ficquote

Quotes from fics. Blog does not follow a consistent posting schedule. Like even a little bit. Explicit, disturbing, and taboo content may be recc'd and quoted. Icon from Tchallaserik.

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“Sorry,” Jason says, voice small. His apology sounds sincere this time. It also sounds a little scared. Hal’s chest aches in a way it shouldn’t given that he’s not yet old enough for acid reflux. Where does Bruce even find these kids? Maybe it was all a strategy; maybe Bruce went out of his way to adopt children who would go way too far and then make you feel bad for pushing back. Dick was the same way when he was younger, even if he hadn’t ever managed to get Hal to go from  I’m going to kill Batman to I’m going to wrap this child in blankets this quickly. 

2:13 am - crucifixinhell

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Honestly, Tim can’t remember a time when Bruce’s surveillance felt like anything but a weighted blanket. Tim even plays absently with the tracker embedded in the hoop at the midpoint of his ear. He still relishes the memory of Bruce installing it. The others fought him every step of the way, but Tim just quietly laid his head in Bruce’s lap. How many times has Tim traced the outlines of his own trackers embedded in Bruce’s body? Their lifestyle affords so few true comforts, why deny themselves this?

starving faithful by bixbiting

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In the next loop, Dick positions himself so that Bruce kicking him onto the Batboat paralyzes him from the neck down. Bruce’s expression of horror almost makes Dick want to laugh. He forces himself to be silent. When Bruce leads Alfred downstairs, he watches Bruce rattle off one slick lie after another, unable to look at Dick. Bruce leaves the Cave, and as Alfred tends to him, Dick finally speaks. He tells him the truth. Bruce did this. Alfred pauses, jaw clenching, and lays his forehead on Dick’s hand. My boy. My boy. He gently asks what he can do for Dick, and several minutes later, Alfred gives him a lethal dose of morphine.

Unraveling by anseladamsfan

[irresistible-revolution]

He’d only ever made friends in Arabic. Made love in Arabic. Simply could not bring himself, naked in the dark, to reach for a blowtorch when he wanted candlelight. Oh, there was pain there for sure, and scars: his father’s voice, his mother’s eyes. But they were human hurts, small and furry in his hands. Nothing like Standard’s indiscriminate, devouring gleam.

It was hard to think about the fact that he dreamt in Standard. Harder still, perhaps, to listen to himself speak Arabic and hear a turn of phrase, a way of framing an idea, that had been lifted from Standard wholesale. Always, when he spoke, in whatever language he picked, he was translating himself. Garak had asked him, once, after he’d yet again put his foot in his mouth during one of their lunches: “What, my dear doctor, could you possibly know about exile?” He still wasn’t sure how he would formulate an answer to that question. He knew this: in one of Garak’s very first post-war letters, immediately after he’d returned to Cardassia, he had told Julian about a doli player he had met, the beautiful, winding songs he had played. “I listened to him standing on the streets of Kardasi'or and I missed Cardassia”, Garak had written, and Julian had understood this with visceral clarity.

He could teach Elim Arabic; Elim could learn. The idea was an intoxicating, shameful impossibility. The Arabic he spoke was incomplete: a language of home, of chores, a language that reminded you to buy milk. He’d never tried, but he knew with perfect certainty that he could never present a paper or discuss literature in Arabic. Sometimes he would be in the middle of formulating an idea and the sentence would suddenly slip away from him - holes where words should be. It was getting worse, he knew. Back on Deep Space Nine he’d tried to practice through the universal translator, making himself use Arabic whenever he could since everyone could understand him even if he didn’t speak Standard, but that lonely, quiet pouring of words into a filter was not language. He didn’t need to speak: he needed to speak with.

excerpt from “arms” by lenn (eitch), part 6 of their post-canon cardassia series from the rubble

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“Vulcans don't have rituals.”

“Have you ever met a fucking Vulcan?”

- All Amok. 

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“I've never met anyone who wanted to be a lawyer,” Brennan admits. “How do you even come to that conclusion?”

“One day, Matt Murdock saves an old man. The old man does not completely succeed in saving Matt Murdock.”

Let Us Assume (nothing ever changes) by WerewolvesAreReal.

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“I need to find my mommy, Mr. Brett Mahoney,” she tells him cheerfully.

“Uh-huh,” he says. “Sure, sweetheart. Can you tell me how you got separated from her?”

“There were some people who put me in a car but Daredevil beat them up!” she says happily. “He walked me here.”

- I Am Not Your Jim Gordon 

(WerewolvesAreReal on ao3)

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“No I am not alright!” M'Benga roars. “I've had it up to here, listening to you discuss your – your Vulcan fetish, and, and geriatric experiences - “

 “My what??”

Kirk falls onto a biobed, cackling. “Bones, you dog!”

“I don't know what he's talking about!”

“Don't act innocent! You've been asking questions for weeks, Vulcans this and Vulcans that – Vulcan anatomy  and, and sexual practices - “

- Geoffrey M'Benga: Vulcan (Love??) Guru.

(WerewolvesAreReal on ao3)

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“Right…so God created everything and then He—or She or They or Whatever—made humans and plopped them down in the middle of Paradise. There was plenty of food and water and everything they could ever need or want. And God said, Alright, you can live here in this garden forever. Just, you know, stay away from this one tree. The Tree of Knowledge.”

Garak scoffed. “Ludicrous.”

“Ludicrous?”

“It’s an obvious set-up,” Garak said over a sip of kanar. “As I said, I’m no expert on humans, but even I know they’re not put off by ‘don’t go there and do this’. Humans are quite well known for boldly going and sticking their hot little fingers precisely where they’ve been told not to.”

Temptation by AlphaCygni (ao3)

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Christine Everhart – look, Darcy can use google, okay – flicks an assessing gaze over Darcy. “…alright,” she allows. “On the record.”

On The (By)line by paperclipbitch

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He didn’t gamble again until university, but he practiced. He read about different games and the best hands and memorised everything he could for the next opportunity he had to win himself more. He got fantastic at bluffing. He learned that talking less was the fastest way to secure power over people. He used gambling to pay his way through medical school, smoking cigars in cramped dorm rooms and reciting parts of the body with his partners as they passed pounds over textbooks. Until, of course, the evening where it all went wrong.

Modus Operandi by joolabee

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Consider your luck That my red lips still hide my teeth, as a noblewoman's do That I do not take payment for your trespass, as a warring man is wont

Glass as a slow-flowing liquid.

(Milieu on ao3)

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I never had to know for sure. Blissful ignorance. I’ve done a lot I'm not proud of, and there’s gotta be a line somewhere. You’re the line.

Live and Die This Way. 

(JustJasper on ao3)

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Peggy smiled. “Rationing does rather stay with one, doesn’t it?” She took one of the candies herself and spun the cellophane in her fingers, the wrapping unspooling. The light from the lamp on her desk bounced on the dark red sweet as it spun and glittered. “I think there was a time during the war,” said Peggy, pulling the cellophane away, “when I might have sold my entire family for a taste of something sweet.”  Susan swallowed. “Well I didn’t do that, at least,” she said, softly.

Interested in Lipstick. Peggy Carter/Susan Pevensie. 

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When Shakaar finally sees fit to send her out on her own to kill a high-level collaborator, she thanks him profusely for trusting her with such an important assignment. “This isn’t something you should thank him for, Nerys,” says Lupaza, worried, and Nerys is hurt that Lupaza seems to have so little faith in her ability to get the job done. It isn’t until a decade has passed that Nerys realizes that Lupaza wasn’t worried about her abilities; she was worried about the state of her soul.

The World Spins Madly On. 

(sheepfairy on LiveJournal)

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Elle could feel the threads within her soul unraveling, becoming a tangled knot, and she was looking for a way to knit them back together and make them whole again. And really, she should have known that Reid would be able to get to her. She'd watched him break Eric Miller down with a single question, and she wasn't even in prison.

Alpha and Omega by CobaltStargazer

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She wasn’t always so pliable. She used to have principles, ideals even. When she had met him the first time, hell, entire buildings had burned.

Salt in their scars