#like. man is a walking osha violation probably | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

stolen-breath · 2 years

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:: ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ :: ᴊᴀsᴏɴ ᴛᴏᴅᴅ × ʏ/ɴ

: sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ :: ᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜ ᴊᴀsᴏɴ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴏᴠᴇᴅ ᴏғ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴊᴏʙ, ʜᴇ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ᴊᴜsᴛ ʟᴇᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅɪᴇ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ

:: ᴛᴡs :: ᴍɪʟᴅ sᴡᴇᴀʀɪɴɢ, ᴀɴɢsᴛ

:: ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ :: 2389

:: ʀᴇᴏ̨ᴜᴇsᴛᴇᴅ :: ɴᴏ

:: sғᴡ | ɴsғᴡ ::

ᴍᴀSᴛᴇƦʟꞮSᴛ

:: ɢɪғ ʙʏ ᴅᴀɪʟʏᴊᴀsᴏɴᴛᴏᴅᴅ,, ɢᴏ ɢɪᴠᴇ ᴛʜᴇᴍ sᴏᴍᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇ!! ::

JASON

He never approved of your job at Ace Chemicals. Of course he never said that, not to you. He celebrated your promotion with you, ordered take-out on nights when he couldn't be there, listened to you rant even though he couldn't understand a word. But he hated that you worked at the same place that created the most heinous of Gotham's rogue gallery, that you were a single OSHA violation from becoming the Joker's genderbent double.

You didn't know that. Why would you? It happened years ago, and Ace never broadcast that little trivia. It would ruin their PR, bring unwanted attention that could come with a nasty price tag. Only Batman and his allies knew that – and the Joker, obviously. And probably Harley. Maybe a few of the other villains… Okay fine, a lot of people knew, but you weren't one of them, and he couldn't exactly break that news without inviting several new and awkward questions. So he never told you, never asked you to quit, just helped you and supported you while the nagging worries in the back of his mind stayed exactly there.

Now he sprints through the factory, kicking himself with every step. He should have forced you to quit. He should have told you everything, even if it meant revealing the truth about his night job.

Why had he been hesitant in the first place? Fear for your safety? Maybe. You were a pretty tough cookie. You used to joke that you were the tough one in the relationship, and part of him believed it. Maybe he'd kept the secret out of loyalty to Batman. Back then, it made sense. He would have killed for the man if it came to that.

Back then, he thought Bruce would do the same for him.

Jason grinds his teeth together until every heavy footstep jars his jaw. Damn it. Damn it, damn it, damn it. He should’ve known Scarecrow would pull some shit like this. It was just fucking like him. You were an insurance policy, the prize for remaining loyal to him. “Once I understood your greatest fear, controlling you was simple.” That was the crap he spewed to every person that stood up to him. Every ally that he suspected would betray him. This was all a game to him, the world’s trickiest game of chess, a test to his superiority. At his core, he was no better than the Joker.

He thought he could control Jason by risking your safety – and he was right. If anything happened to you, his brittle sanity would shatter like glass.

But nothing is going to happen to you. Jason only had to hold one guy’s hand in sulfuric acid to find out where Scarecrow’s keeping you, and he is going to get to you. Fuck Scarecrow’s plan to break the Bat. It can wait.

The door may be locked, but that’s not going to stop the walking arsenal. Jason slaps an explosive on the metal door and ducks around the corner to shield himself from the explosion. His armor is top of the line, meant to outdo even Lucius Fox’s finest work, but he’s not going to take stupid risks like that. That was the old him. That was Robin. The Arkham Knight is calculated, and the Arkham Knight isn’t going to facetank C4. (Even though, let’s face it, he could probably walk through the explosion like an action movie badass. Can he glue sunglasses to his helmet? A thought for later.)

It isn’t hard to find you. The only hiding place here is a table large enough to fit at least three people underneath it. He ignores your panicked shrieks as he drags you out of your hiding place and slings you over his shoulder as easily as if you’re an empty sack.

“Put me –”

“Shut up. I’m saving you.” He hates talking to you like this. Hates having to pretend he’s just a soldier doing his job and not your heroic boyfriend. Hates that you’re beating your fists against his shoulder plates instead of sighing ‘my hero!’ and swooning in his arms. More than anything, he longs to rip his helmet off and show you who he is, show you he’s alive and he’s fine and you’re going to be okay, it’s safe now, he’s here – but there isn’t time. The annoying pleasant automated voice over the intercom announces that an explosion is imminent. He has to get you out.

His helicopter is still on the pad. Even from here, he can see the terror etched on his soldier’s faces as they gesture frantically for him to hurry. “I can only go so fast goddammit,” he grumbles under his breath – not that he really had to lower his voice. The whup-whup-whup of the spinning blades are so loud that he could probably yell and no-one would hear him. Still, it feels good to mutter protests like he did when he worked with the Bat.

…no. Not with. For. It never was a partnership – it was always Big Daddy Bat and pitiful little Robin clinging to his cape.

He seethes with frustration as he shoves you into his lieutenant’s arms. The man is just helping you onto the helicopter so he can focus on getting in himself. It’s a time-saver. But he hates the idea of someone else touching you, even like this. He is the one saving you. This isn’t a joint operation. This isn’t Strike Team Alpha or some shit. This is the Arkham Knight, blazing through a burning factory to pluck you from the arms of Death itself.

Well, when he recounts the story later, he’s not mentioning any of these guys. Screw them.

With a single button press, he tunes his helmet’s radio to the frequency of the chopper and shouts instructions to the pilot. The lieutenant wraps a blanket around your shoulders, helping you get comfortable in the cramped and jerking confines as the helicopter rises into the air far faster than it should. He stands up front like he always does, but he half-turns to keep you in the corner of his eye at all times. Let them get fresh with you – it’s a quick way to find out what it’s like to get thrown out of a helicopter. An exclusive offer. Not many people get to say they’ve done that.

“Drop us off there.” He points to the roof of the Doyle building, a tall building that once held crumbling gargoyles and steeples taller than most churches. Thanks to the Gotham council’s brilliant decision making, they had been torn down as part of the renovation project. It is now sleek, shining, filled with windows and fluorescent lights and commercial comfort, but it is still your place. Deep in its foundation lay the memories of the two of you laying on it, watching where the stars would be if not for the smog and light pollution of the city, snacking on greasy street food and arguing which villain could actually kill Superman if they had to.

He can’t think of a better place to ruin all the plans he’d crafted so carefully since his escape.

The helicopter doesn’t land – it isn’t safe, not anymore, this building is made of fiberglass and corporate dreams. Jason drags you to your feet as gently as he can and helps you hop off the hovering, wobbling chopper. He lands beside you as easily as jumping off a curb and waves them away, tossing a few orders through the radio for good measure. Give him a few minutes, at least. He needs this almost as much as he needs to kill Batman – actually, no. He needs it more.

YOU

He doesn’t turn to face you right away. You take a step back and eye him suspiciously, squinting against the dust and dirt spitting up in the vortex of the chopper’s wind. It flies away, heading deeper into the city, and you two stand alone. When he seems to be ignoring you for the time being (never mind that he’s clenching his fists at his sides like a man trying not to punch a hole in the wall), you risk looking away from him at the city. Your city. Even from here, you can see the smoke plumes wafting up from various fires, the eerie orange chemicals drifting into the sky from Ace Chemicals (where you would be if he hadn’t dragged you out, a thought that sends chills down your already icy back). The only cars driving around below you are militarized tanks and armored vehicles, all bearing the insignia of the man standing before you.

The city’s being invaded – that much is clear. This random soldier that you’ve never heard of paired up with the Rogue’s Gallery to take over Gotham and intends to burn it all down. At least he was willing to evacuate the civilians first – you don’t like to give credit to bad people, but you have to hand it to him. Very few villains would even notice the innocent people they trample in their rampages. That alone makes this guy stand out.

Why did he save you? For that matter, how did he know you were there? All the records were meant to show that you’d evacuated with everyone else, just like the other workers that were forced to stay behind to help manufacture Scarecrow’s new toxin. You didn’t know what happened to the others. They came for all of you, one by one, over the course of the night. You’d heard screaming just a few minutes before this guy blew up the door (he blew up a door, what kind of maniac was he) and dragged you out of the factory literally kicking and screaming. You had assumed it was your turn to find out how Scarecrow was dealing with his assets now that he no longer had a use for you.

You assumed it was your turn to die.

“Thank you.” The words are reluctant, forced out between chattering teeth. It’s awfully cold for the end of October – it tends to get pretty cold in Gotham, but this is ridiculous. Still, voicing your gratitude is the least you can do. This villain – because he is a villain, you know he’s here to kill the Bat, you know he’s willing to kill his way through Gotham to do it – went out of his way to drag you from the factory moments before it exploded. Hell, he even had his guys give you a blanket. He didn’t have to do any of that. He went out of his way to do it. The least you could give him, the only thing you can give him, is a thanks.

He dismisses your thanks with a wave. “Don’t worry about it. Couldn’t leave you there. Not your fault Scarecrow left his marbles in the Asylum.” There’s something about the way he talks that’s oddly and eerily familiar, even through the metallic distortion of his helmet’s voice modulator. It’s comforting, yet horrifying. You rack your brain, throwing names and faces at the imagined wall to see what sticks, but nothing works. You have no idea who this guy is, but he’s so…familiar.

“Yeah.” You pull the blanket tighter around you as a gust of wind finds its way through the gaps. Once again, your gaze drifts over Gotham. A chilling scream fills the air, then fades into the various sounds of the city. Your thoughts burn with questions demanding answers. You shouldn’t ask them. A bright light, dimmed through distance, flashes over the two of you. It gleams against his sidearm, a gun that you couldn’t name if you tried but immediately makes you pause. You don’t have to wonder if it’s loaded.

But you can’t stop yourself. “Did you leave yours there too?”

He glances over his shoulder. His helmet is as blank as a sheet of paper, yet somehow you can almost imagine an expression of surprise and delighted disbelief. “If only you knew.” There’s longing in that voice, as if he genuinely wishes you did know. But you’re imagining that, almost certainly.

“Why?” The word slips out before you can stop it. “You’re a killer. You’re here to kill Batman and burn Gotham to the ground and you’re working with Scarecrow of all fucking people – but you evacuated the city first. You saved me. I don’t get it.”

He laughs, a short bitter bark that makes your skin crawl. “I’m a killer, yeah, but I don’t kill innocent people. The civilians don’t need to get wrapped up in this war. Besides, I’m doing it for them. If they’re all dead, there’s no point, y’know?”

Hearing such casual language coming from a robot head atop a soldier’s stiff body is so weird. Did you die in Ace Chemicals? Is this your afterlife? “You think killing Batman is good for Gotham? He’s saving this city.”

“No. He’s not.” The quiet fury that edges his voice forces you back a step. His fists clench at his sides – you imagine that his knuckles gleam like moonlight under his gloves. "Batman is a glorified man in a mask who martyrs himself nightly for a crusade that his own misguided morals prevent him from ever completing."

You almost laugh at the bitter words, at the painful memory they dredge up. “You almost sound like someone I used to know. He had a pretty big grudge against the Bat too.”

“Who doesn’t?” He lets out a soft huff, reaching up to adjust his helmet. His fingers linger on the clasps that connect it to his armor, as if he’s tempted for a moment to take it off. You can’t stop the surge of excitement that rushes through you. Will you, and you alone, know the identity of the Arkham Knight?

But he doesn’t remove his helmet. He simply pulls a grappling hook from his belt, just like the one that Jason used to have. “Stay here,” he orders with a single glance over his shoulder, the screened helmet rendering his expression unreadable. “Someone will be along to get you to safety soon. I have work to do.”

“Thank you for saving me,” you call as he shoots the hook at a construction crane and disappears into the smog of night.

Just like Jason used to.

#jason todd imagine #jason todd x reader #jason todd headcanon #jason todd x y/n #arkham knight #arkhamverse jason todd #arkham knight x reader #arkham knight x y/n #arkham knight x you

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nabtime · 10 months

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Our Empty Graves III

Fandom: Danny Phantom / Batman: Under the Red Hood

Pairings: Danny Fenton/Jason Todd (Dead on Main)

Rating: Mature

Tags: batfamily, hazmat AU, Nobody Knows AU, Mute!Phantom, potential ghost king danny, slow burn?, DC means Disregard Canon, AU means AU nothing is exactly the same, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, more than canon typical violence, danny is a Halfa and also a Fetch, no beta we die like basically everyone

Summary: They say that Red Hood has a loyal mutt. The man rules his territory in Crime Alley with an iron fist and a guard dog at his side. They say that Hood calls him Fetch, sometimes Fetcher. No one's ever heard him speak. Anyone who's ever seen him says he looks like an experiment gone wrong, that Hood picked him up somewhere unspeakable. They say he'll do anything Red Hood asks of him and he'll do it well. That he's strong and fast and probably inhuman. The girls say he's sweet; quiet but charming in his own way. Rival gangs say he's vicious; that he'd sooner rip your throat out than let you go.

Jason just wants to help him.

Chapter 3: afraid of coming back (to find that everything is the same)

Chapter Summary: Jason questions the scrungly little lab rat he picked up and maybe even makes a friend along the way! The lab rat reject in question seems to be having a good time at least.

Chapter Notes: title from Kingdom of Cards by Bad Omens Links: AO3 // Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 4

“Just who the fuck are you?”

Jason held the gun steadily at the person’s head, waiting for an answer. He’d never seen a rogue like them around, clad head to toe in some altered version of a Level B Hazmat suit- black with white trim, a baggy outline obscuring their form, and glowing. And the blood they were leaking- at least he assumed it was their version of blood seeing as it was seeping from gashes in their suit- was a bright violent green. His grip tightened on the gun, green like Lazarus Water.

The neon green dots that blinked like eyes behind the tinted visor just watched him. He couldn’t say how he knew Walking OSHA Violation looked tired, but they did. Probably all their injuries catching up to them, but Jason had questions he needed answers to. Like why the fuck whatever noise they made in the street had tripped some sort alarm within him. The kind of reaction you’d have to someone crying for help but times a thousand. Jason may not have come back from the dead exactly right in the head but that impulse he’d felt still didn’t sit right with him. He already didn’t feel in control of himself enough, he didn’t need Glow-Stick fucking that up even more.

“C’mon, kid. Need an answer,” he said, waving the gun a bit to hurry them up. The safety was still on but they didn’t need to know that. He had appearances to keep.

They looked offended before silently pointing to themselves and then holding up two fingers and then making a zero. They did it with one hand, the other limp on their chest.

A twenty-year old kid, then. Couldn’t blame him for thinking the guy was younger considering how short they were. Five foot two and a half, three at best and while the suit hid their frame they still seemed small. Thin. It had looked like Batman was beating up a child in the streets. And even if they hadn’t pulled off that weird scream thing Jason still would have gotten them out of there. Their answer brought up another problem though.

“Do you not want your voice recognized or can you just not speak? One finger for the first one and two for the second.”

They tilted their head to the side curiously and something told Jason the kid was also relieved, probably the way they relaxed into the couch a bit. Jason still had the gun on them though, so he didn’t know what the broken night-light was thinking there.

They held up two fingers.

Alright, he could work with that. The Chernobyl Roleplayer could be lying and still not want their voice recognized, meaning that their voice could be recognized and they were someone of note, but Jason doubted that with the way they hadn’t made an actual sound when B had kicked them in the ribs. He was going to kick Bruce’s ass for that, more than he had already. Or better yet, he’d find a way to make sure Alfred found out. Alfie would make sure he learned his lesson.

Next order of business; he was tired of using ‘they’ without knowing if those were the correct pronouns. He fucked up anyone who misgendered the girls and guys under his protection, he knew the rundown. They went by the pronouns they wanted no matter what parts they were working with and anyone who didn’t respect that got a sucker punch from Red Hood.

He held up a finger for each pronoun he listed off, “He, she, they, it, or something else?”

Discount Rave Costume sank further into the couch, getting comfortable. Again, the gun was still there and pointed at them. Had they noticed the safety was off? Whatever. His couch had been a lost cause before all this but it was definitely a bio-hazard now with all the blood the kid smeared on it.

They held up a single finger.

Alright. At least that proved he was cooperative and understood what Jason was asking. He sighed and holstered his gun. No point in using it if it wasn’t even working to intimidate the guy.

“Stay there,” he ordered.

Mister Irradiation Personified looked unimpressed and waved down at his body, which was still bleeding sluggishly and looked battered to all hell. Jason huffed and turned down the hall towards the bathroom. Sassy little shit. Lava lamp lookin’ ass.

This wasn’t one of his more well stocked safe-houses. Not that he had many of those or many supplies in the better stocked ones. He was still building his empire and most of his money and attention went to cleaning up the streets and protecting his own. Stuff for himself was secondary. He crouched down in front of the sink and started rummaging. Thankfully he had a ton of gauze and some saline. No antibiotics though. Probably for the best considered the leaky science experiment on his couch likely wasn’t human anyway; antibiotics might not work or might make it worse. He gathered it all up and then set out for something to write on and to write with. Needed to get a name so he could stop calling him shit like Angler Fish Impersonator. There were only so many nicknames he could come up with.

He dropped off the gauze and saline in front of the Zack from Sky High Kinnie and moved on. Kid gave him a lazy salute and heaved himself up to grab at the gauze. Jason turned and smacked his little irradiated hands away.

“I don’t know if you can even get septic but I ain’t having you die on my couch from an infection, you walking highlighter. Wash your fuckin’ hands first.”

He collapsed back and pouted. At least, Jason thought he was pouting. He couldn’t see it, but that was the general vibe. Fucking “This Is Not A Place Of Honor” type guy could communicate via vibes alone now. Mr. I-Look-Like-The-Thing-That-Crawled-Out-Of-The-Sewer-And-Ate-A-Mini-Van-Last-Week tilted his head back against the couch and gave Jason the wettest most pathetic looking puppy dog eyes he’d ever seen. He didn’t even have actual eyes! They were sparkling and teary like a fucking anime magical girl with slime powers or some shit. Unbelievable.

“Don’t make me bring the gun out again. Lizzie's been itching to let loose and she's got a mean streak in her.”

An incredulous look before Sklodowska-Curie’s poorest little meow meow turned and hunched over, shoulders shaking. Jason was sure if the brat could make noise he’d hear giggling. Broken ass squeaky toy motherfucker. He rolled his eyes, not like the kid could see it under the helmet but he made sure to emulate as much annoyance in his aura or whatever as he could. If jellyfish genes could communicate with vibes alone, so could he.

He stalked off to the kitchen to rummage through the drawers. God help him he did not want to resort to charades. He had a feeling Professor Utonium over there would just use it to mess with him. But, hey, at least the guy was in good spirits.

He found an old newspaper and a red crayon. Good enough. Why either of those things were there in the first place would remain a mystery he did not care enough to solve. He dropped the items on the couch beside the World’s Smallest Nuclear Reactor, who gave him an inquisitive look that he ignored before stalking back over to the sink, removing his gloves, and washing his hands. Like a decent fucking person that knew how to do first aid.

“Alright, scooch,” he grunted, dropping onto the dusty ass cushions and reaching for the gauze and saline. “Let’s get you patched up and you answer my damn questions already. You’re gonna use those,” he said, pointing to the newspaper and crayon, “to tell me what I need to know.”

The blank stare he got in return made him pause. “Wait, shit. Can you even write?”

An exasperated look and a roll of those glowing eyes answered him. Lime-flavored Mr. Mime nodded, gestured to the hand that was limp and likely attached to a broken arm from the weird angle, and then shook his head. Ah.

“I don’t care how messy it is, just figure it out with your other hand. Ambidexterity is a choice. Make it quick.”

Kid slumped his whole body back into the couch, just exuding annoyance before picking up the newspaper and balancing it on his lap and then grabbing the crayon. He tilted his head with a little wave that Jason took to mean to ask his questions.

“First off, Ghostbusters Reject, what are you?”

His eyes squished and Jason could have sworn he was grinning. Something about that last nickname must have really amused him. Jason really didn’t want to know why. He looked away for a long moment before putting crayon to paper and slowly wrote something down.

Fetch said the messy scrawl. Jason hummed, soaked the gauze in saline and pressed it against the biggest gash on the kid’s thigh. Stupid fucking Bat-a-rang. To his credit the James Cameron Movie Extra barely flinched at the touch.

“You gonna tell me what that is?”

A shake of the head. A one-shoulder shrug. Well, whatever. Luminescent Swamp Thing could keep his secrets.

“You got a name at least?”

Another look away. Probably coming up with something on the spot. He focused on the newspaper and wrote as neatly as he could, which still looked like drunk chicken scratch mixed with cursive doctor shorthand. Jason got the feeling that if he had a discernible mouth he’d have his tongue sticking out in concentration. Cute.

He held up the paper. Fetcher.

“Fucking really? That’s like a wolf guy named Wolfer or something. Or a dude named Human. What are you, fucking Moon Moon?”

Fetcher (ugh, could he really not have come up with a better name?) put an offended hand to his chest before tilting his head in a way that distinctly read as sassy and wrote a reply that took almost an eon to write out.

A guy named Guy?

Jason snorted. Guess he had a point there. Whatever. Fetcher it was then. Good. He’d run out of good nicknames. Now he had new material.

“Alright, Fetcher in the Rye, let’s get you patched up so you can get out of my hair. I don’t want any more nuclear waste on my couch.”

Fetcher nodded, shoulders sagging as Jason got to work on setting his arm and wrapping it up. He paused in the movement and looked up, asking something he probably should have before taking his gloves off and getting all up in the kid’s business.

“This shit ain’t gonna kill me, is it?” he asked, gesturing to the green goo all over the place.

A shrug. Fucking fantastic.

Then there was shaking and Fetcher’s eyes were squinted again. Bastard. He was laughing. He saw Jason’s flat look, heaved a sigh with his body, then shook his head. He tilted it, considering, moved his hand in a so-so motion and then shook his head again.

Jason huffed and just took that to mean, probably not but maybe. Great. Well, he’d already taken a dip in a Lazarus Pit, how bad could knock-off ectoplasm be?

He snapped the arm back and Fetcher inhaled a sharp breath, forcing a shuddering exhale as Jason poured saline over exposed skin (it looked white? Like vampire white. Maybe Fetch meant half-vampire?). He secured it with gauze and moved on.

He moved closer to wrap more bandaging around Fetcher’s chest. He smelled like limeade and the moment before lightning struck in a thunderstorm. Like power and death. They made eye-contact and Jason was close enough to the tinted face shield that he could almost make out the features of a face hiding under it. Slender and young, forehead covered in (white?) ragged bangs. He tied the wrap and pulled away. Interesting.

Fetcher shook himself before picking up the newspaper. He pointed to where he’d written his own name, gestured to himself and then pointed at Jason.

“You want my name?”

A nod.

“Red Hood.”

No reaction besides another bobbing nod. Kid didn’t know who he was then. Hm.

“You know where you are, Fetcher?”

A shake.

“You’re in my territory. In Gotham. Crime Alley. It’s not a pleasant place to be, kid. Found Batman beating the shit out of you just on the edge of my turf. What the fuck was up with that, anyway?”

A small shrug answered him. Fetcher looked away and seemed to shrink in on himself. Jason would have none of that now.

“Look. I’ll be the first person to say that Goth Furry Man is an asshole. I’m just trying to figure out what, exactly, crawled up his ass and died, alright? Make sure he doesn’t come after you again.”

Fetcher side-eyed him before moving the newspaper and writing again.

Accident.

Kid dropped the crayon and ran his fingers in the air in an upside down wiggle and then pointed to himself.

“You were running away?”

A nod. He made a circular motion in the air, pointed to himself, and then made a motion like something falling. God, fuck, of course they’d resorted to charades.

“You fell through a hole?”

He got a so-so motion before Fetcher paused and thought better of trying to mime out whatever he was getting at. Good. He picked up the crayon and wrote, handwriting still messy as all hell.

Portal.

“You fell through a portal?” he questioned. How the fuck? You know what, no, actually, he’d seen weirder. Gotham was fucked up, weird glowing radioactive dudes falling through portals was not the worst that’d ever happened.

Mr. Radioactive in question nodded enthusiastically. He went back to miming. He made a rounded motion, like an arch in the air, and then wiggled his fingers in a forward motion out in front of the arch. Jason squinted. What the fuck was he trying to say here. He made the portal motion again above where he’d made the arch and finger-wiggle and dropped his hand down.

“You fell from the portal onto…?”

Kid threw his hand up and tried again. He drew lines in the air, up long slanted left, short to the right, flat across, short to the left, long slanted right down, and flat across again. Then he laid his arm across his chest, closed his eyes, and laid back. Like a corpse. Oh!

“A fucking coffin?”

He pointed excitedly before making the so-so motion again. Then the arch and wiggle motion.

“A grave?”

More enthusiastic pointing and nodding. Fetcher was practically bouncing on the couch, which was probably not good for his wounds, but whatever. He wasn’t his mom.

Damn maybe Jason was good at charades, actually. He wondered if it would ruin his image too much to suggest to his guys to have a game night. Maybe just his closest lieutenants. Who said being a crime lord couldn’t mean kicking someone’s ass at monopoly?

“What about that would piss off Mr. Dark and Stormy Night, though?” he mused. Bats wouldn’t fly off the handle like that just for accidentally trespassing. He had that stupid moral code that Jason hated.

Fetcher gave a shrug, seeming to genuinely not know.

Jason thought back to where he’d found them. Fetcher couldn’t have gone far with his condition and an angry Bat chasing after him. The closest place a grave could be was-

Ah. The cemetery with his empty grave.

He clenched his jaw to control himself. Maybe not. Can’t jump to conclusions.

“Was it the specific grave you were on?” he asked through gritted teeth. Not that the tone translated much through the modulator on his mask.

A thoughtful tilt of the head and a reluctant nod. A hand wave. Maybe, then.

He kept in a sigh. “What were the initials on the headstone?”

Flat line down then curve. Straight line down and then an outward curve at the top. Straight line down and then a flat line across the top. J.P.T. Jason Peter Todd. Of fucking course. Of course that absolute bastard could rage and assault some random kid that’d landed on his grave on accident but would stubbornly refuse to actually avenge him. To do something meaningful about his death and change how he took down his villains. To do something about that fucking clown’s kill count. No. Had to beat some rando within an inch of his life for doing nothing instead. Fucking hypocrite.

He was so going to tip off Alfred later. It was the best he could do with his plans at the moment. But if Bruce came anywhere near his territory again he’d get a bullet to the kneecap for sure. Maybe both for good measure. Couldn’t harm him too much, yet. Jason had plans for the bastard. For now he gathered himself with the placation of later. The Batman would get what was due to him. Shittiest not-dad of the year award included. Brucie would pay for his inaction. For not being there in time. For letting Jason die.

He had hoped. He had hoped so goddamn much that Bruce or Dick had done something about his death. That the clown had been made to pay for what he did. That maybe Bruce had learned his lesson about taking kids that weren’t trained enough out into the field. Letting them into the field at all. But lo and behold not a single fucking thing was different. Bruce had a new Robin. The Joker was still up to no good with nothing more than a slap on the wrist to stop him. Jason had been buried, tucked away in a Park Row two-bit cemetery (out of sight, out of mind) with Wayne stripped from his name. He had never accepted it before he died, but it still hurt. All of it did. He shoved it all deep down, folding that anger down within himself like he’d learned, ready to bring it back out when he needed it. Right now he had other things to focus on.

He dropped his gaze back to Fetcher, who was watching him intently. That bright green gaze was only a little bit disconcerting but whatever, he could deal.

“I won’t let him come after you again. You’re safe here so long as you follow my rules. Comprende?”

A serious nod and then a questioning motion.

“The rules?”

Another nod.

“Everybody looks out for everybody. Don’t mess with kids. Don’t deal to kids. Just don’t touch kids in general. Play nice with the sex workers or get wrecked. No murder or maiming unless its in self-defense or on my orders. Don’t fuck with the homeless or get curb-stomped. If you’re gonna deal it’s gotta be pure and if you’re gonna use do it safely. Snitches get stitches and never talk to cops.”

Fetcher blinked at the long list but nodded along and gave a peppy thumbs up at the end.

“Good. Now get some rest,” he said, swinging himself up from the couch and stretching. He caught the other ogling before Glow-Stick looked away. He’d save that for processing later.“I don’t have any food here so I’m gonna grab some. Do you eat? Got allergies?”

Fetcher shrugged and shook his head.

“What the fuck, little dude,” he asked before shaking his head. “Never mind. Just catch some sleep. If you sleep. Whatever. You can stay here for now. I’ll be back with food in a bit.”

Kid looked at him for a bit, blank green gaze a little unnerving. Jason felt like he was being assessed. Whatever Fetcher was looking for, he seemed to find it. He nodded decisively and then settled back into the couch, relaxing and sinking into the decrepit cushions.

Just what the hell had he gotten himself into now?

#naps fics #dp x dc #Our Empty Graves #dpxdc

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bwobgames · 1 year

Text

Previous First

They go upstairs

After processing the knowledge that he basically asked for a one night stand, even though he is the kind of man who is afraid of such levels of intimacy with strangers, Detective Beebo is once again facing a fear

"I didn't think this house was gonna be so big... well, it is a mansion, so I should've expected it, but still!

So unsettling... especially this particular corridor. It's dreadful

"I'll just ... keep my eye on the rooms"

"Let's stick together. This house is too big"

"I agree, i don't like it either"

Oliver walks towards the room on the right, but the man quickly changes his direction to the door on the left.

He had a strange expression.

They open the door

"And there was only one bed"

"We can find another room with more beds"

"No, it's fine, let's just sit"

"So! This is a murder mystery party, right? Are we gonna be given roles like in Clue? I've only heard of these puzzle solving parties from other mystery fans on forums and I always wanted to be in one but you either needed an invitation or a ton of money so I never went and- So sorry, I'm rambling, anyways you could be the rich girl and I could be the butler, he's the guy who knows everyone's bussiness!"

"I just hope it's not an Among us party, I've heard those dont end well"

"Haha, yeah, I ... I don't think that's what's happening."

"Thank god, honestly, I'd be satisfied with a simple escape room"

"No, no, I mean

this is not a party at all"

"... Go on"

"This is a fundraising for a museum, something about a great hospital in a time of need.

But the invitation said nothing about it, and it seems the host didn't approve of the invitation either"

"Also, my reporter friend has told me that no one has seen or heard of Mr. Eugene Coli until this party, coincidentally, all of the guests here are related to him somewhat"

"Well, except you, for some reason"

"Do you see what I'm getting at? Eugene Coli reunited all of us here, and I don't think it was for good intentions"

"In fact, I think we are all in danger"

"Oh, this is serious, I should take off my hat to show respect to his hypothesis"

"That's a big accusation to make, but ... I can see some merit to it. A gut feeling of sorts"

"He did upload a video speedrunning OSHA violations, some even reaching workplace abuse, so it wouldn't be a stretch to assume he isn't the most benevolent person around"

"So... what? You think he might be making another weird speedrun with us instead?"

"I don't know, I'm not as good as you at detective work. All I know is that this man might very well be hunting us for sport, and we need to get out of here as soon as possible"

"... Even if what you're saying is true, we can't. There's a giant storm outside. We would get lost on the way to the village or straight-up freeze"

"We have to investigate this further"

"But what if that only puts you in more danger??"

"It's a risk we have to take. Once we figure out what is happening, we can counter it. I mean, we don't even know why or how he would harm all of us!"

"For fun, probably."

He looks angry

"Maybe, but we have to make sure, if we know more about the man, we can predict his moves"

"Don't worry, We'll do it together! This is not the first time I've heard someone wants to kill me"

"... I believe that.

I just. Would prefer to just be safe"

Seems like this guy is a rookie. Poor guy must be really stressed

"Don't be scared

I'll protect you"

He looks a little sad

"We should start by investigating his speedrunning stunt and see if something correlates. No one really knows what motivated that either"

"... I think someone here knows"

"... Who's that"

"I'll take you to them"

#this is a bit of right answer or wrong answer #if you go to someone who doesnt know what you want to find #then you'll have to wait another poll to ask someone else #like a videogame!!#detective beebo

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bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 3 years

Note

Hiiiiiii my fluff monarch! 💖💖

For a fluff prompt: what about like.... mod au geraskier, they were childhood friends but one moved away, they run into each other as adults somehow and wow you grew *up* 😳😳 Getting together goodness.

😘😘😘😘

oh Stina, you’re such a darling. I do love my modern au boys!

tw: doctor’s office, medical facility, there is more flirting than actual medical care happening, Jaskier commits an OSHA violation, decently horny but not too bad

---

Geralt walked into the small, overly-bright waiting room and took a seat in the corner, far away from the other patients. He picked up a copy of Men’s Health and pretended to read it, his mind wandering as he flipped listlessly through the pages.

He hated physicals.

They took up precious time and were, in his opinion, completely unnecessary. He was a fucking Witcher; he couldn’t even get sick.

The disgruntled feeling in his chest dissipated completely when the door to the examination rooms slowly opened and a brown-haired (and vaguely familiar) angel stood before him and said, in the world’s loveliest tenor: “Geralt deRiv?”

Geralt practically flew from his seat, crossing the room in four long strides. “Hello.”

“Hi there,” the brunette smiled. His grin was wide and lopsided and his blue eyes, so fucking familiar it was killing Geralt, sparkled even in the clinical light of the fluorescents. He was wearing a pair of ridiculously bright pink, llama-and-rainbow print scrubs and Geralt blinked stupidly down at the gorgeous creature. Jaskier giggled, fucking heavenly to behold, and gestured through the door. “Right this way, Mr. deRiv.”

Suddenly, hearing that voice up close and seeing the nurse’s colorful outfit, everything clicked gloriously into place. As Geralt followed the nurse down the hallway, he asked, “How has it been, Jaskier? I haven’t seen you in, what, nine years?”

“Something like that,” the younger man grinned over his shoulder. They stopped in front of a nondescript exam room and Jaskier opened the door, letting them both inside. He took a seat on the rolling chair and gestured for Geralt to sit on the table. “Are you still... Witchering?”

“Yeah,” Geralt grunted. Fuck, Jaskier had gotten even hotter since they were teenagers! All those years ago, when Geralt had developed a dangerously huge crush on the underclassman right before his father, some kind of ambassador, had been called away. “Still doing that. So are Lambert and Eskel.”

“Too bad about Lambert, he had a really great thing going with those accounting classes.”

“Hard to switch professions when you look the way we do,” Geralt grimaced. “It’s not too bad, all things considered. Technically I don’t even need to be here.”

“Well your health insurance provider said you do need to be here, so,” Jaskier sanitized his hands and reached for the blood pressure cuff hanging on the wall. “Take off your hoodie, please.”

---

Jaskier had not been prepared for that. No, sir. He had not been prepared for such glorious, absolutely picture-perfect titties to be right in front of his face this early in the morning.

Especially not Geralt deRiv’s titties, the man he’d been dreaming about like some stupid fairtytale fantasy for seven long years. All the way through medical school and then RN certification. And damn... those were some fine pectorals.

“You okay?” Geralt asked, breaking the spell his chest had cast on Jaskier’s stupid, gay little brain.

“Oh, sorry, yeah. Let’s just-” he applied the blood pressure cuff and had to turn away for a moment to breathe deeply and calm his nerves. And his arms, too!? “-lovely.”

Jaskier let his training take over, going through the list of tests one after the other and trying not to let Geralt’s eyes, which tracked his every move with predator-like precision, unnerve him into making a mistake. When he was finished, he stood and grabbed for his clipboard. “Dr. Maxwell will be with you shortly to conclude your exam.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt called. His golden eyes settled on Jaskier and froze the nurse in place. “Would you like to go out sometime? I know it’s weird, and that I haven’t seen you in years, but I-”

“Yes!” Oh gods, yes! “I’d love to! Let me write down my number.”

“It was good seeing you again.”

“You, too,” Jaskier blushed, handing over a slip of paper with his number written in neat, tidy print. Geralt accepted it and tried to stand, not realizing just how close he and Jaskier really were. They knocked legs and the nurse began to topple backwards; Geralt reached out on instinct, curling his arm around Jaskier’s waist and pulling him close. Jaskier’s hands landed on his chest and, surprisingly, stayed there for a moment. “Damn, dude. Work out much?”

Geralt laughed, long and loud. That had probably gotten someone’s attention. “Yeah, just a little. Helps with the monster fighting.”

“Right.”

“See you soon, Jaskier,” Geralt chuckled softly, releasing the nurse once he was sure Jaskier was steady.

Surprising both of them, Jaskier pecked his reacquaintance on the cheek. “Yeah, but not soon enough.”

#geraskier modern au #doctor's office au #nurse jaskier #i think it would work #he likes taking care of people #and music can be a hobby that he uses to decompress #geraskier #witcher geralt #modern au geraskier #bouncey's endless getting together fics #thank you for this lovely prompt stina #goob prompt fills #bouncey's endless au collection

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ex-vengeancedemon · 3 years

Text

Averting Disasters and Other Ways to Avoid Your Problems

Chapter 3

Characters from Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Mentions of things that occurred in Angel: The Series season 5.

Main Pairing: Buffy x Spike

Characters: Buffy, Spike, Giles, Willow, Xander, Andrew, Faith, Dawn

Summary: Set in 2008, five years after Spike’s resurrection at Wolfram & Hart. Buffy is living in Cleveland guarding the hellmouth. Spike has left Angel and company and is hiding out in Chicago. The Scoobies are scattered. When something starts going wrong with the slayers around the world, it’s time to get the gang back together.

Masterlist & Chapter 1

Chapter 3

Cleveland, Ohio

Spike and Andrew arrived in Cleveland shortly before sunup, much to Spike's relief. Andrew was a bit of an erratic driver and if Spike wasn't already dead, he might have bothered to fear for his life. He had never been to Cleveland before. Never had a reason to. Sure there was a hellmouth, but why would anyone choose it over California? Ohio was a flyover state for a reason. What'd they even have in Ohio? Corn?

Andrew parked the car outside of what looked to be an abandoned warehouse in the industrial district on the outskirts of the city. The windows were all dark and Spike couldn't hear or see a soul around. There was a faint scent of iron in the air that smelled almost like blood, but Spike could tell it was actually emanating from the slowly corroding metal walls of the warehouse. Unlike Spike, the building wasn't timeless. He raised an eyebrow at Andrew, but the eccentric Watcher-in-training was already jumping out of the car. Spike followed after him, only hesitating for a moment. Could barely be called hesitation really. Just... taking a breath. That he didn't really need. Bugger it. It's not like Andrew noticed.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to off me," Spike commented as he looked over at the group of motionless cranes dangling equipment that likely violated several OSHA regulations.

Andrew laughed with a grating kind of chortle that for a second brought Spike back to a different time. At Buffy's house, back when they were still at war with The First. He waved off the memory. No point in getting all sentimental. What's done is done and over.

"No silly," Andrew replied. "This is where Willow said to meet."

"Nice digs. Perfect spot for a demon."

Andrew rolled his eyes at the quip and opened the rusting metal door, motioning for Spike to enter. Spike eyed the door, surprised it hadn't crashed down off its tracks.

"Alright then," Spike said as he walked into the darkness. No point in arguing.

Inside, the warehouse was completely empty except for the heavy coating of dirt covering the spalling concrete floor...and a strange rectangular pool of what looked like liquid silver situated at its center. Andrew's footsteps echoed behind him in the cavernous space as Spike moved to get a better look at the curious centerpiece. Despite the lack of light, the silver pool seemed to shimmer and emitted a faint glow. Probably radiation. Spike took a couple of steps back from the man-sized pool.

"Now hold up a minute," he said, turning on Andrew. "Pretty sure the mercury baths went out of style." He held a finger up for emphasis. "And, if memory serves, Xander was the one with the syphilis problem."

Andrew ignored him and walked to the edge of the pool. "It's a portal. You coming or are you just gonna stand there?"

With that, Andrew stepped off the ledge and disappeared beneath the surface of silver. Spike stared after him.

"Right, quick trip to hell. Was getting bored anyway. Well, if that git can do it," Spike muttered.

He ran after him and leapt into the pool. For some reason he had expected it to burn, like molten lava. Instead, he felt absolutely nothing, not even as his head sunk under the waves. And then everything was unnaturally bright.

Spike winced away before realizing it wasn't the sun, just orbs of floating white light scattered throughout the sizable room. He recognized the type. This was a magic shop. A multi-dimensional magic shop.

The shop was quiet despite its size and selection. Spike recognized more than a few rare items that would fetch quite the price on the black market... if one was into that sort of thing. The shelves were fully stocked with spell books, grimoires, various herbs, crystals, and other magical curios. It made the old Sunnydale magic shop look like the kiddie leagues.

Sitting at a long oval table in the center of the room was Willow, dressed in clothes that looked a day old with a cold cup of coffee sitting next to her. The red-headed witch was surrounded by books scattered around her on both the table and the floor. She didn't even look up at their arrival. It seemed that - apart from Spike and Andrew - she was the only one in the shop.

"Hey Willow," Andrew said, giving her a little wave. "I got Spike."

Willow looked up from a particularly thick tome covered in a language Spike didn't recognize. She gave a small smile that did nothing to hide the worry on her face or the exhaustion in her eyes.

"Hey guys," she said. "Good to have you on the team."

"Any luck so far?" Andrew asked.

Willow shook her head. "Nothing. There's nothing about mass memory loss in slayers. Of course, there have never been multiple slayers before so. You know, we're back in uncharted territory."

Spike cut in hesitantly, "And Buffy?"

He thought he caught an odd expression cross Willow's face, but it had been a while since he'd seen her. Maybe it was normal.

"I still haven't been able to reach her," Willow replied. "I just got here last night. Called in a favor to a friend and got us a lease on this magic shop 'til we figure out what's going on. I'm hoping Giles will know more."

"Well we should go check on her then!" Spike said, throwing up a hand. "Slayer wandering around out of her head? It's a death sentence."

Willow pursed her lips and glanced over at Andrew uneasily. "We can't. Or...well we're not sure we should. It's not just memory loss."

She paused and Spike began to get more and more agitated. There was something they hadn't been telling him. Something bad.

"During the blackouts," Willow continued, "you know, the times they can't remember? Well, we think that there's someone...else. Someone else is controlling their actions, it's almost like they're possessed. But whatever is doing it-"

"It's a scary good copy," Andrew blurted out.

Willow nodded. "It knows about their lives, how they act, their friends. It even goes on doing the regular day-to-day slayage duties. But we've noticed some things are just a bit...off."

"What do you mean, off?" Spike pressed.

"Well...one of 'em did try killing Angel a few days back," Andrew replied. "They had been working together temporarily and apparently she just snapped one day."

"Well I don't see the problem there," Spike said with a grin.

"Another one didn't recognize her parents when they came for a visit," Willow added. "She hadn't seen them since becoming a slayer and just nothing. Freaked them right out. But she remembered everyone else, insisted they weren't her family though."

"Okay, yeah, a bit odd," Spike conceded.

"And then, two days ago, Giles was training with one of the London slayers when her fighting style switched from streetfighter novice to jujitsu master in the span of a minute." Willow sighed. "And that's when I did a revealing spell. There were was something in her that wasn't her. We don't even know when we're talking with the real person...or the other. Whatever it is."

"And that's why you haven't contacted Buffy," Spike stated.

Willow nodded. "We don't want to spook...it."

"Yeah who knows, it could run off to Timbuktu with Buffy's body," Andrew agreed with a vigorous nod.

"Andrew, could you get me some cannis root from the back storage?" Willow asked him. "I need to do a translation spell."

"Sure, of course!" Andrew replied as he scampered off behind the rows of shelves.

Spike pulled out a chair and took a seat next to Willow at the table without speaking.

"It's good to see you, Spike," Willow said without smiling. "I just wish you would've told us before disaster struck again."

"Yeah." He nodded slowly. "Well, being back in the land of the living has been one should've after another I suppose." He fumbled the pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lit one up with a flick from his lighter. "Do you think-"

"I don't know if she'll be glad to see you," Willow said, answering the unspoken question. "I don't know."

"Right."

Spike sighed as he exhaled a cloud of smoke. Andrew returned with a large jar of what looked like...well, roots. Willow took it from him and set the jar aside without opening it. It seemed the cannis root had just been a task to keep Andrew busy. Spike wasn't surprised. Andrew took a seat at the table and began perusing through some of the scattered books. Spike watched as the two continued their research. It wasn't really his forte.

What felt like hours later - though he knew it had only been minutes - Spike heard the sound of footsteps behind him. Familiar tread. Instant irritation. Bollocks.

"No. Oh, no. No, no, no, no. No way. What the hell is he doing here?" Xander exclaimed as he squinted in the light.

#btvs #btvs fanfiction #buffy the vampire slayer #buffy the vampire slayer fanfiction #spuffy fanfic #spike x buffy #spuffy fanfiction #averting disasters and other ways to avoid your problems #chapter 3 #spuffy

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earth-ambassador-jim · 5 years

Text

The Missing Month Chapter 3

Loops 8-15

This is a fanfiction that explores what happened during the first 30 time loops that Jim was in in the episode D'Aja Vu.

Ao3 - Fanfiction

“We need to do what now?” Toby asked.

“We need to cancel the science fair,” Jim repeated.

He was making a croque madame for each of his friends this morning. Just because he was stuck going through the same day did not mean he was going to make the same breakfast each time. He was beginning to contemplate trying some of the more interesting recipes he’d never had the nerve to try.

“What for? I get all the time loop stuff, but how do a bunch of fake volcanos tie into this?”

“When we tried to catch Porgon last time people saw him and saw me don my armor. What good is stopping Porgon if we expose trolls to the world and end up getting taken in by the FBI in the process?”

“Ah. Right.” Toby’s face lit up as Jim presented him with his sandwich. “So any ideas?”

Jim sighed.

“Well I would try to find some way to convince Señor… I mean Principal Uhl to move it, but…”

“He doesn’t really like us?”

“Yeah…”

The three of them sat for a long moment in silence.

“So why don’t we just pull the fire alarm?” asked Toby.

“If we do that we’d have to do it immediately before the attack. Otherwise the fire department would come and find out it was just a prank and reopen the building again before the attack,” Claire said. “But if we do it right before and get the timing even slightly wrong the fire department will arrive either right before or during our fight and then we will have to explain some things we really don’t want to.”

She paused for a moment then added. “Best case scenario we manage to clear anything Troll related, but we still get arrested for vandalism and Mom files a restraining order against you guys and grounds me.”

Toby sighed.

“Don’t forget Jim and I getting another mark on our records… Man, if the world doesn’t end we won’t be able to get jobs with our horrible criminal history. Only 16 and already robbing museums and committing vandalism.”

Jim patted him on the shoulder.

“Hopefully it won’t come to that. What else have we got?”

“Maybe we could cause a water leak?” Toby suggested.

“That might work,” Jim said perking up.

“Yeah but won’t there be cleanup crews there evaluating the damage?” Claire spun her staff around in her fingers.

“True.”

They lapsed into silence again.

“We could always make up a list of the possibilities and try them all until one works?”

Before they could get any father there was a thud and the sound of something heavy coming up the stairs.

“Good Morning, Master Jim!” Blinky said cheerfully as he emerged from the basement.

“Hey Blinky,” Jim said.

Aaarrrgghh took a moment longer to join them as he forced his body through the door. Between him and Draal Jim was surprised that doorframe hadn’t broken yet. Or that his mom hadn’t noticed all the scratches.

“So any idea on what that strange cylinder Porgon has is?”

“None I fear,” Blinky said with a sigh. “Even if I still had access to my library I doubt I would find anything on it. Whatever it is I do not believe it is of Trollish origins.”

“Ooooo, you think’s it’s some sort of top secret spy thing… or something magic from like wizards?” Toby asked, bouncing a little in his seat. “Or maybe some sort of wicked awesome alien technology?”

“I’ve no idea, but for now it would be best to focus on getting it away from Porgon. Once we do that we can study it and create a solution.”

Jim sighed. He’d really hoped that Blinky would have something on what they were up against. Maybe if they knew what it was they could make it so the rest of the Trollhunters remembered the time loops.

“Well let’s get some more ideas for stopping the science fair,” Jim said straightening up. “And then we can head over to the planetarium.”

He gave a shrug and directed a wry grin at Toby.

“We may as well try the fire alarm this time. No point in making things too complicated.”

Toby grinned and pumped his fist.

“Great! Another misdemeanor for our record!”

Jim rolled his eyes and laughed while Claire shot them a concerned look.

“I’m not sure what I was expecting,” Jim said to Claire after he finished reading Toby’s text.

It turned out that the planetarium did not use the mail if they needed to cancel an event last minute. In hindsight he wasn’t surprised.

“It was worth try. Do you want to try something else?”

“No,” Jim said as he typed out a response. “It’s too close to the restart. Anyway I really need to get some practice in on my verbs.”

Claire nodded and glanced down at the list.

“Okay next one “to hear” in present tense.”

They managed to make it almost a quarter of the way through his backlog of Spanish verb practice before the day reset.

10.

The stink bomb, courtesy of NotEnrique, certainly cleared out the Planetarium. Jim watched from the janitor’s closet as everyone evacuating the building holding their noses. One didn’t quite make it out before throwing up.

Jim himself was wearing a respirator and had no such problems. He assumed based on the way his eyes were stinging that it was extremely pungent. If this worked but they didn’t defeat Porgon he was going to wear goggles next time.

The building was just about empty when he heard the police sirens go off. Why did the planetarium have to be so close to the police station? Jim muttered a trollish curse under his breath and looked around.

The exhibits were all strewn carelessly. One or two were gone, rescued by their fleeing owners.

Jim pulled out his walkie talkie.

“Any sign of him out there?- over”

“None,” Toby replied. “But you might want to get out. The firefighters are gearing up to go in. –over.”

Jim grimaced. Right. They probably wanted to make sure that the smell wasn’t from a toxic leak or something.

There was about 3 hours until Porgon was expected to show. Jim sighed and slipped out the side door.

11.

Between the firefighters, the police looking around for culprits and the cleanup, the Trollhunters didn’t get another chance to sneak back in the planetarium.

First thing in the morning this loop Jim had Claire portal into the Planetarium to call the school to cancel the science fair. Unfortunately the secretary had walked in on her so that plan was a bust. They had also recognized her, so she was out of the running until the day reset.

Having Toby sabotage Miss Janeth’s and Coach Lawrance’s cars had also failed.

The fake measles outbreak text Jim had sent after breaking into the school office only kept five kids from coming.

If Jim wasn’t so frustrated he would probably be worried about how completely fine with breaking the law he and his friends were at this point. As it was if he had to live through this day one more time…

12.

“I think I may have overdone it,” Jim said.

“You think?” Toby repeated staring at the smoking wreckage of what had been a planetarium.

“In my defense I didn’t realize the electric panel was right there.”

“Guys,” Claire said nervously. “We might want to start running.”

“It’s too late for that,” Toby said eyeing the crowd that was forming at a safe distance. “They’ve already seen our faces. If we run now we’ll be fugitives. We’ll have to hide out in caves and change our names and stuff.”

They were saved from making a decision by detective Scott showing up at that very moment.

Two hours and a lot of yelling later, Jim was very relieved when the day reset itself.

13.

“Okay are we all set? –over” Jim radioed in from the bushes outside the planetarium.

“Ten four! Everything’s in place.–over” Toby responded.

“In position. –over.” Claire’s signal wasn’t quite as good.

“Roger, that! Commence mission. –over and out.”

Jim slid his walkie talkie into his pocket and strolled toward the planetarium.

Out of sight in the bushes he pulled out and donned the glamor mask Blinky had given him. Now a very professional looking older man with graying hair, Jim strode confidently into the Planetarium.

Finding the first employee he could, he cleared his throat to get their attention.

“Excuse me, I’m with OSHA. We’ve been told of some safety concerns here, may I speak to your supervisor?”

The man looked surprised, but immediately complied.

“I am so glad that actually worked,” Jim said with a sigh as they slipped through Claire’s portal into one of the side rooms.

“I told you it would,” Toby said with a grin. “We were very thorough in our safety violations. Even if they do think it’s suspicious, it will take them a while to confirm it’s fake with OSHA and to realize that the actual Inspector Thompson is elsewhere. It’s not like they can trace the false investigation back to us.”

Jim hummed in response and settled down to wait. He was just relieved that they had finally solved the problem.

Time slowly crawled by and Claire and Toby got more and more relaxed in their chatter. Eventually Toby frowned and turned to Jim.

“It’s about noon. Wasn’t Porgon supposed to be here by now?”

“Yeah…” Jim said.

Had he been wrong? Did Porgon really remember the loops? Was he off on his timing?

There was a flash of blue light.

14.

Jim was up on top of the hill overlooking Arcadia again. The Creepslayerz had been roped into helping Toby and Claire sabotage the science fair.

Jim’s phone started beeping signaling it was noon. He tensed, watchful and alert.

For agonizing minutes nothing, then the whole world exploded into blue.

15.

Easy peasy…

Jim drew in a sharp breath as he shut off the alarm and processed what had just happened. The flash had come from under Arcadia. Given that the whole town had lit up at the same time, he highly doubted it was from the sewer system. No… the source had to be deep within the earth itself. That left one place…

Jim paced around the living room.

“Why would he go to Trollmarket now?”

Blinky frowned and glanced at Aaarrrgghh.

“I don’t know, Master Jim. Everything I’ve read about time travel is theoretical at best. There’s no way to predict how it might play out in reality…”

“Does he remember the loops as well? It didn’t seem like he did,” Jim said, scowling.

“Maybe…”

“We were so close! We were finally going to be able to fight him without being caught and end this thing!”

“Master Jim!”

Two of Blinky’s hands settled on his shoulders and the other two grabbed his arms. Jim struggled for a moment and then, failing to dislodge them, settled for shooting the troll a glare. Blinky sighed and released him.

“Master Jim, I know you are frustrated. This is a very trying situation, no doubt far beyond what any of us are aware of, but you must remain patient. Even if it doesn’t feel like it you… we are making progress. If we keep working together we can end this cycle of repetition.”

Jim bit his tongue and looked away.

“Yeah Jimbo!” Toby came up and hugged him from the side. “We’ll get you out of this in no time!”

“No time for you guys maybe,” Jim mumbled, looking down so he wouldn’t see their expressions.

“We just need new ideas!” Toby continued voice deliberately light. “Hey! Blinky can’t remember everything maybe we could sneak into his library and…”

“No!” Blinky said sharply. “It’s too dangerous. Gunmar is no doubt watching all the entrances to Trollmarket. Who knows what will happen if someone dies in this time loop. We cannot risk it.”

Toby’s eyes widened and he held up his hands.

“Sorry, it just seemed like a good idea.”

Blinky’s shoulders loosened. He sighed and rested a hand on Toby’s back.

“I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you… I just can’t risk losing any more of you.”

Jim watched them quietly. Now that he thought of it, there might be one major benefit to being caught in a time loop…

Technically half-way!! Yay!

Next up... Jim goes solo for a loop.

#Trollhunters #Tales of Arcadia #3Below #jim lake jr #Trollhunters Fanfiction #claire nuñez #toby domzalski #Blinky #AAARRRGGHH #The Mission Month #I've been looking forward to writing the next chapter for a while #My Writing

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hermannsthumb · 6 years

Text

ok to kick off october (aka the month of halloween) bc its officially past midnight heres a little ficlet i tweeted the concept of a few weeks back! some classic “hermann gets dragged along into a corny fake haunted house and newt is the semi-incompetent worker who keeps flirting instead of actually trying to scare him” au meetcute. also dedicated to @newts-geiszler and @ee-void, the former who indulges me in all my halloween newmann talk, the latter who drew VERY cute art of this on twitter. im gonna make this longer for ao3 lol

The house is large, full of dark corners and artificial fog, fake, too-red gore splattering the walls, the hardwood floors, and cobwebs—these quite possibly real—hang from the chandeliers and wall-set candle holders. It all looks a bit like the set for some bad horror movie. Something that would come on the television at midnight that Hermann would deliberately skip over. “Forty dollars,” he sniffs, as he waits in line with Tendo, Mako, and Raleigh, “for this.”

Piercing, electronic screams drift through the shadowy doorway. The line moves forward. “Look, it’s totally worth it,” Tendo insists. “We’ve done this—what, how many times?”

“Three times,” Mako says. She smiles at Hermann. “It is fun.”

A “zombie”—face green, clothing hanging from its body, groaning—ambles past them, nearly bumping into Hermann, and Raleigh takes a small step between it and Mako.

By the time their group is ushered inside fully, three more zombies and a vampire have wandered by and Hermann is more than ready to go home. His leg isn’t aching him—not yet—but his head is, and it’s been a long day and it looks as though there are a great many stairs to climb in the house. And the flashing strobe lights aren’t helping anything. “Where first?” Tendo says, and points at a little signpost listing the different attractions the house has to offer. Knife-wielding serial killers are delegated to the dining room and kitchen, evidently, vampires to the master bedroom, bloodthirsty scarecrows to the field beyond the house and the undead! to the graveyard beyond that. “Your pick, Hermann!”

Whatever will get them out of here faster. There’s a large group clogging the main entrance that leads to the dining area and Hermann doesn’t particularly fancy standing around anymore, so he examines the sign for their other options. “Basement?” he says.

“The mad scientist’s lab,” Tendo says, lowering his voice ominously, and Hermann sighs.

A few people in costume leap out at them on their journey to find the basement, or, the mad scientist’s lab: a man in a hockey mask wielding a bladeless (and blood-splattered) chainsaw, a villain Hermann recognizes from one of those countless 1980s slasher flicks, a murderous and fanged clown. Much to the delight of Mako, Tendo, and Raleigh, and much to the disinterest of Hermann. He spares a glance at his phone when they finally descend upon the lab. Half past nine. Hermann would normally be in bed by now.

The mad scientist’s lab is decked out in sterile metal, flickering overhead lights, and shelves lined with strange disembodied things in jars. Hermann catches sight of some sort of animatronic Frankenstein’s monster-esque creature strapped to a metal table. That’s all there seems to be. It’s terribly anti-climatic. “Shouldn’t someone be jumping out at us?” Raleigh says, as they stand there staring.

A door swings open, and a short man in thick glasses and a lab coat stumbles in. He’s covered in more fake blood from his face to his clothing and holding what appears to be a large alien brain in a jar. “Shit!” he hisses. He nearly drops the jar in his haste to get to the side of the strapped-down creature, and he’s muttering under his breath. Hermann finds him oddly charming. Tendo and Mako are snickering.

When it’s clear the man won’t be leaping at them or stabbing himself with a retractable knife or any of the host of other things Hermann’s seen others do tonight, he can’t help but say “Are you meant to be scary?”

The man prods the animatronic creature one last time and turns his attention to them once more. “Uh. Obviously,” the man says, and he holds up his bare hands. “You see any gloves here?” He taps at his glasses. “Any goggles? I’m a walking OSHA violation, man. I’m a fatal lab accident waiting to happen.” The animatronic creature suddenly jerks to life with a deep yell, sitting up ramrod-straight and fighting its bonds. The man also yells, in surprise, and he falls back and does drop the jar this time. “Fuck! Now it works.”

Hermann has a hard time stifling his laugh; his colleagues are not even trying. “Are you quite alright?” Hermann says, as green liquid and the fake rubber of the brain ooze across the floor.

The man hauls himself to his feet, brushing off his bloody lab coat, and shoots Hermann a broad smile. “Yep! Yep. All good. Technical difficulties. All minor, though.” He ducks out of sight again, presumably for a broom.

“Come on,” Tendo says, grinning, and nudges the small of Hermann’s back.

They wander on through the basement. The short “mad scientist” they left behind isn’t the only thing to see down there, but he was certainly the only one that caught Hermann’s eye, and the rest of it passes by in a blur. They’re ascending the staircase once more—Hermann, slower up it on account of his cane, bringing up the rear—when a familiar face pops up in a gaping hole in the wall.

“Hi,” the mad scientist says, not making any move to shout or make a grab for Hermann. He’s just leaning on the jagged wood.

“Hello,” Hermann says, and frowns. “Shouldn’t you be—”

“Jumping out at you?” he says. “Probably.” He hoists one leg over the hole, then the other, much to the surprise of Hermann, then lands heavily on the staircase just behind Hermann. He dusts off his lab coat. “So,” the mad scientist says, “uh, I’m Newt. What’s your name?”

“Hermann.” It’s hard to make out Newt’s face from underneath the makeup and fake blood and the poor lighting to boot, but he has pleasantly round cheeks and a very nice smile that Hermann likes instantly.

“Hermann,” Newt repeats, and then goes and spoils the moment by waggling his eyebrows ridiculously. “You come here often, then?”

Hermann makes a face and begins ascending the stairs once more. “Not if I can help it,” he says. He’s lost Mako, Tendo, and Raleigh, but he’s got a new companion, evidently—Newt’s trailing after him, hands shoved into his lab coat pockets.

“Not your scene?” Newt says.

Hermann shakes his head.

“Well, don’t worry,” Newt says, and winks cheekily. “I’ll protect you from—fuck—!” An animatronic skeleton swings out at them from another gaping hole in the wall, and Newt jumps and grabs onto Hermann’s left arm.

“How heroic,” Hermann says dryly, and pats Newt’s hand. Newt does not let go, but Hermann finds he doesn’t really mind. “Why are you working here, exactly?” It doesn’t seem like Newt’s scene, either.

“I’m part time for the season,” Newt says, eyeing the dangling and fairly innocuous skeleton nervously. “I just love Halloween.” They step up another few stairs. Nothing else jumps out at them; Newt starts to relax. And talk more. “I’m a full time biologist, though,” he says. “So the mad scientist shtick isn’t totally a shtick.” He plucks at his lab coat. “I actually stole this from work.”

“You’ve covered it in fake blood,” Hermann says. “Doesn’t that count as some sort of contaminate?”

“Maybe,” Newt says, and shrugs. “I never actually wear it. Anyway, what do you do?”

“I teach maths at the university nearby,” Hermann says, and Newt’s face lights up.

“Oh!” he says. “This—” he waves his hand over Hermann’s—sensible—cardigan, tweed blazer, and glasses chain, “—isn’t a costume, then? I thought you were supposed to be a librarian or something. Math professor makes a lot more sense, though. Cool.” Hermann supposes he should be offended over the jab as his appearance, but Newt’s endearing in some odd, infectious sort of way. Like a particularly animated and particularly resilient weed.

They’ve reached the top of the staircase and Hermann’s colleagues are nowhere in sight, so he doesn’t let go of Newt’s hand quite yet. They wander out to the front of the house together, through a kitschy little graveyard of Styrofoam headstones engraved with terrible puns and more rolling fog.

“My shift’s over in five minutes,” Newt suddenly says, casual. He’s watching Hermann from the corner of his eye. “Just so you know. If you wanted to ditch this place and, uh, grab a drink or something.”

“A drink,” Hermann says, and then he realizes what Newt’s implying. “Oh. Yes. I would like that.” He doesn’t imagine Tendo will be too upset if he calls it a night early. Especially considering the circumstances: Newt is even nicer to look at in the moonlight, faux blood splatters and all (and he does hope Newt has a change of clothing, or else they may not be let in to any bars), and though Hermann isn’t the type to run around falling for handsome strangers at Halloween attractions something about Newt feels different.

“Ha! Awesome!” Newt’s near-bouncing on his feet with excitement and beaming at Hermann, which is probably why he doesn’t see the chainsaw-wielding man in the hockey mask from before until he leaps out right in front of them. Newt swears loud enough to wake the dead and undead alike. “Shit! Okay,” he says, as Hermann smothers his laughter behind his hand and the man in the hockey mask crouches behind a tombstone once more, “I’m so over this.” He starts dragging Hermann towards the exit. “Let’s go, Hermann.”

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #halloweeeeeeeeeeen!

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