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kaurwreck · 2 months ago

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okay, so, what if aya has been passively exercising an ability this entire time.

aya koda (author) wrote and reflected on the profundity of the past, observing even her most complicated relationships with immense and broadminded humanity. she was responsive and filial in her conservation of others through memory, even when communicating with herself through them. further, her writing is not cerebral or fanciful or nostalgic. it is contained within narrow, mundane realities like homemaking, bitterly aging parents, stifling expectations, physical illness, and the material world. but the wisdom, humor, and frankness of her sharp attention to detail lend an elegant and mature candor to her impressions of the past imbuing meaning into the commonplace, without romanticizing or deifying it. the distinctiveness of her internity radiates optimism and magnetic humility, rendering her world remarkable.

in other words, she's capable of sweeping ennui from even atrophy through sheer, clearminded ardence, refusing to cheapen her world despite its fickle propensity for change — and that is what bsd!aya brings to her every panel. she's so small and is only a civilian, but she is never swept beneath the gravity of the scenes unfolding around her. because even though she is little, she expands in others their immense capacity for change by enveloping them within the wideness of her own sincerity and perceptive verve. but I think it's more than just her energy that galvanizes others; I think that's her skill.

(analysis + skill explanation under the cut to spare everyone's dashes)

like, that's how she keeps collecting all of these older brother and father figures.

Kunikida becomes shaken when confronted by his helplessness and loss of life, he will waver and curl into himself until grounded again. In the Cannibalism arc, Ranpo brought him back to his feet, but he still sought to self flagellate after. In the Hunting Dogs arc, he threw himself from a helicopter and absorbed the impact of a grenade with his own hands to mitigate the potential for lost life, but not before visibly panicking. But, in the Walking Alone OVA, he is tied to a pillar and confronted by his past failure in the form of his former student, who he not only didn't reach, but seemingly instigated into an act of domestic terrorism. A young man, like Rokuzo, an explosion, like the Azure Messengers'—this time staking hundreds of civilians lives and that of a ten year old child who has a bomb strapped to her chest while he is being physically beaten with Ideals and enduring PTSD flashbacks of Sasaki's death (who he also envisioned while under Q's curse). But he's scarcely lowered his head when Aya calls out, "Kunikida!" — to which he replies, "That's Kunikida-san," which he previously told her to use for him because when he cares to mentor others, he tends to lecture them and demand proper behavior from them. From that moment forward, he is in his best form, stalwart and brave and resourceful and utterly serene against that which he cannot change or control— even relying on Yosano's schedule for the critical moment.

It's easy to miss that this scene contrasts with the other, similar instances where he's frozen or faltered, because he does find himself again each time. That's because the capacity is always within him, and he's far more balanced than anyone gives him credit (especially when set against his irl...). But, he isn't serene, his fear of loss and lack of control are things he still grapples with, and they usually spill from him in these moments and their aftermath. He hasn't fully self actualized, and although he pulls through each time, ideals intact, he has to wrestle that from himself (which he alludes to quite literally in Dead Apple). Yet, even as he was thrust into a full-blown panic attack, he caught that Aya called him by his name without a suffix and was rendered self-possessed enough to correct her, and then seamlessly move into what needed to be done without a moment of doubt. Then, even after that, he is thrown into a literal trolley problem. But, again, he doesn't waver. He remembers Sasaki and Rozuko, but not involuntarily; he invokes them with aplomb and acceptance, holding them and what they meant to him as strengthening, rather than destabilizing, his commitment to his ideals. Despite his habit of approaching those he cares about rigidly and patronizingly, he fluidly sinks to his knees and embraces Aya (and thus his own humanity and limitations) sincerely and warmly, promising her that he will hold her through it and cradling her without any awkwardness or reticence.

The name of the OVA comes from the literal translation of "Doppo," which means lone wanderer and invokes the image of a solitary wanderer— but "lone" isn't a character invoking loneliness; it implies that he's peerless, unparalleled, matchless. His name is a double entendre speaking to his individualism and invoking the image of an iconoclast heroic figure standing above the fray of mediocrity— which is the impression that made his former student feel taunted and spat upon. But, he sheds his lofty veneer in this OVA and expresses the height of who he's capable of becoming when grounded in reality but unhibited by fear and self-doubt: the Confucian virtue of ren, meaning humaness or benevolence. For Confucius, it was illustrated by love for others, including within relationships between people. But it further encompasses an inner drive for altruism that's cognizant that one is never alone in the home, the state, the world, and, ultimately, the cosmology of the universe.

If it were only Kunikida, I would think it an illustration of what he'll be as a leader or a moment of clarity. But Aya manages to reach Bram past centuries of ennui and morbid depression and learned helplessness. Not immediately, but by satisfying his seemingly silly and, to him, unattainable want for something as mundane as a radio. She does him one better and introduces him to streaming & earbuds, and quite literally expands his whole world so that he's, however briefly, no longer immobilized within the claustrophobic confines of his coffin, but floating untethered in the ever expanding vacuum of space. He wanted a radio, but, really, he wanted music that would take him outside of himself and the limitations of his reality, which he could consistently have with him in lieu of company to transcend the constraints of his purgatory. Shortly thereafter, despite Fukuchi having command over his kin through the sword and seal, Bram regains his air of nobility to snap, "Impudent!" at a vampire such that the vampire recoiled and even l looked askance. Further, like Kunikida, Bram is swept into his memories when he looks at Aya— but not wistfully or bitterly. They're light and beautiful and remind him of who he is and what is precious to him— his family and his vassals, his duty to whom had given him purpose and meaning. I'd relate his oath to Aya and his renewed observance of his role before his kin to the Confucian virtue li, meaning propriety, or observance of the formal rules of proper conduct conducive to social harmony.

She does it to Fyodor, too, whose triggering detail is her dirty hair. He attributes his compulsion to spare her as Bram's lingering oath, but I think it's a reflection of Fyodor's own inclination towards children. (I know he kills children in canon, but his perceptions of suffering and salvation are violently skewed, and so his expressions of righteousness (as in the Confucian virtue yi) look to us like sadistic violence.)

Which is to say, I think Aya brings out the highest capacity in others, triggered when they latch onto a detail she offers them that may appear mundane, but which touches on some core aspect of who they are or their memories.

I think she'll do the same for Akutagawa, which will be part of the transformation he undergoes from the version of him clinging to the spider's thread from irl!Akutagawa's short story of the same name (the headspace that causes Rashomon to resemble spider legs) to becoming the dragon complement to Atsushi's tiger (the imagery invoked by his armor from the teaser at the end of S5). The Confucian virtue I'd assign him would be xin, aligning ones actions with one's word/ honesty, sincerity, and faithfulness. Akutagawa keeps his promises.

(I specifically think Aya is elevating the Confucian virtue each character most embodies, which aligns with irl!Aya Koda's education in Confucian ethics as taught by her father; if that isn't apparent yet.)

This ability is more conceptual than many of the others, but the precedent for an ability like this is there in Fukuzawa's All Men Are Created Equal and Lippmann's unnamed ability, which reacted to and countered others' murderous intent.

Anyway, so yeah. I think Aya's ability is a mirror into the best, most focused versions of those who see in her some detail revealing themselves.

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd aya #aya koda #aya's skill #bsd theory #sorry this is messy and not as organized or articulate as i wanted #but better i offer it now than let it rot in my drafts

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zal-cryptid · 1 month ago

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https://www.tumblr.com/zal-cryptid/757364308015480832/misfits-in-toyland

Did Charlie and Dolores ever try telling the kids about their toy atrophy? Why didn’t the kids help them, or at least give them away to kids that would play with them?

They didn't know what was causing it, and they were refusing to be played with. The boy didn't want to share his toys with anyone, anyway. After they stopped moving, he would just forget about them and play with something more interesting.

The girl, on the other hand, was traumatized by her rag doll. "Yeux Boutonnés" as she called it. She was all too happy when her doll disappeared, as her nights were now free of its ramblings about getting to "Sous Sans".

#misfits in toyland #lore #text post #charlie #dolores #my ocs

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vee-crytraps · 8 months ago

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Kiss Me More | Ch 1 | {Groan}

SUMMARY: It’s been twelve long years since you were the sad little girl tugging on the tails of your adoptive father’s coat.

Your brothers take notice. AN: New to posting fics on Tumblr, feel free to read here or over on Ao3 under the username VenusCrytraps. Same bat time, same bat channel.

{Trigger warning/Themes Masterlist}

And yeah, i wanna spend the night with you Yeah, i wanna feel a beating, bleeding heart, don't you? Because i've never really known But i pinky promise you i'm grown And i wanna know what it feels like

You’re deep in your head as you lean forward in your vanity’s mirror, lightly dabbing away the smeared lipstick at the corner of your mouth with your middle finger. You don’t notice the creak of your door as it opens, and the protest of the frame as one of your many adopted siblings leans against it.

You don’t see the range of emotions he cycles through- some visible on his face, and others happening only in his head, behind those stormy green eyes.

“Yeah. I don’t think so.” Jason scoffs to himself after a minute, startling you. The tension drains from your shoulders as you turn around to see him standing there, all geared up in his Red Hood uniform sans the armor and that goofy fucking helmet of his. Your surprise has less to do with the atrophied instincts you’ve barely managed to keep from your two weeks as Robin back in the day, and more to do with the strangeness of Jason serving you his best impression of Dick’s Blue Steel, A.K.A, his ’Concerned Big Brother’ face. Something your oldest brother pulled so often, he could have it patented. It looks totally ridiculous on Jason, a dude you legitimately haven’t seen out of his uniform since he was welcomed back into the family. You think to yourself that he must be doing his rounds, doing his best to repair the dynamics that were lost when he died, and soured when the pit left him more than a little trigger happy.

Still, you remind yourself of Dick’s advice, to reward vulnerability and welcome these moments. Jason was supposedly quite fragile beyond his hulking form.

You sighed. “What can I do for you?”

There was some lingering awkwardness around the fact that he’d briefly dedicated his life to ending your dads, but if Bruce could trust him enough to welcome him anywhere near the Batcave, you supposed you could, too. He was trying his best, after all. You just wish he’d take it elsewhere, for once.

Still, you’ll play along.

“Where the hell are you going?” Dressed like that, was the implication that hung in the air. You’re smart enough to fill in the blank. He’s smart enough to let you.

“Out.” You turn around, unable to help but be a little bit guarded about this particular line of questioning.

God, on all the nights…

Turning your back to him, you casually resume your preening. He doesn’t at all remember you being this stubborn, but he’d died and come back to find you a whole lot older than he remembered.

“Out,” Jason repeated, exhaling heavily as he pushed off the doorframe. Jason was your age, once. He knew all about ‘out’. When he was in your shoes, going to Gotham Academy, making those fancy friends with more money than sense, ‘out’ meant joyriding around, bar hopping with fake ID’s and hooking up with fast, socialite girls wearing skirts not unlike the one you sported as you shifted in your plush vanity seat.

“What’s his name?”

“Are you still here?”

It slips out of you before you can remind yourself of Dick’s instruction to give Jason the room and encouragement he needed to be a part of your life again. As if he were a scared cat, and not a six-foot-something giant with the wrong kind of bodycount.

You try again, but it doesn’t come out any more cordial. “What’s it to you, anyway?”

Jason raises an eyebrow. He wasn’t expecting that. He also wasn’t expecting you to look so…grown up. His gaze flickered over you, over the short skirt and lace trimmed cardigan you were wearing. Over the way you applied that mascara and eyeliner with practiced skill and patience.

You were beautiful. God damn it, Bruce.

Catching his gaze in the mirror, you falter. His unreadable stare pulls the plug on your brat-ittude. A sigh escapes you.

“I’ll be careful, Jay. I promise.” You mumble, capping your eyeliner with finality as you give into this game of house he insisted on playing with you. When your eyes finally flicker up to meet his again, something in them seems…changed. The expression he wears is no longer unreadable. You recognize it, but can’t seem to place it. It’s been a long time since he’s seen you, but it’s been just as long since you were able to get a good look at him, too.

And then it’s there, again. The guilt and shame that coils within you as you notice the way his arms bulge under the brown leather of his jacket, the set of his strong jaw and the pout of his full bottom lip. You want to bash your head against your vanity. Tonight was supposed to be your night to get away from this feeling. To distract yourself with normal boys that weren't off limits. To cure yourself of the way you instantly became distracted whenever your brothers were near.

Adoptive brothers, you remind yourself inwardly. But you know that fact doesn’t make you feel any less fucking gross.

For as much as you appreciated some of the upsides of puberty hitting you like a train, there were some notable downsides, too. Inappropriate attraction to the other gorgeous men that live in this house aside, you’d found yourself concerned with things you had always prided yourself on being above. The way you gravitated towards more flattering clothes and cuter underwear, your proclivity for flavored lipgloss and this…overwhelming desire to feel attractive had you feeling so unlike yourself that it was hard to embrace the change, let alone enjoy it. Sometimes, the process of becoming a woman often felt like you were being beat with a pretty pink nightstick.

It takes you a moment to realize you’ve been quiet for a strange amount of time. And the knowledge that he has too makes you tense in places you didn’t know you could.

“Besides,” You continue, though too much time has passed to really consider it a continuation of your promise. “I’ve got backup.”

Swiveling around in your vanity’s chair, you don a self satisfied smirk as you slip the hem of your skirt up your thigh just a smidge, exposing the knife holstered to your thigh.

Jason’s eyebrows almost hit the ceiling. He wasn’t expecting that of all things. Not the sight of you, gorgeous and young and supposedly retired from this whole vigilante thing having a butterfly knife strapped to your leg. He wasn’t expecting the thrill he was getting just by looking at it, and how much he wanted to see it in use.

What is wrong with me?

He clears his throat to regain his composure.

“Where the hell did you get that?” He asks, his voice rougher than before.

“Where do you think?” You can’t help but laugh, tugging the hem of your skirt back down. Your sharp tongue gets him hot under his collar in a way he is beyond not proud of.

Still, he joins you, letting out a noise that is somewhere between a laugh and a snort. The moment brings about a sense of familiarity, the conversation finding a groove it hasn’t been able to since before he had died.

Clearing his throat again, he has to fight against the heat threatening to rise in his face- unable to do much about the blood rushing south. “Look. I know it’s not my place, just…I’m concerned. About you going outside wearing…” The way he vaguely gestures to your outfit with his hands makes you forget he’s supposed to be some kind of sharpshooter.

“I’m…going on a date.” You finally answer, offering an olive branch. Maybe the truth really will set you free. From this cage of Wayne Manor, from the clear gloss, sensible shoes and frumpy skirts that were good for your optics, whatever the fuck that meant. Jason was in your shoes, once. Under the microscope of society, young and repping the name of an entire family on your back. You hope he can relate, and give you some grace. So you lay it on. Thick.

“Do you like it? It’s pretty much brand new. I never get to wear it, because there is no way dad would ever let me out dressed like this.”

Jason nods slowly.

He likes more than your outfit.

“You’re going on a date.” He turns it over in his mind. It seems his suspicions were correct. “And…Bruce doesn’t even know?”

You can’t help but roll your eyes. “Oh, don’t give me that. As if you told him where you were sneaking off to when you were my age. And don’t you dare say it was different or whatever bullshit you’re about to-“

Jason crosses the room to your still seated form before you can finish, stepping into your personal space and placing a hand under your chin. He lifts it gently, and tries not to absolutely lose it at the way you look up at him from beneath your lashes.

“Where is he taking you?” Jason asks, his voice low and rough.

You do your best to beat back that feeling again. The warmth in your core is persistent, but you’ve had a few years of practice surpassing it. Digging your nails into your palm, you try not to observe how handsome he looks, even now, with that spark of disapproval in his gaze. Focusing hard, you manage not to bite your lip at his tone.

“Drive-in.” The truth slips from you quickly, and quieter than it would have several minutes ago, when you couldn’t smell his cologne. You lean into his touch imperceptibly. “And then there’s a party we might stop by.”

“Drive-in?” Jason repeats, his eyebrows arching. “Like, a literal movie drive-in? Do those places still actually exist?” His fingers tighten, his thumb rubbing against your chin- dangerously close to the fullness of your bottom lip. There’s no way you could miss the way his eyes devour your face. And drop to your lips.

“Uh-huh.” You confirm, dropping your chin ever so little, kissing his thumb. “They’re popular spots. Sitting in your car with your date. Alone, in the dark.”

“God, you’re killing me right now.” His heart pounds as your lips touch his thumb, but makes no move to pull it away. His fingers grip your chin a little tighter. His other hand comes to your neck, the pads of his fingers brushing over it gently. “You’re just begging to be kissed, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” the word escapes you breathlessly. It’s so fucking embarrassing. You can’t help it. That you care so much about your hair, that your showers are extra long and that you’re so horny all the fucking time now because living in his house is like being in the Olympic village- constantly surrounded by beautifully sculpted people. It was beyond difficult, even if you were now counted among them.

Jason doesn’t care that your door is cracked open or if anyone could walk in and see you. He drops one hand off of your chin, and the one tracing your pulse trails back and up into your hair, forgetting himself as he fists the strands and tugs it back.

“God, look at you.”

It’s all he can manage before he’s leaning down, pressing his lips to yours. The discovery of your flavored lipgloss sets off a wave of possessiveness in him when he thinks that some other punk was planning to savor the taste. He wants it to be just for him.

You kiss him back before you can think about it. You’re touch starved and aching, barely thinking straight as he lifts you into his arms with his impossible strength and picks you up as if you weigh less than nothing. Instinctively, your legs wrap around his waist. Breaking the kiss, your hands find his face, thumbs brushing over the scars on his cheek. “Forgot how strong you are, Jay.”

He lays you across the bed with one swift motion and kneels between your legs as his large hands roam your thighs. You know for a fact that your skin is soft and smooth. Your Everything Shower routine was of the gods.

“You’ve grown up, baby bat.”

His dark eyes bore into you, the old nickname rolling off of his tongue with ease. It no longer brings an irritated flush to your face the way it did when you were still playing with dolls. For a moment, he’s reminded of the fact that he was here to try and step into that role again. To be the brother that keeps you from making the sort of dumb mistakes he had been known for at your age, and not to touch you- but you’re so soft and so sweet. There’s no pity in your eyes, or fear of the monster he used to be. He can't decide if he wants to cherish you or ruin you, but he's greedy enough to try and get away with both.

Manicured fingers twitch to the front tie of your lace cardigan. The edge of the ribbon rests between your forefinger and thumb before you slowly pull, releasing the bow. You reveal your bare, ample chest to him as you agree breathlessly. “Yeah,”

Jason bites his lip at the sight of your chest. A deep sense of satisfaction fills him as you reveal yourself to him, and the hand on your thigh rises slowly, stopping at your hip. He lets out a soft groan as he promptly resumes to think with the wrong head.

Catching his gaze, you drag your nails down his chest, fingers stopping at his belt. Tilting your head, you don’t bother to look as you work on undoing the buckle and pull it free from the loops of his pants. “Jay,” You whisper.

“Don’t call me that.” His voice is low, his gaze still boring into yours. “It makes me…feel a certain type of way.” Tilting his head back a little, he lets out another soft grunt when he feels you working open the front of his pants. His eyes fall shut. He seems to be on the verge of something, no doubt attempting to convince himself to stop before the two of you do something you can’t take back.

“What if I want you to feel that way?” You ask, dipping your hand beneath the open waistband of his pants, your soft fingers brushing against his swelling cock.

“Jesus Christ.” Releasing a deep breath, he looks down at you. His hand travels up to your throat, fingers digging into your skin.

“Please.” You finally just beg him, your bare chest heaving as you attempt not to squirm with the anticipation. “Please, Jay. Please.” How long has it been, since you were touched? Yeah, you were gorgeous, and fairly popular at school, but being involved with the precious daughter of the ‘prince of Gotham’ was often too risky for a lot of the guys at school. With you, they couldn't get away with half of the things they could with some of the other girls you know. And then there’s Jason. Someone she’s known for a good chunk of her life. Someone she trusts, someone she’s mourned, and most importantly- someone who is not afraid of Bruce Wayne.

The dying embers of his resolve are snuffed out the minute you shift your hips, that too short skirt riding up and revealing your absolutely soaked panties. And fuck, has he even touched you yet?

“Yeah. Yeah, okay, sweetheart. I got you.” Jason leans over you, one hand supporting himself by your head as the other drags your underwear to the side. Two of his calloused fingers stroke your slippery folds, covering his hand in your warm slick before he fists his thick cock.

He brings the blunt head of him close to you, stroking your clit before it brushes against your core. “Relax for me, sweetheart. You gotta let me in.” He murmurs, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Hold onto me.”

You do. Your fingers dig into his strong shoulders as he finally manages to push into you with a long suffering groan. You’re no virgin, but you’re half his size, and so, he bets, was every other chump you had before him. And from the way your walls quiver and stretch around him? He also bets that list is pretty short.

“ ’S okay, princess,” He breathes, his pupils blown wide. It takes everything in him not to pin you down and absolutely destroy you, but he reminds himself that your desperation does’t equal experience. You can act as fast as you want, you still need time to adjust to him.

“Oooh, fuck.” Jason hisses, his nails digging into the sheets beside you as he somehow manages to bottom out. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” You can feel his shoulders tense under your palms, and your soft hands slip down his biceps until you’re holding his forearms. You’re so tight it’s criminal, and he can’t even focus as he begins to thrust into you.

His name sounds magical coming from your lips, and you look so gorgeous beneath him, your eyes screwed shut in pleasure as he fucks you hard and deep and bare. Your cunt is noisy and desperate, sucking him deep into your impossible warmth, covering every inch of him in your slick. His hand finds your throat again, and he can feel the way you squeeze around him in response. He groans complete delight. “You like that? Huh?”

Something akin to a yes escapes you as he begins to fuck you harder, the wood of the antique bed frame creaking in protest as your distant sort-of-stepbrother practically folds you in half, seemingly unable to get deep enough inside of you. Jason is a complete mess above you as you all but melt into your sheets, fingers tangled in the linens as each deep thrust forces a desperate whine from your parted lips.

“Such a perfect little cunt. So warm and fuckin’ wet-“ His free hand greedily palms at your tits as a string of other obscenities that make your clit throb begin to fall from his lips. He finds a spot deep within you that makes your toes curl and your walls tighten, and he grips your hips for leverage as he abuses it relentlessly. The difference between you is such that he barely has to shift his hand from your thigh to have his thumb roll over your clit shortly after you feel him spit on it, the oddity and the sudden stimulation forcing your back to arch.

There’s a part of him that hasn’t yet forgiven Bruce for leaving him to die, and that part greedily soaks up the sight of you coming undone beneath him, your tits bouncing as your back arches off of your bed. You may be barely an adult, but you’re still Bruce Wayne’s little girl, too precious for combat, but not too precious for Jason to spread you open on your pastel linens, under your daddy’s roof. You cream around his cock as your greedy walls threaten to milk him but he refuses to let up, determined to bully another orgasm out of you before he’s through.

“Tell me you want it,” Of course he knows you do. You’re the one who practically scrambled for his belt the minute he got you onto the bed, but it’s not enough to see it. He wants to hear you say it. To beg for him His voice is hoarse. Desperate. “Tell me you want me.”

“I want you,” You manage, barely able to get the words out. “Want you, I want you-“ His nails bite into your thigh and you can hear the blood rushing to your ears.

“Jason,” You look up at him through your lashes, tears of pleasure collecting in the corners of your pretty eyes. He mumbles your name in return, leaning down to kiss your shoulder.

“Get off in me.”

“Fuck!” His orgasm hits him like a train almost instantly, and he grinds into you needily with a disbelieving groan, filling you up. Your eyes nearly roll back as you come undone around him, and you’re not even though your orgasm before he lets out a barely coherent whine that sounds like it could be ‘good girl’ or ‘dirty fucking tease’. Your mind is spinning too much to make sense of anything and you decide take your pick, leaning back into your nest of plush blankets and pillows.

“Shit,” You breathe, exhausted.

“Yeah.” He agrees.

Jason allows himself to roll off of you, the bed creaking with impact as he collapses beside you with an uneven exhale. You close your eyes and try to catch your breath, hearing the shifting of his tactical pants beside you as he tucks his cock away. He casts a sidelong glance at you, swallowing before he can think of something to say. “That…you were okay with that, right?”

It takes a good moment to register the words, and you blink your eyes open. Turning to your side, you meet his gaze. You’re both sweating, and you feel decidedly un-sexy with his cooling cum leaking out of you. “What…what are you asking me?” You frown.

Jason tilts his head towards you. “It’s just…you know. What I was like before you uh…grew up.” His thoughts trail off, and his face creases with a frown as he tries to get through the next few words. “I just. I want to make sure…” A deep breath. Another heartbeat. “I can be rough, is all.” His expression softens, and guilt begins to seep in. You may live under this roof, but you aren’t like him. Not really. You were the soft one. The normal one. And that makes him feel equal amounts of pride and shame when he thinks about what you two have just done.

“Hey,” You recognize that shame, and you decide to put a stop to it before he overflows with it. “I may not spend my nights being tossed around by thugs anymore, but Gotham is rough. Our life is rough.”

Reaching out, you rest a hand over his heart, feeling the heat of him through his shirt. “But…being here…like this- with you? Being roughed up doesn’t have to suck.” Sitting up, you offer him a smile. “In fact, it felt so good I came twice. So. You know.”

Your answer is honest, and he can’t help but chuckle as he moves to sit up with you. His hand moves to caress the side of your face. You lean into his hand, and his gaze softens.

“You’re so different than you used to be.” His words come out in a whisper, and his thumb traces your jawline. “I want to keep you safe from this. But…I like this side of you. I like what I can bring out of you.”

“It’s been a long time, Jay.” You mumbled, closing your eyes. "A really long time."

You open them when you feel the way his lips brush against your forehead. They linger there for a heartbeat.

The moment is cut shot when you can hear the pneumatic hiss of the downstairs grandfather clock as it swings open, no doubt your adoptive dad home from patrol. “Shit. Dad’s home,” You whisper, and Jason grumbles as he leans against the headboard to catch his breath, watching you sit up. “You sure know how to kill the mood.”

“Dude, I just let you unload in me. I am the mood. So like, zip it.” You huff, fixing your underwear. Jason, despite his casually annoyed exterior, is lighter on his feet than you’ve ever seen him as he moves to get off of your bed. He’s sneaking out of here like his life depends on it, but he has the feeling it actually might.

“See you at breakfast, Jay!” You call a little too loudly, snickering at the way he tenses up in fear. He makes sure to flip you off right before he disappears past the doorframe, and you walk over and shut it.

Looking over to your desk, you see the screen of your phone is lit up, flooded with half an hours worth of texts and missed calls.

Guess you missed your date.

I ain't scared of boys, but boy, you're a man And if anybody could, I'm sure you can For a girl this young, naive, and miserable

#v.fic #batfam x reader #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #tim drake x reader #tim drake x you #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x you #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x you

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thaltro · 6 months ago

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Atrophy is the main antagonist is the psych sans comic (NightWatch Au) and I love writing him. The comic is going well and my first chapter should be out in August ❤️ love y’all

#sans au #undertale au #utmv #psychology sans #nightmare sans #Atrophy sans #NightWatch au #yippie #he’s a HORRIBLE person #but so fun to write #Spotify

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killerzys · 22 days ago

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There other info

AGAIN I am basing their personalities off of me in a way but this is just based off of my personal experience of things I'm going through mentally

Atrophy meaning being lifted behind, thrown away, dying out etc etc So I made her my fear of being left/being forgotten

Dwindle means to become steadily less/shrinking So I mean her my own experience with depression and mental health problems

Flourish means a bold or extravagant gesture or action, made especially to attract the attention of others When I looked that up I based her personality off of pinkie pie form mlp And I made her my loudest, clinginess, and as well as OLD (obsession love disorder) She being a flirt sometime as well

#killerzys flourish #killerzysrambling #killerzyspost #killerzys dwindle #killerzys Atrophy #i don't know how to tag this #utmv #sans au #undertale au

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avalonia320 · 3 months ago

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all of the ghouls come out to play

I'm flexing my slightly atrophied writer's muscles with a swing at an IWTV fic. Here's a sneak peek if anyone's interested. This is going to be a canon compliant fic, bridging the gap between season 2 & season 3. Louis has returned to New Orleans once more to reconnect with Lestat, but this time Lestat is no where to be found. Instead, Louis is distracted by dreams of Claudia and reaches out for help. This fic will cover the beginning of Ghost Claudia, & maybe even the start of Devil's Minion.

This is from the first chapter, after Louis has woken up from a particularly intense dream. I have to say, I really enjoy writing Louis/Daniel convos.

***

A few minutes later, Louis found what he was looking for: Daniel, in a bar in Chicago, side-eyeing a bartender who had watered down his drinks like the man was lunch. Which, by the direction of Daniel’s thoughts, was exactly what the man was going to be. A high price for trying to save 50 cents on bourbon.

Daniel, it’s Louis.

Louis du Pointe du Lac. It’s about fucking time. Glad to hear you’re still alive. You went radio silent after your big challenge. I was getting a little concerned.

He got right to the point. I need a favor. I need you to use your research skills to check on something for me. Something to do with Paris.

Of course it’s fucking Paris. I knew all that ‘time heals’ crap was bullshit. What is it that you’re wanting to know?

Louis steeled himself. I had a dream. About Claudia. It took him several painful minutes to explain, recounting everything he had seen, what he thought it might mean.

There was a long silence once Louis was done speaking. He could picture Daniel so clearly, as if he were in front of him, reading the expression Daniel undoubtedly had on his face right now. The disapproval. The worry tinged with fear. And finally…that hint of insatiable curiosity that Louis was banking on.

Daniel, he thought finally. Will you look into it or not?

I'm just trying to think how to talk you out of this. You know this is a bad road to go down.

I’m having these dreams for a reason. I need to know. If it’s really her or if I’m just -

Crazy? I hate to say it - alright I’m lying, I enjoy saying it - but we both know that crazy train pulled out of the station a long, long time ago.

Louis chuckled quietly to himself. That may be true, he admitted. But I still need to know.

You want my advice? Of course you don’t but I’m gonna give it to you anyway. Let a dream be just a dream. You don’t always need to go digging up the bones, trying to see if they’ll talk to you.

I trust you understand the rich irony of those words coming from you, my friend.

A long capitulating sigh was the only response for several seconds before Daniel spoke again. Fine. I’ll look into it. His words were saturated with reluctance. At least tell me something good. Tell me you’re not in Dubai anymore.

I’m not in Dubai. I’m in New Orleans.

Oh Jesus fucking Christ. Daniel groaned loudly. No wonder you’re in the mood for a seance. You know that’s the first place anyone’s gonna come looking for you once they figure out you’re not in Dubai.

It’s sweet that you care, Daniel. But this is where I need to be right now.

Who says I care? I just need you alive for the next book.

Louis smiled to himself. Sure.

OK, I admit it. I care. So listen to what I’m saying now. There’s nothing for you in New Orleans. Lestat isn’t even there anymore. Stop chasing ghosts and come visit me instead. I’m flying out to California to start the second half of the press tour tomorrow. Why don’t you come with me? You don’t have to be on camera if you don’t want to. We can relive old times at Polynesian Mary’s when we’re in San Francisco. Go night swimming in Santa Monica. It’ll be good for you.

Louis stretched before he stood up, stepping out of the coffin. It’s tempting. But I’m not ready to - He stopped as sudden realization struck him. Wait. How do you know Lestat isn’t in New Orleans anymore?

There was an uncharacteristic hesitation. Uh..

What is it that you’re not telling me, Daniel?

My agent’s calling me. I have to go.

DANIEL.

I’m hanging up now. This is me slamming down the metaphorical phone. If you really want to know, get on a fucking plane. His voice gentled slightly. I’ll let you know what I find out about Paris.

DANIEL MOLLOY DON’T YOU DARE -

It was too late. Daniel’s voice was gone.

#iwtv fanfiction #iwtv #louis du pointe du lac #daniel molloy #claudia de lioncourt #ghost claudia #my writing #lestat de lioncourt

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rodauce · 7 months ago

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La coordination des mouvements

Se fit plus difficile

Comme une montagne à franchir

L'air aussi était plus rare.

Le passé pesé

Causait une atrophie du coeur

La ligne de vie

Racontait une histoire ancienne

Comme un rêve diurne

Il fallait contourner des blocs

D'amnésie

Des visages sans empreintes

Et quand soi-même on s'oubliait

Le parfum de la journée

Et le contour des formes

Donnaient à lire

Une histoire du présent

Étale, friable, faite de miroitements.

Ainsi allaient les heures

D'avant l'aube blanche

Jusqu'aux rosées du soir.

#txt #rodauce

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fattlestacks · 6 months ago

Note

hey im sorry but ive been so intrigued by your artstyle ever since i first saw it but what are your inspirations for your art?

idk how to describe it besides "western" like idk,, maybe 80s/90s furry artstyle?? its just so unique but looks so familiar also

My memory is honestly trash... but off the top of my head I'd say childhood influences were MC Skat Kat, Roger Rabbit and Rumiko Takahashi.

As a teen/young adult Terry Moore, Johnen Vasquez and Todd Nauck.

These days... I don't know. I did get pretty heavy into Osomatsu San for a while, haha. My brain may be atrophying with age though...

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ant1quarian · 8 months ago

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UPDATED DUSTVERSE NAMES LIST

( With Creators/People who added the Dust to the OG post )

OG Dust

Belongs to Ask-Dusttale

Ash

BS!Dust. Belongs to @/absurdumsid.

Ruins

CV Dust. Belongs to @/askquellowsans

Remnant

Also known as Quellow. Belongs to @/askquellowsans

Flumen (And Dyst)

A Swap Sans who wears the clothes of a fallen "friend", Dyst.

Created by @/rushin-safire

Dusty Crumb

Belongs to @/kredena-dark

Has been corrected ✨

Discard

Also known as Voidface Dust, submitted by @/elizakai

Reject

Tall Dust, submitted by @/elizakai

Cinder

Femme Dust, belongs to @/elizakai

Debris

Idol Dust, designed by @/safwunnz, created by @/zucchiyeni

Wilt

Bald Dust, submitted by @/swiftmitsu

Sprinkle

Friendly Dust, @/dustsansm1 Dust, essentially, designed by @/absurdumsid

Non-romanceable. A content creator here on Tumblr.

Spread

BIB Dust, belongs to @/thelunarsystemwrites

Scraps

Saejun!Dust, belongs to @/absurdumsid

has been corrected ✨

Husks

Cap-wearing Dust, submitted by @/swiftmitsu

Mote

Detective Dust, belongs (I believe) to @/switchthedragon

Fos (Fossilz)

Fos/Fossilz Dust belongs to @/safwunnz

Pendulum

Time traveller Dust, belongs to @/ksopaz

has been corrected ✨

Detritus

Biblically Accurate Dust, belongs to @/elizakai

Olyu

Olyu, Error!Dust, belongs to @/glitchedcodez

Fracture

Ivan!Dust, belongs to @/absurdumsid

has been corrected ✨

Serial

Killer-Dust fusion, belongs to @/swiftmisu

Dander

Bitty bat Dust, belongs to @/mellybabbles

Erosion

Eldritch Dust, belongs to (/submitted by) @/wr-n

Smog

Smiles, submitted by @/elizakai

Pollen

Bitty Dust, submitted by @/createbellatheartist

Miasma

Brother Dust, belongs to @/elizakai

Haze

Drugdealer Dust that's constantly high and Built Different™, submitted by @/elizakai

Atrophy

Mr Feral McStabby, submitted by @/elizakai

Talc

Limbus Company Dust, belongs to @/tuxibirdie

Webs

Mttbs Dust, belongs to @/justanidiotartist

Malaise

Nun Dust, submitted by @/elizakai

Decay

Avian Dust, belongs to Me (@/ant1quarian)

Fallout

Witherborn Dust, belongs to Me (@/ant1quarian)

Soot

Mafiadust Sans, belongs to Me (@/antiquarian)

Molt

Flighteningtale Dust, belongs to @/dragon-tamer-1

Misery

Transfem Dust, belongs to @/mellybabbles

Mites

Middleschool (Cat?) Dust, belongs to @/inkcat1987

Residue

Magical Girl Duster, belongs to @/thelunarsystemwrites

Grit

BT!Dust (Goblin Dust), belongs to @/shadowy-suitcase-herring-neck

Fuzz

Cat Dust, belongs to @/squidiott

Corrosion

Underworld Society!Dust, submitted by @/absurdumsid, belongs to @/machicoasa625 on Twitter

Malicious (Mal)

Mind's Multiverse!Dust, belongs to @/solusminds

Specks

Glasses Dust, submitted by @/elizakai

Heather

Heathers!Dust, belongs to @/a-whispering-echo

Plague

Pestilence!Dust, belongs to @/a-whispering-echo

Murmur

Ghost!Dust, belongs to @/a-whispering-echo

Crow

EtherealDreamtale!Dust, belongs to @/fictionalshippingbean

Stain

Dust!Ink, submitted by me, belongs to Ssgt. Frost or Undriel

Burgundy

Dust!Fell, who was submitted by me, @/ant1quarian

Wraith

Festivalverse!Dust, belongs to @/meimeikyu

Rust

Fiend or Foe Dust, belongs to @/liliallowed

has been corrected ✨

Closure

GOD!Dust (essentially), belongs to @/liliallowed

Melancholy

Dust-Isabella (from Encanto), belongs to @/jadethetsu

Clutter

Dust!Swap Sans, belongs to me, technically @/ant1quarian

Stardust

Dust!Nebula, belongs to @/dzasterdumpterfire

Warden

Bodyguard!Dust, belongs to @/absurdumsid

Sleuth

Spy!Dust, belongs to @/ksopaz

Snore

Snorlax Dust, belongs to @rushin-safire /silly

Loch

Pirate!Dust, belongs to Me (@/ant1quarian)

Crimson and Ashley

Gender!Swap Dragon-esque AU, belongs to @/liliallowed

Treble

Colour!Dust, belongs to @/dzasterdumpterfire

Speckle

Little!Dust, belongs to @/thelunarsystemwrites

Reform

Ref!Dust, belongs to @/sans-wannabe-wife

Popsicle

Popsicle Dust, belongs to @/liliallowed

Harvest

Dust!Reaper Sans, belongs to @/ant1quarian, inspired and sorta designed by @/pika-pika-blog

Reign

Dust!Controltale Sans, belongs to @/ant1quarian

If I have missed any Dusts, simply comment on this post or mention me elsewhere or send me an ask, and your Dust will be added :]

( Also all tags are on this post )

Credit to every single creator and submitter that added to the Dustverse!

I think that's all I've got so far!

Anyone else who wants to add Dust's can send me an ask or interact with me in DM's, because it'll be open until the story eventually finishes! (will be literal years away-)

If I've got any credits incorrect, please do tell me so that I can fix it!

#Credit to all those creators and submitters #Dustverse #Dustverse Credit #Dustverse thoughts #Dustverse Fanfiction #Dustverse Answers #Dustverse Shenanigans #Dustverse Things #Dust Sans #OG Dust #( Or any variation of “___ Dust” )#Misery Loves Company #Undertale fandom #Undertale fanfic #undertale fandom #Undertale fanfiction #Arian's Ideas

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