish eating this apple, and after I’ve washed my cup and thanked you for your hospitality — ha, hospitality,” he snorts, “I would very much like to ask you for your number.”

Geralt chokes on his coffee. 

“Unless you’re already seeing someone, or you’re not into men,” Jaskier says immediately, “or just not into someone who came into your home as a dead man and came out walking of his own volition. Also because you kind of saw me in my rubber ducks underwear which I love but man I should really think about what I wear under my clothes because you know, my mother was right, you really never do know where your day will go— I would completely understand that. That would make you a very reasonable person, but it’s just that I’m very scared for my life— and my death, I guess, too, fuck— and I would like a friendly face around me. I can tell you I have not had any of those lately— but, just, you know, I understand if—”

“Jaskier,” Geralt says. “I would be honored to be a friendly face.”

Jaskier breathes out slowly. “Thank you.” 

“It’s no problem,” Geralt says, reaching for his hand.

Jaskier twines their fingers together, looking at him with a sweet smile on his lips. It belongs to one of Geralt’s movies, this moment.

But Jaskier breaks it almost immediately.

“Actually, you know, I’m glad you said yes, because you kind of owe me, anyway, because some memories are coming back to me now and I have the distinct recollection of you telling me I looked like my name was Valdo, and boy do I hate—”

tagged: @writingmysanity

[best-fanfic-trope]

Round 1: Amnesia AU vs. Modern AU

(Temporary) Amnesia AU:

whether permanent or temporary, someone forgets stuff!! this could lead to angst, or maybe something funny! who knows!

Modern AU:

your favorite characters have been relocated to our world! maybe this is an upgrade for them! maybe this is a downgrade. now they have to deal with regular things like kpop, taxes, and global warming

(Read propoganda submitted by our lovely followers here :) )

[vryfmi]

big sketch and whatnot dump of DH×WH skullyle AU by @lucky-ass-nerd

might render them or not

Lucy, don't give him ideas, especially bad ones

[part II] [part III]

[castrian-amore]

Bitter, had the Heart

Dead Tired(Danny Fenton x Tim Drake), Tim Drake-Centric, unfinished, the author is plotting, temporary character death

1/46 chapters | Chapter Length: 3,486 words

TWS FOR THIS CHAPTER: Graphic Depictions of corpses and mutilation, Mentions of vile smells

Chapter 1: To see or to Mistake

Tim Drake was a brilliant Detective. He was a shareholder of Wayne Enterprises. Middle child of the family really. He was working on his degree in business at Gotham U, as expected. He also excelled, as expected. Nothing could have prepared him for this, though. I’m all his years of detective work nothing was quite this gruesome, this brutal. This slow.

A horrified terror filled expression struck across two gang member’s faces. Their deceased bodies had entrails splayed over the alley and he held a rag over his nose and mouth at the smell. It wasn’t just the decay setting into the bones and souls. It smelled like rotten eggs, sulfur. Mixed with the metallic scent of iron and blood and disgust.

Nightwing landed next to him.

“Oo that’s not pretty,”the man whispered. “Damn that stinks.” Time handed over a rag to his elder brother who very gladly put it over his nose.

“You’re telling me. This is one of the more brutal and gruesome cases I’ve seen in a while…” Tim was trying to take in what he could from below. They had to have been tortured alive as they had their entrails removed, at least most of the other rogue’s in Gotham made their subject’s deaths quick, even if painful but these? This was a new breed of brutal and horrific.

Tim was frustrated. He was a fucking detective for gods sake.

“How many is this now?”Nightwing looked at his younger brother before back down at the bodies.

“8… I think we can classify this as a serial case right now,”he huffed. He pulled out a notepad writing things down.

Smell of sulfur.

Entrails spread out.

Claw marks on the walls.

Symbols written into the alleyway walls in the blood of the fallen.

Faces frozen in horror.

This was the 7th and 8th one and of course it was similar to the others. Smell of sulfur. Entrails spread out. Once they got the autopsy report back he high suspected the heart will have been removed and a bite being taken out of the kidney if there even was one.

“So Gotham has another mysterious serial killer whose signature is as gruesome and messy as the Joker’s entire existence.” Tim had been frustrated with this case since it started and he was beyond grateful for the help. A lot of the bats were in on the case at some point. Duke had been trying to do Daytime recon. Tim and Dick were keeping up with police investigation, namely Dick who claimed he was coming from Bludhaven to help with the case. Got them both the inside information.

Bruce and Damian were trying to track down anything and it had been all hands on deck to keep a watchful eye on the city. Cass and Steph were off-planet apparently dealing with something from the covert ops team of Young Justice. Barb was doing her best to play eyes as she kept an eye on the various cctv footage around the city, but Gotham was big and there was always crime to attend too.

Tim was stretched thin himself. He normally had shareholder meetings in the mornings at least once a week, sometimes twice, and after that it was to his college classes. Tim had college, patrols, the company. Fuck. Let alone the occasional charity galas and other events he had to go to not only as a wayne but as a head of the company as a whole.

Tim was running on fumes as this case was running him dry. That was another reason why Dick was in town to lessen the load on Tim. He liked college and he knew that he wan’t exactly the most social person let alone the most normal(look at his job?) but he did want to do things sometimes with his friends. Though, he was sure his ‘friends’ probably wouldn’t be around for super long. Having mundane friends outside of super hero life was hard, let alone a romantic relationship. He had tried with the other heroes. He had tried with civilians but the civilians just couldn’t understand the time necessary and the excuses he was going to have to make.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to pursue a romantic relationship but it just simply felt as if he had no choice but to not. Wow, he was tired if hid mind was going off on it’s own separate tangent in mind distracting him from the task at hand. Speaking of…

A small flash of one of the police’s camera’s caught him off guard. Unbeknownst to the group a man in black tech wear with white accents and a mask pulled over his nose was crouched by the body. Hands gloves and a hood up over barely visible black hair. He was taking a sample it seemed of, what was that? How did he not notice that?

There was a green viscous liquid and he just collected it, not just an incredibly small amount, but what was on the body at all. It reminded him far too much of Lazarus water for his liking, but if someone had poured gelatin in it.

“Wing,”Time stated wide-eyed at him.

“I see.”

“We have eyes on a potential suspect,”Tim called over coms.

“Do not engage, follow,”Batman’s words echoed back to him. Duh. They wanted information on the dude. The two backed into the darkness a little more as soon as the police-men turned around he was gone. Tim and Dick watched his foot catch on the ledging as he climbed onto the roof of the building pulling down his hood and looking around. Eyes covered by a pair of goggles that were a stunning and haunting green color. Then it seemed he spotted the bats even from their vantage point, and as soon as they noticed. The man took off running.

“Shit!” Tim exclaimed, moving to jump onto the roof to pursue .

“Red! No engaging!”

“I’ve been following this shit for months, I’ve never been then close to a lead Nighty!” He exclaimed moving to follow.

“Language! But, really?!?” Nightwing followed after time the two moving with ease.

“Stop!!!” He yelled at the black masked figure who merely cocked his head to the side running backwards for a moment before jumping across to the next roof doing a roll. Experienced in parkour at least as Tim and Dick followed suit. Fuck he was fast.

“We need to corner him,”Dick hissed.

“Don’t tell B…”

“Don’t tell B what?”Dick replied before Tim threw two batarangs at his target.

“Red!” Dick exclaimed as the man dropped sliding on his knees to avoid the first one but as he got up the second one hit his leg. Bullseye. The person tripped holding his leg for a moment. A small grunt of pain could be heard as he scooted away from the two of them. The way their face was covered left no idea what thoughts crossed their mind. Nightwing landed next to Red as they stared at the man backing up against the wall to the roof.

“Don’t make us hurt you anymore. Tell us what you were removing from that crime scene,”Red threatened, grabbing his bo staff off his belt and letting it unfurl. The person shook their head as they used the short wall to stand up limping heavily. They weren’t incredibly close to the ground at the moment. At minimum a solid 8 stories high.

Pretty far up Tim would say. Which made the next move shake him. The man looked at them and slowly shook his head and by the time they both realized what they were doing their hearts broke. They gave him a farewell salute with two fingers and fell backwards off the edge of the building and neither himself nor Hightwing could catch him in time. Both running desperately to the edge wide eyed with panic.

It wouldn’t have been the first time someone had committed suicide to escape them. Tim doubted it would be the last either. Fate had it out for them in that way. Fate had it out for them in a lot of ways as Tim would find out over the course of events.

Though they never heard a smack against concrete as they rushed to the side, nor a scream of terror. So when they looked into the alley way the man wasn’t there anymore. Dick and him quickly using grappling hooks to get down.

“What the…”

“Where did he—“

“Infrared?” Dick suggested they both moved to look around them. Just the coldness of the alleyways and setting mid January weather. It was freezing in this alleyway.

“Is that a bed?”Dick pointed out the small campaign at the very back of the alley. A few cardboard boxes set up as a table with a few remains set there. Messy soaked sheets sat on top a cardboard bed with a messy pillow half destroyed it seemed

“Of course it’s a bed.” voice drawing them both out from their mission. “I never thought this would be the way I finally run into Two bats. You’re in front of my sleeping spot.”

They looked up to see a young man(teenager?) he only stood about 5’3. He was bundled up with a hoodie and a black trench coat over it. A soft blue scarf wrapped around his neck, hands shoved into his pockets with piercing blue eyes and ruffled black hair being held down by the matching blue beanie. He looked cold and from the infrared sensors on him the man was abnormally cold compared to most normal humans. A metà Maybe?

He had deep tired circles under his eyes. Skin far too pale to be healthy and a guant looks to his cheeks. His clothing almost just draping off his thin frame. He looked like he was very very sick if Tim could guess.

“Sorry for intruding, then,”Dick spoke up walking in front of him. Giving him a nod that he saw it too. “Did you happen to see a man fall from what roof?”

The man shifted and looked concerned Tim’s eyes looking of his shoulders, eyes, lips. Trying to pick up any subtle mico expressions.

“I just got back from classes, man,”The man sighs rubbing his forehead. “I’m half asleep and running 3 red bulls and a pack of saltine crackers.”

“Can we ask where you’re coming from?”Dick gave a charming gentle smile.

“The library.”

“I see, well we’re looking for a man dressed in all black with goggles with bright green lenses and black hair. He was sporting tech wear. You can give the police a call if you see anything?” Tim pulled out one of Greyson’s cards after he spoke. “We’re working with Detective Greyson at the moment for any leads so you can call the precinct if you see anything.”

The man took the card tossing it over his shoulder.

“ACAB, so can I sleep now? Or are we going to be playing a fun little game of 20 questions with me being the epicenter of the bats hyperfixations.”

“Ah… no, not at all. Have good night,”Dick stated as Tim was trying not to laugh as the man grabbing him grappling them up onto the roof. It was silent as they got a few blocks away before Tim burst out laughing.

“He just…”another laugh,”YEET!” Mimicking the card being thrown over his shoulder.

“That kid is suspicious.” Dick huffed maybe a little salty his normal charms didn’t work on him.

“He’s sassy not suspicious.”

“But his body temperature was—“

“He’s probably a meta Nightwing. Don’t tell the bats that you’re a meta, remember? It’s kind of Batman’s whole reason for keeping the city the way that it is, to protect metas.”

“You’re right.”

“I know. The kid looked exhausted the only thing I picked up from him was that he was beyond annoyed that he had to wait a second longer to go to bed. It’s,”he paused to look at his wrist. “2am.” A pause. If we was a student the mostly likely place he would have been would be the library. Even if you were walking from Gotham U library or a cafe it wouldn’t have taken you two hours to get where they were.” The library and most cafes closed at 11 or midnight.

“What did you realize? You’re smile fell.”

“The university library closes at midnight.”

“Okay and?”

“And this part of town is only a 45 minute walk from the library.”

“Is he our culprit they both have black hair. Could be especially if he’s a Meta explain why he was able to get away from us so fast.”

“I doubt it, that kid looked… sickly to say the least, but he was definitively hiding something.”

“So what was he hiding that he didn’t want the bats to know?

By the time they made it back to the alleyway the mysterious kid was gone.

“Dammit!”Tim exclaimed. This case was frustrating. Everything was going wrong.

“Look we at least know one thing right?” Dick was trying to make light of the situation. “He goes to Gotham U.”

“Dick.. we’re going to find hundreds of people who fall under the broad category. Let’s search “Black hair blue eyes” into the student database and see how many we come up. Let alone the fact that black might not be his natural hair color.”

“Hood could find him…”

“No, Hood has enough on his plate with these murders finding a homeless kid is not part of the problem at hand. The dude didn’t hurt anyone.”

“But if we run into him again,”Dick stared at the quickly disassembled bed the few ratty sheets now gone. “Do you think we could get him to the hospital for some help? Meta or not his readings were… rough.”

“We can’t force people into getting help all the time. It’s one thing for rogue’s who are more than a little insane but a guy who’s sick in the alley way?” Tim shook his head with a sigh rubbing the back of his neck. “We’d be chasing after half of Gotham.”

Tim rubbed his forehead a little frustrated with the general turn of events going on right now. Why couldn’t he get a lead on this fucker. He doubted that googles person would be much help. They looked like an investigator themself but at this point it was a lead and Tim was desperate. Each murder was more gruesome than the last like they were pushing their victims and themselves every time they did it. It had to have been a beast right?

“We need to find the masked person…”

“Yeah no I agree. Whatever they pulled off the body they were looking for that. They knew it would be there.”

“Think he’s the murderer?”

“Probably not, but they seem to know more than us which is concerning in its own right.”

“Not wrong there little bird.” Dick sighed. “We should leave. Head back to the cave.”

“Best, I have too many classes in the morning.”

“You have coffee addiction, you’ll be fine.” Dick smirked as they started back towards the cave moving to write a report of what they encountered on their patrol.

“You trying to feed my coffee addiction?”

“Absolutely not, B might kill me with that one,”Dick snorted.

It wasn’t as if Tim could sleep even as they got back to the manor to crash for night after writing their reports. He remained long after Dick had gone to get some sleep. Eyes focused on the screen and then down at his drawing in front of him. A rough sketch of the new person of interest.

Those eerie glowing goggles were stained into his mind as he leaned back in his chair looking at the file they had created for him.

Name: Unknown

Age: Unknown

Height:5’3 ~

Weight: 115-130lbs~

Appearance: Black hair in black tech wear and a respirator over his mouth and glowing green lensed goggles. White motifs along the outfit with a white D symbol over the left side of the chest.

Status: Unknown

Alignment: Unknown

All these unknowns. How were they supposed to figure it out. He had to meet this person again. He had to find them. He didn’t have a choice. This person was a key in his case. He sent a text to Jason.

“Keep an eye out for a guy that roughly looks like this” He sent an attachment of the drawing he did of the rough outfit in greyscale and what he saw.

“Oh… I know that dude. The people called him Distortion.”

What?

Jason knew of him? How did?

“How?” Cue Tim’s annoyed thoughts at how Jason didn’t care to share this information with them. Any of them. “And you didn’t think a new body on the streets who has a name wasn’t something you wanted to share with the class?!?”

More little bubbles as he was typing.

“He belongs to me that’s all you need to know. He’s an associate. A valuable acquaintance.”

“Well your associate was found removing evidence from my crime scene and bolting.”

“Need to know basis, Tim.”

“Do you know his identity?”

“No.”

“Age?”

“Yes.”

“Can i have it?”

“Absolutely not. He doesn’t want to be involved with the Bats or on your radar. I’d advise deleting the file you’re creating on him. He doesn’t take well to being on record right now.”

“Why?”

“Don’t know Don’t care but he’s incredibly useful and I’d like to keep him on our side and he was very hesitant on even coming to me. He only came to me because he’s operating out of my territory.”

“At least the guy has some respect.”

“He has street smarts. Now back off Tim. You know I let you in on a lot and that’s why I’m telling you this, but him? Distortion? Let him do his thing. If he tells me anything I’ll let you know.”

“What do you get out of this?”

“An investigator.”

“You have us?”

“Not all crime is big enough to involve the bats. Not all crime I can do all the work for for myself. He helps me out locating information and in exchange I leave him the fuck alone.”

Tim stared at the texts.

More typing bubbles.

“You tell Dick, Damian, or especially Bruce about this and I will rat you out for the Yelen case.”

Tim would be silent after all…

He stared at his doodle, ripping it up. It looked like shit anyways. He rubbed his face frustrated really as he made no changes to the file. Dick didn’t have to know about what he knew. This felt wrong to him though. Not just the whole Jason apparently knowing of the guy. If Jason knew of the guy but he remained under the radar of the rest of the bats it was concerning, and even as close as he was to Jason he wouldn’t put it past that guy to keep his issues to himself.

He always thought of himself really. First and foremost. It had been that way since his return mostly. It wasn’t like he never tried. Birthdays and holidays he’d show up. Tim wasn’t going to like that he noticed the mans change in demeanor the past year had done for him. A decrease in murders Jason committed in Crime Alley.

It was subtle enough unless you were looking for it, it wouldn’t be noticed, but tim did. Tim did notice. It reminded him of that breakdown he had a while ago. The anger returning to his brother like it had been there all along slowly increasing. The pit madness returning with a full force nearly driving Jason away from everyone. Jason wouldn’t talk about why the pit madness hit him so hard again.

He wasn’t exactly a feelings guy. None of them were. Dick was the most open of the Bat siblings to openly talk about their emotions and hell Duke had the most normal of a life before it all. Even he was hesitant. They all saw the Black Canary at least once every 6 months and that was only after a begrudging agreement with Black Lightning and the rest of the justice league. Most of they, themselves, weren’t involved in the justice league.

It was also why Cass and Steph being asked to go seemed to set him off. It wasn’t his place.

“He belongs to me..” Tim whispered out the words with a slight possessive tome looking at their texts chewing on his lip a little. A small habit he picked up when he was lost in thought and alone. Usually only when he was relaxed and with family. He couldn’t let people read his microexpressions out in public.

“For a solitary man, that’s quite a possessive statement Jason,”he mumbled into the batcave before standing up and walking up the stairs to his room. Not that he got much sleep either.

[naminethewriter]

How It All Began - Masterpost

Welcome, welcome everyone to another Big Bang entry, this time for @tss-storytime! As per the results of the one poll I have done here so far, this is also the introduction to my Pirates and Sirens AU! It has Intrulogical (of course, what else would I write?) and a lot of platonic shenanigans. Hope you enjoy 🥰

If you'd like to read it at a slower pace, I will upload the chapters to Ao3 twice a week.

Summary: Remus, son of a simple fisherman, had worked hard to become the captain of his own pirate ship. And in his humble opinion, it was going great! His crew was small but reliable and they had just stolen something that could them some nice cash from a military vessel they happened to cross on the open sea. They just needed to hide it somewhere until it was safe to sell. How lucky for them that they come across a nice, uninhabited island.

Little did Remus know just who he would find on that little piece of land and how it would change his life entirely.

Content Warnings: Temporary Character Death, Minor Violence, Innuendoes (Remus is the main character after all) and Morally Grey Characters (They are pirates)

Story on Ao3

Chapter One: A Lonely Island, Right?

Chapter Two: Living Legend

Chapter Three: A Request

Chapter Four: A New Deal

Chapter Five: Library Visit

Chapter Six: Precious

Chapter Seven: Just the Beginning

Many thanks go to @edupunkn00b for beta reading! They helped me so much, thanks a bunch!

There is also art for this story by @im-an-anxious-wreck! Their post is here. Thank you so much for working with me 🥰

[fuckyeahgoodomensfanfic]

Good Omens Fic Rec: It's Not the Fall (It's the Landing)

To save each other from Heaven and Hell, Aziraphale and Crowley become human. Things, predictably, do not go as planned. Crowley thought about what he’d come there to do. He thought about what it meant, in the context of God’s warning. Really thought. There wouldn’t be hopping from restaurant to restaurant with his best friend for the next six thousand years (give or take). There wouldn’t be any more miracles, or tempting. There wouldn’t be any skirting Hell’s wrath for eternity. And when it was over, the deepest, darkest, horriblest pits would be reserved for him. Crowley said, “Will you make me human, too?”

Length: 66,731 words

AO3 Rating: Explicit / Spice Level 🔥🔥🔥🔥

Best for: At Home, One Sitting, Angst, Canon AU

Triggers: Temporary Character Death, Alcoholism

Read it here, fic by Ginger_Cat

*Minor Spoilers* Alright buckle up, this one is insane! This has to be the craziest, most unique plot I've read for Good Omens. Every moment just punches you into a different direction. I found myself just going, "what the fuck? what the fuck?? WHAT THE FUCK??" I'm not even going to try to summarize the plot, there's too much to say and I think you should go in as blind as possible. Just trust it, let it whisk you away on this journey.

This isn't a dark fic necessarily, it ends in a very good place, but there are moments that were pretty brutal. It pushes Aziraphale in particular to places we don't usually see him. He is the reckless impulsive one here. At first his actions seem super out of character for him, but trust the process. There is more under the surface and an explanation for his behavior. By the end I was so excited about this characterization for him. Crowley, poor dear, goes through the ringer here. He slips up and confesses his love and suddenly his entire life is flipped upside down. Kind of literally? At any point he could have just said, fuck you guys I'm done, but he doesn't. His love for Aziraphale and humanity keeps him in the fight, even though I wouldn't blame him for turning to resentment.

Excellent dialogue, it really brings a lightness and humor to scenes that keeps everything balanced. The side characters are also top notch. Even Gabriel get's his moment of redemption. Pacing is lightning fast. You have to pay attention and keep up or you will get left behind. I think this could have used a little more breathing room in some areas, but it's a want more than a need. It's not a negative that it moves fast is what I'm saying. If I could have added time anywhere it would be to Chapters 15 and 16 because I am so intrigued by the concepts there. I could read an entire story of Aziraphale in those conditions (I really don't want to spoil).

I think based on how fast paced this gets, it should be read at home. There are a couple smut scenes, but it's really an at home read for the plot. And I would make the time to read it in one go. There's just a lot of threads that I think would make it difficult to leave and come back to. Plus you aren't going to want to stop! I didn't! I only planned to start it, but suddenly it's 3 AM and I've finished it. What a wild ride! A joy to read for that alone, but it's an excellent work of redemption and the lengths they will go to for love.

Read it here, fic by Ginger_Cat

[tearsoftime0086]

I've been thinking of a Piers extension of my AU in my mind, so here's a little scene! Warning for some self-dehumanizing language.

~

“He needs to discharge soon.”

Chris raises an eyebrow, eyes glued to the still figure on the other side of the one-way window. “How soon, and what happens if he doesn’t?” His voice rings eerily within the steel helmet – archaic and uncomfortable, but Piers refused to see him without it.

Rebecca takes a deep breath, skimming over the lightning rod sensors. The red needles jerk back and forth in synchrony with Piers’ labored breathing. “Optimistically, within the next half-hour. If the electric charge within the room goes too high, I’m worried the virus will go into a feedback loop.”

The enhanced C-virus had a nasty tendency to seek constant mutation - a combination of G and Veronica’s worst traits. If it found that its self-created environment was a threat to its existence…

Chris stops his thought there. No more hypotheticals – not when he could still do something to prevent them.

“I’ll do my best to convince him,” he says, fiddling with his clunky suit as he heads towards the vault door. His bulky gloves slip against the wheel lock – another annoying part of his makeshift Faraday cage. Realistically, it would be near useless in the case of a direct lightning hit. But that wasn’t the reason Chris wore it.

“Piers,” he speaks upwards as he walks into the intermediary corridor. Even here, he can hear the faint buzz of electricity beyond the second door. “I’m coming in.”

A long period of silence, then a scratchy, low whisper. “You’re protected?”

“To the nines,” he answers back smoothly.

The response is equally nervous as the one before. “Be careful, Captain.”

One step inside, and his hair is already standing on end. The air crackles and pops as Chris walks to the corner of the room. Piers has shifted back even further, webbed hands clutching his knees as he sits on his bed. His mismatched arms leave his shoulders at awkward angles. An attempt at penance, when he has done no wrong.

“How are you doing?” Chris asks, suit clanking loudly as he takes a seat next to him. Piers flinches and slides away.

“Why are you here, Captain?” he asks back, morosely refusing to look at him.

In any other scenario, Chris would’ve tried his damnedest to hold onto the small talk. Unfortunately, they’re on a timer; he shelves it as a future wish. “You need to discharge, Piers. Holding it all in isn’t good for you.”

A blue arc sparks through his exposed arm muscles. “I don’t trust the lightning rods,” Piers says.

“You know, I wouldn’t either,” Chris responds, much to Piers’ surprise. “You and I both know how the BSAA always skimps out on equipment. Not to mention the worst leftover rations.”

There’s a quiet gurgle from Piers’ throat. He immediately bites it down, but Chris chooses to believe he got a successful laugh out of him.

“But I made sure we didn’t skimp out this time. This whole vault’s geared up right, Piers. It’s okay,” he continues.

A shaky breath. “I don’t trust myself either.” The blue arc from before returns and spreads across Piers’ body, illuminating the outline of his skull with a haunted light.

“Piers-“

“Please… don’t call me that.” With visible effort, Piers turns to him, finally letting Chris his whole face. It’s considerably more human than it was upon his first retrieval, but he’d be lying if he didn’t notice the sallow and pulsating flesh marring his hollowed face. “I’m not- this thing isn’t Piers-“

“Bullshit,” is Chris’ first gut response – the part of him that angers and flares at the sheer unfairness of the situation. But that won’t help now – and so he takes a step back. “Sorry. What I mean is… you don’t have to be him. You just have to be you.”

The air crackles as Piers’ lip quavers. God, Chris hopes he’s not accelerating the process by doing this. “I don’t understand.”

“Guess it’s going against what you told me back then,” Chris mumbles at first, but it comes easier with every word. “But sometimes, there’s an order to things. If you don’t want to remember, if you don’t want to be- what I mean is, I care for the man I see in front of me today. And I just want the best for you.”

With a steady hand, he removes the metal helm, much to Piers’ dismay. It’s so much easier to see him now – to see the fine man he is and always will be.

“Please,” is all he says, and hopes it is enough.

[aroundthewaygirlao3]

Have you ever thought “what would happen if we dropped the characters from HSMTMS in an early-2000s-WB style teen drama?”

Don’t worry, I got you.

It’s summer on Martha’s Vineyard, where Gina is once again the outsider, sharing a little white bungalow with four strangers, all with pre-existing ties to each other. Things only get messier when Gina immediately falls for Ricky, the very recent ex-boyfriend of another housemate, Nini. EJ, her lifeguarding partner and housemate with his own mysterious reasons for abandoning his affluent life in the city for a summer of hard work among the have-nots, tries to warn her off Ricky, but she’s determined to make Ricky her first mistake.

As the summer unfolds, Gina finds that this little white bungalow may be the place she finds family, and that love is about a lot more than first impressions as EJ slowly works his way into her heart in ways that take her by surprise.

A Portwell Summer Romance AU inspired by White Houses by Vanessa Carlton!