#she's the intimidating one not me ) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

greenglowinspooks · 7 months

Text

(DCxDP) The obligations of a rogue versus those of a parent (Pt. 4)

—

Tw: descriptions of body horror, Dr. Crane has PTSD and Does Not Realize, Crane has an actual panic attack and just doesn’t care, the Riddler makes one (1) sex joke about Batman

Will be crossposted to AO3 eventually

(Pt. 1 here) (Prev here) - (Pt. 5 here)

(Masterlist here)

—

Dr. Jonathan Crane is in his lab, the acrid scent of chemicals filling the air, and his hands are shaking.

Danny’s health, for the first week that he had him, had been steadily improving at an extremely quick rate. However, his healing had begun to stagnate. Danny said that it was because his body had run out of ectoplasm, and that while there was a lot of ambient ectoplasm in Gotham, he needed a stronger type in order to heal.

And so, that led Dr. Crane here.

He had stolen the research notes from the Penguin years ago regarding his experimentation on him.

(He quite vividly remembers the sound of bone creaking and groaning as it twisted, lengthened. The squelching of shifting tendons and muscles, the strange fabric-like tightening of skin. The feeling of going from man to monster, of losing all claim to his humanity.)

Danny had called him Liminal, part ghost. He had said that he was transformed by, among other things, a kind of synthetic ectoplasm.

Danny needed ectoplasm.

Crane had the research notes. He had every ingredient necessary. And yet, attempt after attempt failed.

The chemical smell burns his nose. His hands tremble.

Dr. Crane is not afraid.

He doesn’t feel fear anymore. He’s tried to, many, many times, but nothing has worked. And yet, his hands are shaking still.

(The horrifying sensation of vertebrae pop-pop-popping along his spine, growing and lengthening. The unbearable itching beneath his skin as toxin glands begin to form. The feeling of his teeth sharpening and elongating, of his skull growing, of his vision changing and brightening. The awful stench of chemicals. The awful stench of ectoplasm.)

Jonathan takes careful note of his shaking hands, his blurring vision, his accelerated heart-rate and shallow breathing.

(Human hands. Human vision. Human heart and lungs and organs.)

He takes note of them, but he does not let that distract him from the task at hand. Danny is not a chemist, but Jonathan is.

The boy knows enough about chemistry in theory, but he won’t go anywhere near Crane’s equipment. He seems to have some sort of intense fear of laboratory settings, probably developed during his stay with the GiW, and Crane is willing to respect that, if only because he cannot afford to lose him.

As such, Crane is the only one qualified to do this. And, unfortunately, if he isn’t successful the boy may very well die.

He heats the chemicals to precisely the right temperatures, adding each one to its correct container.

Dr. Crane thinks of the Scarebeast, that creature born of cruelty and greed and a sense of superiority. That creature which he tries to ignore is a part of him, that can never be removed. A damage which cannot be undone.

He pours the contents of a small beaker into a larger flask, watching the liquids swirl together. The stench in the air is becoming closer and closer to the one burned into his memory.

Crane’s whole body is wracked with unpleasant sensations. It’s truly unfortunate, he thinks, that despite his mind’s lack of fear, his body still reacts so harshly.

Jonathan’s eyes wander, eventually settling on a purple and green card sitting innocently on the corner of the table.

Right.

Even if they wiped out the GiW tomorrow, and even if Danny could survive without ectoplasm, he would still be in danger.

Crane has to get him back to good health. It’s the only way he can be sure that the boy can defend himself properly.

The solution in the flask begins to foam, and Jonathan does not hesitate as he adds the final ingredient. He pours the mixture into a new container, capping it and placing it into a freezer set to -40 degrees.

Hopefully this time he got the timing right.

Jonathan tries to relax, the ventilation in the room slowly but surely clearing the familiar smell from the air.

He thinks of the letter.

Surely, he thinks, that man can come up with some better material for his jokes. Or, at least something new.

Same old threats, same old attempted poisoning.

Aiming his threats at Danny, though, that was new. New and utterly unacceptable.

Scarecrow did what he had to.

He doubted that his solution would last forever, of course, as with that man it never did. As such, he would prepare both himself and Danny for the inevitable moment that his choices came back to bite them.

However, for the moment, they were safe. Danny could rest and recover, and Jonathan could figure out a plan to minimize possible damages.

Jonathan is no longer shaking.

He’s exhausted. This is his fifth attempt today, and each one leaves an unfortunate strain on his mind and body.

With a sigh, he settles himself into his seat at a nearby desk, opening up his computer and logging his most recent attempt. He still has to wait for it to chill to know if it was successful, but he can always update the logs later.

Once he’s done, he stretches, joints popping loudly as he walks to the freezer.

When he sees the results of his tireless work, the ghost of a smile flits across his face.

Success.

Jonathan picks up the jug of ectoplasm and leaves the lab, which is in all actuality the basement of the new apartment that he moved himself and Danny into after receiving the note. The scrappy old woman who was his landlord had told him that as long as he paid her five hundred dollars up front, she would let him set up in the basement without any questions or cop calls.

And so, the most expensive apartment in the Narrows was his.

At least, he thought, the distance between the basement and the apartment was short enough that Danny didn’t have to sit in while he was doing his labwork.

Jonathan knew that he didn’t exactly have a strong grasp on the concept of ‘lab safety,’ proven by his built-up immunity to almost every toxic chemical he’d ever encountered, and he doubted that Danny should be around such an environment.

He was back to the apartment quickly, not bothering to hide the self-satisfied smile on his face. Danny is sitting in his armchair, trying to read one of his books. Danny looks up, ready to greet him, when he sees the jug in his hands and pauses.

“Is that..?”

“Synthetic ectoplasm,” Jonathan says proudly, “I found the Penguin’s research notes and decided to recreate it, since you said that you needed it to heal properly. I’m not sure if it’ll work the same as what you usually have, but I hope it’s helpful all the same.”

Danny is standing, now, and looking at Jonathan with a strange look in his eyes. He looks, Jon thinks, like he’s about to cry.

Then Danny is rushing forward and wrapping his arms around Jonathan, his scrawny form shaking.

Jonathan is, for a moment, horrified. Did he do something wrong somehow? Why is this child, who’s so afraid of touch, hugging him?

And then he hears Danny’s voice, and he knows that it was all worth it.

“Thank you,” he’s mumbling, over and over, “thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you so much.”

“Of course,” Jonathan says softly, because what else can he say?

The boy cries in his arms for a while, and Jonathan briefly wonders what his life must have been like before, if a person like him can be seen as a comforting figure.

Then, Danny pours himself a small glass of the synthetic ectoplasm, putting the rest into the small fridge which had come with the apartment, and he settles back down, sitting in the armchair once again.

Jonathan sits opposite of him, and they chat with one another as Danny drinks.

Danny talks to him about the stars and tells him about different spaceships, and Jonathan makes sure to pay attention and ask the boy questions.

He doesn’t miss the way that Danny lights up every time he asks him something about his interests. He’s so passionate, so smart, a trait that he seldom sees outside of his fellow rogues, and Jonathan wants to encourage that.

It’s…nice. Peaceful, almost.

And then the front door flies open, because Jonathan isn’t allowed to have nice things.

“Jon,” a familiar voice rings out, “what the hell?!”

Danny is frozen in place, clearly terrified.

Jonathan heaves a sigh, turning to face the nuisance who’s entered his apartment.

“Eddie,” he drawls, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Edward’s face is red with anger as he invades Jonathan’s apartment.

“Oh, I don’t know! Maybe it’s the fact that you sent a bunch of rogues a cryptic message and then dropped off the face of the earth for two weeks! I was worried, Jon!”

Jonathan hums in acknowledgement.

“I didn’t think it was that cryptic,” he says, picking up a book in order to pointedly ignore the Riddler.

“Oh, of course you didn’t, you straw-stuffed hickory dickory dickhead. I swear, you’re always—” he pauses, finally having noticed Danny sitting opposite of Jonathan, “—who is this?”

“My apprentice,” Jonathan replies, dreading the upcoming headache he was no doubt going to develop from Edward’s company, “he’s helping me hunt down the GiW. His name is Danny.”

Edward gasps dramatically.

“You—an apprentice?! And you’re letting him sit in the old man chair?! You don’t even let me sit in the old man chair,” he wails, draping himself over the headrest of the couch with a flourish, “Jonathan, I thought I knew you!”

“Edward,” Jonathan says, “get out of my apartment.”

“Oh my goodness, this is incredible. You’re becoming the bat!”

“I am not becoming the bat, Eddie, now get out.”

Edward has a shit-eating grin on his face as he waltzes over to Danny. Danny, who seemed terrified when he first appeared, is now looking at him with obvious amusement written all over his face.

“I mean, look at him! The hair, the eyes, the scrappy build. If you put him in one of those traffic light vigilante costumes, he could easily pass as a Robin!”

“I’m not doing this with you today, Eddie.”

“Riddle me this, Jon: I am a treasure hidden inside of a chest. You can break me, or steal me, or give me a rest. I can flutter, or pound, or attack, or drop, but if you don’t have me, you’re certainly fucked. What am I?”

Jonathan pauses for a moment before he groans, dropping his head into his hands.

“Eddie.”

Danny sits still, a confused look on his face as he repeats the riddle silently. Then, his face lights up in delight.

“A heart!”

“Jon, I like this one,” Edward says with a smile, ruffling Danny’s hair, “you are correct! A heart, something that I wasn’t aware that our dear Jonathan had!”

“Eddie, stop.”

“No, no,” Edward says, “I was worried about you, you deserve this. I mean, you even missed girls night! You never miss girls night!”

“Girls night?” Danny asks, absolutely delighted.

“Oh, of course,” Edward says, sprawling over on the couch, dangerously close to just laying in Jonathan’s lap, “we have it once a week. I’m invited because of Selina and Jon’s invited because Harley likes him.”

“And what does girls night entail, exactly?”

“Eddie,” Jonathan groans, “please.”

“Well,” Edward hums, “we usually paint our nails, or watch a movie, or gossip about the other rogues, and occasionally, we tell each other about any ‘encounters’ we have with Batman,” he says, raising his eyebrows up and down.

Danny’s jaw drops.

“Edward, shut up,” Jonathan says, an irritated tone in his voice that wasn’t there before.

“No way,” Danny says, “I thought that Batman, like, hated you guys or something. You mean he actually..?”

“Oh, the Bat is much like a bottle of liquor or a cheap cigarette, in that he was made to be passed around.”

Danny chokes on air.

“Edward Nygma,” Jonathan hisses, getting out of his seat and looming over the man, “get the hell out.”

Edward pales.

“Leaving, leaving!” Edward says, dashing away from Jonathan. He pauses, turning to flash Danny a quick smile.

“Remember Danny, I’m your favorite uncle! Not any of the other rogues, me!”

With that, he leaves, the room falling completely silent.

And, as per usual, that silence does not last.

“You full-named him?” Danny asks gleefully, “and it worked?”

Jonathan just sighs, sitting down on the couch and rubbing at his temples.

“Please, don’t take anything Eddie says seriously. He’s a moron.”

“Dr. Crane, please let me come to girls night with you,” Danny pleads, his eyes sparkling, “I promise I won’t embarrass you.”

Jonathan groans.

“Of course you won’t, Eddie will do it for you.”

“Come on, please?”

“I think we’re a bit busy with the GiW at the moment,” Jonathan snaps. He pauses as he notices the crestfallen expression on Danny’s face.

This boy is going to be the death of him.

“Perhaps, though, when all that is taken care of…”

Danny cheers, grinning wildly, and Jonathan is not at all relieved to see him happy again. Certainly not.

The rest of the day is relatively normal.

Danny works on trying to get information from the GiW database while Crane refines his his fear toxin, both preparing for a raid on the GiW base they located in Gotham.

It was only a temporary base, nothing of note, but there was a chance of discovering more bases through it, and that wasn’t something either of them were willing to give up.

Still, something like this would take time. Rushing would only lead to failure.

…

Late in the night, long after Danny is fast asleep in his room, Jonathan pauses.

The GiW are not the only threat out there. They aren’t the only threat to him or to Danny. Perhaps it could be helpful to reach out to someone with greater resources than himself.

He sends a quick message to Red Hood.

Hopefully, he thinks, everything will go smoothly.

—

#dcxdp #dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc #dp x dc crossover #dc x dp fic #liminal scarecrow #Jon’s PTSD is triggered by the smell of ectoplasm because his life is a nightmare #HDJFNDNDNFKDJF #I am the master of emotional whiplash #rip Jon just trying to have some peace in this fucking house #never gonna happen king 🫡#oh also Eddie is not lying that bat can manwhore #and like half the rogues in Gotham know this from experience #and also most of the JL #and some of JL dark #btw Eddie and Jon are besties #they’re both awful but they make it work #when Jon full-names Eddie that just means that if he doesn’t stop whatever he’s doing he’s gonna get a dose of fear toxin #Eddie isn’t intimidating enough to full-name anyone so if he gets mad he just bashes whoever in the head with his cane #Jon is the living embodiment of ‘me and my girl don’t argue she bash me in the head with a rock and I walk it off like a man’#also side note I’m not doing any ships in this #because I don’t want to #they are just Like That #if you wanna read it that way though it’s completely fine #also shoutout 2 that one scriddler fic on ao3 that helped inspire that riddle LMAO

1K notes · View notes

kotoal1011 · 1 month

Text

Having a plushie of your f/o is amazing, but also, consider: your f/o having a little plushie of you. Even if they're considered to be cold and stoic, they treat the plushie as their most beloved possession– because it is. They take care of it, they keep it near whenever they're watching or playing something, they even give it a goodnight kiss before holding it tight and falling asleep.

Bonus: imagine you and your f/o making the plushies of both of you kiss.

#if I may gush a bit in the tags #plushie of my wife is the best thing that ever happened to me I love it so much <3 #she's so tiny. tiny ko.toko. she's supposed to look intimidating just like in t2 but she just looks cute instead. scrunkly #my only complaint is that she's TOO tiny. I wanna hug her but my hand is bigger than her lmao #I hope I can get the t1 plushie one day <3 #also #I can't wait to see how her plush version will look like in t3 #she'll probably look miserable but oh well #proship selfship #proselfship #selfproship

229 notes · View notes

anghraine · 4 months

Text

It's kind of fascinating to me that towards the end of P&P, Elizabeth has become protective of Darcy and either a) actively tries to insulate him from Situations or b) wishes that she could and gets stressed that she can't.

Darcy deeply loves her and is very ready to do whatever he can to secure her happiness, but narratively, I think the emphasis at the end is very much more on Elizabeth's protectiveness towards him.

It's like:

When Bingley and Darcy first come back to Hertfordshire, Darcy is very quiet and Elizabeth can barely bring herself to say anything—until Mrs Bennet insults Darcy. Then Elizabeth speaks up.

Mrs Bennet enlists Elizabeth to separate Darcy from Bingley with another insult to Darcy. Elizabeth finds this both convenient and enraging.

That day, Elizabeth decides to privately tell Mrs Bennet about her engagement to Darcy, specifically so that Darcy will be spared Mrs Bennet's first unfiltered response.

Elizabeth fiercely defends Darcy's character and love for her, as well as hers for him, to Mr Bennet. She not only says she loves Darcy but that it upsets her to hear Mr Bennet's criticisms of him.

Elizabeth is both relieved by Mrs Bennet's ecstatic reception of the engagement and a bit disappointed by how completely shallow she's being about it, and 100% sure she made the right call in keeping Darcy away.

Elizabeth defends Darcy against Darcy himself, repeatedly.

There's a period where Elizabeth seems to unwind and laugh, but this passes, especially after Charlotte and Mr Collins show up. Darcy manages to stay calm around Mr Collins (I think this is framed as a significant and admirable achievement for him), but Elizabeth does not like him being in a situation where he has to deal with Mr Collins in the first place.

Elizabeth tries to shield Darcy from being noticed by Mrs Phillips and Mrs Bennet, who do seem to make him pretty excruciatingly uncomfortable.

Ultimately, Elizabeth ends up trying to keep Darcy to herself or to shepherd him around to relatives he can handle more easily, and is so stressed at this point that she just wants to get married and escape to Pemberley.

After their marriage, things are actually great at Pemberley and in their married life, despite the occasional complication.

Lydia writes a congratulatory letter to Elizabeth, asking for Darcy to get Wickham a promotion unless Elizabeth would rather not bring it up with him. Elizabeth really does not want Darcy to have to deal with this and handles it by privately setting aside a Lydia fund out of her personal expenses. (IIRC, it's not clear if Darcy even knows about this.)

Elizabeth also is the driving force behind Darcy's reconciliation with Lady Catherine.

This could read as an unsettling, unbalanced dynamic and a very odd ending point for the arc of a woman like Elizabeth, but in the context of the overall novel, it doesn't feel that way. Or maybe I'd see it more that way if I interpreted Darcy (and for that matter, Elizabeth) + their arcs differently? But as it is, I do think that by this point in the story they are genuinely doing the best they can, independently and for each other, and they've both come a long way. They shine in different contexts and support each other as much as they can in the circumstances that do arise.

It seems very them, in terms of their temperament and abilities, that Elizabeth would put all this effort into shielding Darcy, while at the same time, Darcy completely cuts off Lady Catherine for insulting Elizabeth and only ever speaks to her again because Elizabeth wants him to.

#one of the things that really works about darcy/elizabeth for me is how much they're kind of the apotheosis of each other's types #like the people elizabeth is closest to—jane charlotte and mr bennet #are very different people but they're quiet and private and strong-willed and stubborn and intelligent #and darcy is totally the full throttle version of that type #and darcy is obviously drawn to cheerful outgoing lively charisma bombs with minds of their own #(even in his youth this was kind of true w/ pre-villainy wickham)#(then there's fitzwilliam and bingley and elizabeth herself)#and nobody is more peak that type than elizabeth bennet #they're totally each other's types and like. darcy is blatantly ride or die for elizabeth #while end of the book elizabeth is so far from being intimidated or awed by him that she's sweeping in to save him #in a way that i suspect nobody has really attempted for a long time #anghraine babbles #long post #anghraine's meta #elizabeth bennet #fitzwilliam darcy #otp of otps #(obviously this is particularly endearing w/ the autistic!darcy headcanon)#(neither of them could ever know why he's like that and in their society it's probably for the best that they don't know tbh #but they make it work anyway)

180 notes · View notes

cuubism · 1 year

Text

dream and hob are really just that post that was like 'introverts only make friends when an extrovert forcibly adopts them'

#hob picking dream up by the scruff of his neck: you're my friend now and we're having soft tacos later!#that was death's goal she was like hob is powerful and outgoing enough to rope dream into a friendship. i'm sure of it #dream's never had a friend because he never approaches anyone or tries and no one approaches him because he's scary and intimidating #except hob who doesn't give a fucK!!#hob: me and the best friend i pulled by not knowing when to quit!#little does hob know once he wins dream's favor dream will never let go of his hand and be completely obsessed with him for the rest oftime #that's how it works #dreamling #i feel u dream i've never initiated a relationship ever either

897 notes · View notes

st-el-la-luna · 6 months

Text

Thinking about König

Mainly, thinking about his anxiety being like my anxiety. It's social anxiety but more than the "oh no, people, scary!" That people tend to generalize it as.

That's not to say that it isn't like that. Yes, people are intimidating, especially large groups of them. Or if you're being put in a command position. Or if you're in a position to be judged... Which is most situations. (Public speaking, especially for school projects is especially bad).

But it's not just shyness. It's also the aversion.

Walking through the halls, with a dead sort of stare. Not intentionally intimidating, but it's very much a resting bitch face, look at me and I'll kill you sort of expression.

Saying as little as possible to people he's not comfortable with.

"yes."

"no."

"I don't like that."

"I don't want to."

"we are not friends."

Staring so intently at people that it unsettles them.

"-and that's why I think... Why... It's... Is everything okay, Colonel?"

"Ja, why?"

"You're, uh... You're looking very intently."

"This is just how I look. Eye contact is important."

"uhh... Right, it's just... I haven't seen you blink?"

"I blink when you blink."

Like, yes, of course there are situations where he gets mousy voiced or sweaty palms. But not at work, no. At work he's able to conjure up, maybe not confidence, but something.

At a restaurant though? Speaking softly, making himself small, saying please and thank you after every sentence. It doesn't matter what the server does, he's always soft spoken and polite, nervous. If he asks for no pickles and they bring him his dish with pickles, he'll eat it. If he orders a chicken sandwich and they bring him a burger, he'll eat it. If he tells them that he has a deadly peanut allergy and they bring him a tub of peanut butter... He'll send that back, but he'll be polite about it.

"Oh, ja, I'm sorry, I... This isn't what I ordered. Oh, no, no, it's okay, don't apologize. I'm sorry. You're busy. It's fine, I understand."

Sometimes during mission briefs he will randomly growl and smack his fist on the table. People think he's mad at them and straighten up, stop sipping so loud, on their best behaviour. He actually just got mad at himself, remembered something embarrassing from his past.

He almost acts like a narcissist. Passes by a mirror, winks at his reflection: "How's it going, good looking?"

Makes jokes about being the pretty one. People think he's full of himself.

He actually hates himself but has replaced negative self talk with show boating. He doesn't hate himself any less, but he tells himself to kill himself way less often!

Always has some sort of plan. An escape route, a plan of attack. Watching the people around him nervously.

Sits in the back of the room so he can watch everybody. Sits with his chair pushed far back so he can stand quicker.

Glares at people who walk by. Gives their dogs heart eyes. Prays that the owners realize and ask him if he wants to say hello. He's too awkward to ask permission. And he's too angry looking for people to offer.

Represses lots of anger from incidents he feels he can't lash out in, goes batshit in training or on missions. (I used to do kick boxing, the gym people had to keep coming up to me and moving my punching bag back because I was hitting it too hard).

The kind of person to, when going to someone's house, immediately look for signs of a pet. If he finds it. The animal is now his best friend. Goes to a party hangs with the dog type of beat.

Thinks smoking pot would help him. But the idea makes him nervous. Which he thinks, smoking pot would help... But the idea of smoking pot makes him nervous. But he–

Will just lie to get out of shit.

"Hey, we're going to get drinks tonight, do you want to come?"

"ah, I can't... I promised to get dinner with a friend."

Goes home and enjoys a night alone.

Avoidant. Will just not do things that cause him stress. Hasn't been to the dentist in years because talking to the lady at reception makes him nervous. What if the phone signal is bad? What if it just keeps breaking up? What if she can't understand his accent? What if when he gets to the dentist they hate him for the state of his teeth? What if he goes to the dentist and they steal his teeth?! It's happened before! He's seen articles!

Gets adopted by extroverts by being unhinged.

"Hey, what are you thinking about?" Horangi asks.

"I heard that human meat tastes like pork... The best pork, actually." König says absently.

"Huh... And you know this why?"

"I was curious."

"okay... Let's go to dinner."

"Ja, let's."

A sort of dry air about him that comes off as a lack of empathy. But he's just got so much going on in his brain that he can't focus on emoting anything but augghskft.

Will stare off into space with a blend of the hundred yard stare and the most murderous expression known to man. He's not mad. He's just thinking.

Undiagnosed autism

Forgets people's names, gets to nervous to ask again. So he just calls everyone "you".

Acts cold and indifferent. He just really hates small talk, doesn't understand it. Why say something if it's not important? He doesn't care about your grandchildren. Or your wife. Or your morning.

Is the world's best host mainly out of fear. Asking if you need food or a drink or a blanket or if–

König who after confrontations, has to take a step back, hands shaking slightly. But who's also still super pissed and ready to throw punches at the drop of a hat

König who worries so much about physical affection that it just becomes too much. Hugs are suffocating, hands are held too tight, cuddling is like being smothers. But it takes him a long time to initiate anything. God forbid you initiate anything. Hug the man and he bluescreens