#Do NOT like when people insult or gossip or talk about how crazy homeless people are
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Im all partied out after the last two days đ
#Tonights adventure was a quote ugly sweater party#And it started out as kind of a nightmare#This white woman I did not knlw got right in my face and asked me what my skincare routine was#And I was like.......I shower?#And she said in a tone I could not decipher if she was judging or shitting on me or not#She was like You shower!#I left that interaction thinking yeah I need to go kill myself after that#But the rest?#Idk I just... v much got the sense these were not my people#Like my sister had fun and good on her this whole deal is with her clients and shit#But these fucking white people were talking shit about the homeless#And I#Do NOT like when people insult or gossip or talk about how crazy homeless people are#I judge hardcore for that in point of fact:l#Because I WAS fucking homeless once#And idk#I just... came away from it not sad per se but kind of down#and realizing that yet again these arent people I can click with#long term?#I kind of.... question if there is a place at a party or THE party for me?#Sigh#Sorry#Long tags are long#Long post nobody read
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Iâve been sitting on these head cannons for a while, not really sure why. Some of them are more thought out than others, guess thatâs why I havenât felt ready to publish them, but I donât think Iâll ever find the time to fine tune them so Iâm just going to throw them out here.
These are âscandalâ head cannons for if the Gorillaz were real people, except for the first one about 2D, which is just a nice thought imo lol.
Anyway, here they are.
-2D got into producing during the bands hiatus between getting back from his not-so deserted island experience and Humanz. Heâs now a very sought after indie music producer. Won an independent Grammy in 2019 for producer of the year. He loves to do it because it gives him a sense of purpose outside of Gorillaz and helping out up and coming music acts is extremely fulfilling to him. He also loves to collaborate outside of Gorillaz. Bands will seek out his unique vocals for back up singing and occasional covers of other songs.
-2D has embarrassing memory lapses brought on my his head trauma and pill abuse that gossip rags always love to print about. Heâs been known to be found peeing on the sides of buildings, ragging on and insulting strangers on the streets or crashing other peopleâs weddings or parties. He often comes to and canât remember how or why he ended up there.
-Murdoc has had several write ups over the years for being an abusive boyfriend. He keeps luring women and the occasional man around only to get belligerent with them and start loud, over the top fights that draw crowds. The Daily Mail publishes every piece sent in about him, regardless of if itâs true. Occasionally the stories have a leg to stand on but mostly itâs conjecture from âanonymous sourcesâ. In these times, 2D will always stand up for him, prompting the DM to start the rumors that he has Stockholm Syndrome, a rumor that has the power to send 2D into tirades. Occasionally heâll be so high out of mind that heâll go off on nonsense tangents about Murdoc and how these people are just after attention cause heâs famous and that the abuse heâs endured was never âthat badâ even though thereâs interviews and evidence pointing to the opposite.
-Speaking of The Daily Mail, the love to constantly speculate over the status of 2D and Murdocâs relationship. Over the passed 20or so years, theyâve been the only publication to run actual compromising pictures of them together
-Noodle has a reputation for getting shit faced out at club and god forbid sheâs out with Murdoc. They enable each other to drink more and more. Noodle gets Like embarrassingly falling over drunk and saying wild ass shit. Most of the time though sheâs caught shouting in Japanese at paps and autograph seekers. Itâs gotten so bad in more recent years that Noodle is starting receive bans from a few of the same nightclubs Murdoc already canât get into.
-Russel had a reputation in the early 2000s for being caught talking to himself. It became a crazy obsession in the media for a few years, who was going to catch Russel staring at walls muttering to himself and also causing a lot of speculation as to the nature of his relationship with Del while he was alive. Occasionally those times would devolve into him looking spun out an homeless especially after Dels exorcism. He would still chatter like he was there but really heâd just gone mad. Took an extended break as a posh recovery center after the events of plastic beach, his captive stay in North Korea triggered his muttering again.
-Russel is a secret hacker, but for Robin Hood do goodings. Likes to hack into databases to wipe peopleâs debts or give kids lunch money for school. Almost got caught once leaving a campus getting recognized but managed to bribe the student with an autograph.
-Russ has also been caught buying black market, endangered animals for his Frankenstein-taxidermy. Getting deeper into his hobby, he wanted make the ultimate endangered animal. He claims he didnât see anything wrong with him, since he was technically preserving the animals and they were already dead when he bought them.
-To that point, his room smells awful. Like fermeldahide and death. Also Murdoc likes to take dips of said fermeldahide to make whet joints to take on adventures. Which usually end up in him tripping his balls off.
-Noodle has mpd. She has triggers for her alters that over the years sheâs able to keep controlled but in her teens especially sheâd get caught out in public claiming to be someone else and dressing the part. Her alters stem from the abuse she endured as a child soldier. Itâs a tactic used to make her a better assassin so her main Noodle personality wonât be able to recall the pain and horror sheâs inflicted on people.
-Noodle likes to commit petty crimes for fun, and has been caught on camera several timesSometimes Murdoc will join her, but when they do, the crimes usually escalate beyond petty. The most fun theyâve had together is hot wiring random cars and taking them for joy rides. They always try to return them but usually forget where they came from.
-Murdoc still gets the itch to commit arson from time to time and usually finds old abandoned homes or factories to light up. Heâs been arrested for a few but thereâs never enough evidence to nail him for the crimes, heâs gotten too good at it.
-Murdoc has several off shore bank accounts and shell corporations. Theyâve been talked about in the press marginally but no one really knows what theyâre for or where he gets all that money or what he needs it for. âAnd you never will,â he says, no doubt.
#Gorillaz#gorillaz headcanons#murdoc niccals#2D#2d gorillaz#noodle gorillaz#russel hobbs#beebzly thoughts#beebzly headcannons
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#personal
Itâs been getting hard to keep track of all the misfortune lately on a microscopic level. This isnât to say thereâs some miniature secret world plotting against me or something. Maybe it is really the muons at work. Maybe itâs just people being collectively disrespectful. If anything is for sure, people out here in America act in groups more often than not. In Chicago, itâs easier to paint the picture because of a little known characteristic of my city called âcorruption.â You are made to think you are the problem. That you arenât following the rules. These rules arenât things you can actually follow like tax law or anything. If anything my taxes this year extended my time to wait all of this out. But Iâve been waiting all this out for over two decades essentially. I was reminded of this yesterday shopping downtown when I wandered past my ex girlfriend. I havenât spoken to this person for years. Never would speak to this person. Iâve run into my car in the neighborhood when Iâm on the wrong side of it. The car I gave up to walk away and never look back over a decade ago. Iâve been suggested her as a connection on LinkedIn more than once. Sometimes through an email at 4:20 in the morning from the service. For whatever reason the Earthâs magnetic poles lead sharks like me around the city with no plan, I sure run into a lot of people. This is while spending about 11 months completely alone aside from run ins with goods and services. I occasionally nod to my neighbors. The landlord installed a new lock on the front gate which is left unlocked most of the time. I had a package stolen again a couple of weeks ago. We didnât talk about it. It just seems coincidental that now we have a lock. Itâs not the first time Iâve had my packages disappear. Itâs not the first time for anything in this city. And again itâs not the first time Iâve seen my ex in passing scowling back at me. She wasnât wearing a mask. Thankfully I was. Iâve given up trying to explain this to anybody but the internet. And even in that, this site is theoretically dead to most people in mainstream society much like me. Gaslighting is tied to a myriad of behaviors that people use to exert control. Think of all the shitty men out there who neg women to groom, shape and mold them into liking them. Think of this done in collective way. Like a mob. Or a commune. Whatever you call it, itâs not something you can actively fight against yourself. Sure I have this online outlet. But most of us get at this point that Iâm not looking to connect with mainstream society after being exiled from it like it was a cult. Typical cult behavior is to alienate and isolate the victim. Kind of like the army. You break down someoneâs resolve to the point where they have no choice to give up and accept the way. That this is your home. This is your path. This is your destiny. That this is all you are worth. That you are being unreasonable thinking thereâs anything wrong. That you should just give up and assimilate to the group. Except in my case, thereâs no option or way forward. If my self confidence were lower or my bank account far less liquid Iâd be on the ropes by now. And yet things just keep getting worse when it comes to what this city projects at me. Itâs completely full of shit and not even remotely concerned in hiding it. I could never prove any of this behavior towards me is organized. So I donât. I donât waste my time other than writing it out on the internet to show Iâm not crazy. But the city is against me at every step outside my locked gate. Inside my rent is paid and I have a silent agreement at best. At least I can be trusted to keep a secret.
Trust is something that canât be recovered with mere words. Iâve known for awhile Iâve been held to a completely different standard. Itâs hard to quantify. As much as Iâd like to think this is a dead site, I know those very same people stalk every word I say. Itâs a fucked up situation that just keeps getting deeper into a hole no one can crawl out of. Iâve spent my time being vague and cautious. Iâve focused more on my fiscal health through this which is better than it has ever been. Sans identity theft ever few weeks. This is a reality that I live that has gone way beyond a line of normalcy. Iâm supposed to just sit here mothballed, exiled and benched. Iâm supposed to sit here and take it while people watch on some scary collective level. Iâm not too paranoid about anything. Honestly Iâm the least paranoid Iâve ever been. Iâm just simply bored with the inefficiency of it all. You really want to sit here and tell me that itâs my fault. That itâs about me âgetting out thereâ and getting âout of my comfort zoneâ when I spent years travelling by myself to Asia, New York and as far as New Zealand. These are journeys Iâve written about at the level of a fifth grade writing teacher. And still nobody can bother to accept that Iâve been around the block more than once. Itâs as if I donât matter unless I reach out to someone. Which I have for years on this platform. Iâm comfortable with that. To be this invisible after all the shit I talk is a mindfuck. I wonder why I even talk shit at all anymore. I wonder why I donât just wall myself up in my apartment and never see the light of day. I wonder a lot of things. I wonder how deep this pain will get over time. I wonder why people think this is completely normal to put a person through what Iâve been through. What does this prove exactly? To me it proves that I am worth it. And self confidence in this situation is the biggest mother fucker there is. Because everyone would rather resort to chipping away at your defenses than getting to know who you really are. Iâd be more bothered if I cared about it. But we are in the middle of a crisis. I have been quarantined and isolated from everything alone. I have been followed, gossiped about, threatened, and intimidated most every day of the week for over a year. I donât really care. I have reached a limit in which I constantly feel like telling the world to fuck off. I have spent years rattling away paragraphs that are harvested by some future algorithm to mine for some tortured sitcom version of Tenet. What the fuck is really going on here? I couldnât ever tell you. None of how this has played out for me makes any bit of sense. I have nowhere to go. I have nothing to do. I have skills that are invisible. I have a professional network that pretends Iâm not alive. I get winks and secret stares like Iâm not in on some joke. That Iâm outside whatever privileged simulation the rest of this city enjoys. Iâve given up trying to explain it. I never want to explain it. I never want to look back at all these sorry ass glances. I live in a city that plays by its own lawless rules and expects you to bow down and kiss itâs scrubby ass feet. While walking back to the train the other day I took the long way under the metra tracks. Thereâs a ton of homeless people living in tents. I walked past and an arm stuck out from one with a needle in the other hand. This tattooed motherfucker literally just shot up in front of me. Like it was some sick expression of freedom. This country is fucked up. This city is even worse. And people think like Iâm living some charmed, bargain basement life. Like itâs cool to be poor. Like itâs divine to suffer and struggle so that the rest of these people can pretend it never happened. This is real life in Chicago. Home of the free and land of the gaslighted.
I donât know what to say or do anymore. I know this is some sort of epilogue. That it really doesnât matter. Iâm going to spend an entire summer alone again. Just to prove a point. Then come September Iâm going to have to make the decision to leave. There are no answers. No opportunities. Nobody who wants to see this all happen to me and point a finger back at society. Iâm not tortured enough. Iâm not part of some community other than a dead website people make fun of. I donât have a fucking future here. I get scammed. I get conned. I get catfished looking for jobs. I get sidelined. I get benched. I get picked over. And I get it. If we really look at the way the entertainment industry and the media work everyone pays attention to two week cycles. In the last two weeks, people have copied every single idea and claimed it their own. Just like the two weeks before that. People make it all about them and forget what inspired them. And people move on to the next thing to consume. They have no focus. They churn around trying to be like everyone else and become more the same. Iâve been a musician. Iâve been a rapper. Iâve been host. Iâve been a commentator. Iâve been a writer. Iâve been a lot of things. And Iâm still completely invisible except even more so. Itâs like a joke to some people. They get off on cucking me in front of my face. Like theyâre so much better at expressing their freedom than me. These people are toxic and inefficient as fuck. You canât express freedom in one breath at the expense of somebody elseâs. You cannot do that in an organized mob like fashion on the internet. If you do, the DOJ will find you. And you will need a fucking lawyer. And this is what I tell myself when I get really mad. That I will have the last laugh. That I will be able to wait it out. That things will have changed after July 4th when the city reopens. We can all laugh and dance the pain away. We can all conveniently ignore the shady bullshit that I experienced up front and center. This is a dangerous reality. That after July it will be a year since I was let go. A year of being invisible taking care of my own shit. A year of me telling you I told you so only to be gossiped behind my back like Iâm crazy. Iâm ok with walking away from all this shit and starting over. I already did that. Itâs a fucking insult I live every day people thinking they know everything about me and never even asking my fucking name. And yet I donât really care. Itâs not worth my fucking time to care anymore. I donât exactly know the way forward. Iâm trapped in a situation that would make normal peopleâs eyes bleed. I write here out of frustration knowing full well itâs not something I control. I canât do anything about this. So I figure out ways to pass the time like Iâm in some sort of jail. Does it matter? On a small level yes. I do understand that there are people out there that care about me equally as much. This is why I stay down here. A joke. Anonymous proof that everyone is pretty much full of shit when they talk about me behind my back. And yet it gets worse. Who did I piss off? I donât mind that I did. Iâm kind of proud actually. Because if I pissed you off being me it means I got under your skin. It means ultimately Iâm better than you can ever be. And youâll tear your own skin off trying to live in the shadow of mine. Nobody can ever be me. Nobody can ever copy my shit and be authentic. This is what we need to focus on. Authenticity. For all the shit people talk about me, I donât need to say a word. You can make fun of me in front of your coworkers or friends at the bar. Somebody will always be in the shadows listening to your bullshit. And your bullshit is so obvious these days. I have no choice but to wait it out and watch you eat the shit youâve been shoveling for decades. How Iâm going to do that should be obvious by now. Nothing has changed. Everything else is a secret. <3 Tim
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sĂĄbado gigante
Sometimes I think itâs hard to look at the women on TV in the bright orange bikinis with the dark brown beads spinning wild like suns out of orbit. Thereâs something about UnivisiĂłn, I donât know, everything on the channel is very saturated â the colors, the bad acting, the dirty jokes.
Corona in hand, smelling of wet paint, Pipo is singing along to the rhythm of clanging dishes being washed in the kitchen.
My grandmotherâs voice cuts through the cover of a song I am hearing for the first time.
âEstĂĄs mirando las mujeres esas bailando en cueras con las tetas afuera? Take that shit off. Youâre going to turn her into a slut or, worse, a lesbian.â
 âEn esta casa, we donât say that word.â
âDo what you want. Iâm not watching you ruin another girl.â
I canât imagine my grandfather ruining any girl, but he doesnât have anything else to say. Mima storms out and I follow her out to the marble steps I grew up on, watching her breathe smoke into the humid night. I can smell the tar build up in both of our lungs, but I like it, somehow. Iâm pretty sure the only time Mima isnât talking was when she had a cigarette in her mouth.
 âDonât ever pick up a cigar,â she says, flicking the ash off the end of her cigarette. âItâs the beginning of the end. Youâre turning ten in a month, right? I started smoking when I was just a little older than you are, and Iâve been dying ever since.â
I watch as the smoke swirls off like a dragon in the distance, and I listen for years.
 âBut things were different,â she says, and I am twelve. âI started working when I was younger than you, had a family to support. Iâve never not been anxious. You watch out for that. Itâs swirling in your blood, mi princesa. And the moment you give in to it, itâs over.â
I donât like the idea of anything swirling in my blood. I shudder.
 âYouâre telling me youâve never thought a single boy in your class is cute? No te creo. But, I guess, youâll have time to fall in love.â
Mami said not to tell her about how RocĂo stayed the night last week, and especially not that she stayed in my bed. I donât tell anyone that the first dream I had when I turned fifteen was about the curve of her legs against mine.
 âYouâre better off without him,â she said when I broke up with my boyfriend. I never told her why. Sheâs traded her cigarette for a doctorâs note, threatening her with another hospitalization if she keeps smoking. âYouâll find a better man in college, one who deserves you, youâll see.â
 My phone lights up in my hand, buzzes.
âWhoâs that?â
âUna amiga.â I turn off the screen before she notices the kiss emojis that trail after a pretty strangerâs name.
Something aches inside me, something I have only recently been able to name. Phantom pains of an aunt I will never know, forgotten on the island my family fled, a curse of that ruined woman whispered behind my back for years, la mujer esa con la novia, donât talk about her in front of la nena, are you crazy? There are enough lesbians in this family.
Without ever knowing her, without ever knowing of her, I wonder if she is happy.
 Right on schedule, la vieja de la calle passes by. We hear her before we see her, screaming profanity in English in the middle of the sideroad that separates our yard from the public park. She is a fact of life, and my grandmother, as she does with all facts of life, pulls me aside and starts gossiping about her under her breath.
             âPobrecita, la loca esa, do you think sheâs homeless? Sheâs too clean to be but still, here she is, screaming at the people on the street como si fuera nada.â
Though there is no way for the woman to know I am here, almost a half-block away, she seems to turn to me. Her eyes lock with mine and see nothing. âI can smell the lesbian on you,â she says. âIt reeks like a fucking disease.â
             And my grandmother is screaming, screaming in a language the woman cannot understand, âLesbian? Lesbian? No one calls mi princesa a lesbian, who do you think you are?â And I try to think itâs sweet, I really do, but it is easier to laugh at a strangerâs mechanical recitation of homophobic rhetoric than to think about how the worst insult imaginable to my grandmother is the idea that I may not marry a man.
âGo inside, mi amor. Let me handle this.â
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&& between heaven and hell (assassin au)
In coordination with the verses of @naenqdam & @proxiist , this verse explores an alternate reality of what it would look like if Jackie had never truly been able to leave her past self behind. warning for rape, torture and murder below the cut. please skip if needed.
It follows roughly along the same lines as her main verse, wherein sheâs left her ex behind and has started a new life as a music producer, just trying to get back in touch with what sheâd once left behind before all the shit had blown up.Â
And so far sheâs done well, remarkably well even, that it should be enough for her to settle into her new role with nothing more but a sense of accomplishment and a further drive to succeed. She has her new life, built it up from scratch â far away from past lover and her list of contracted kills â far away from pretending she has no guilt. And she shouldnât miss it. She doesnât want to. The pain of that life had been far too much for her to bear should have been thrown under a bridge and forgotten. But thatâs where this verse diverges.
She does miss it, and thatâs the problem.
A taste of power was all sheâd needed.
She tries to ignore it, the lingering darkness brewing beneath her skin. She attempts to drown it out, with music and work and sleep, sleep, sleep. But itâs in her dreams, and it awakens every time she has a slight moment of peace.
There is an urge for something dark within her just begging to be let out, to run rampant on the city streets and take the most worthless of its inhabitants down into the depths, so they could at least be used to feed a hunger she didnât know sheâd possessed. Maybe then it wouldnât get so loud. Maybe then â she wouldnât be so violent, so emotional, so unstable. Maybe then, maybe she could have just one clear moment of peace, please.
But she cringes away from it, tells herself to ignore the bad thoughts that threaten to make her sick. Because she doesnât want it, sheâs certain. Not the blood, not the guilt.
Not the secrets.
Sheâs not meant for that kind of life. And sheâs not that kind of girl. Sheâs not, not, not, not, not â
But then that changes.
One stormy night, a friend is found â floating in the river. A homeless girl, age sixteen. Jackie had met her a few times while sheâd worked at the local 7-11. Sheâd slept in the back while she was off her shift, in a supply closet that her managers had been kind enough to let her have. Saving up her cash so she could make it to America and make it big in Hollywood, so she could walk on all the red carpets for all the biggest premiers.
Her name had been Kana.
Found raped. Drugged. Murdered.
Tortured even, to add further insult to injury.
There is a smile on her face, etched into her skin by a knife. Serrated blade, the doctors had said; a possible rendition of the Joker. Itâd seemed like the sick fucker had gotten creative.
But there was no evidence. And there was no suspected culprit. And thus, there would be no justice.
The police force â though sheâd know theyâd tried their best â she couldnât help but feel like sometimes, sometimes â it was a real fucking joke.
And sheâd known that, felt it that day at the funeral, on a day which had felt like one of the darkest in a long time. Jackie had gone so very numb at that point, that sheâd apparently forgotten how to cry that day. Sheâd apologized to Kana, bent at her grave after the guests had finally left, whispering her prayers even as the deluge of rain had soaked through her hair.
She didnât know if sheâd be forgiven for that, but sheâd gain her apology another way.
Because right after that, the murders had started. All homeless. Not all women. And not all young. All with a smile carved into their face. Someone was ridding the city of the less fortunate, and the police were â for lack of a better term â utterly useless.
How could she have possibly ignored that?
So sheâd taken up sleuthing the crime scenes when sheâd could, hacking into nearby cameras and following leads, searching for evidence where the police hadnât. Itâd helped that she was so well known in the underground scene.
It made information so much easier to get a hold of.
A few months of digging later found her tagging a few renowned drug rings as the main connections to the series of deaths, all headed by one man thatâd apparently never even been caught in a mere photograph. Sheâd had his initials â H.K. â but that was it. Getting any more in depth would be risky, and she needed more connections that this.
Then, rumors of the organization had popped up. Underground and in the dark webs. Gossip whispered along dark corridors, or passed off as drunken ramble. It was an urban legend. Tall tales. Crazy talk.
On a whim, sheâd taken notice. Started watching. Tracking. Just as intently as she had the murders. And finally â after whatâd seemed like forever, had eventually found a trend.
Apparently, there was more to the rumors than most people would have thought. Though their actions did seem to be somewhat⌠contradicting, there was no doubt that they seemed to be doing it for the right reasons. Theyâd seemed to be a fairly bigger group as well, meaning their resources and contacts would be more abundant than if she were to work on her own.
If she was right, theyâd find her new target as one of particular interest to their goals as well.
So sheâd made contact, and before long â had received the requirements to join.
Blow up a building? Sheâd known just the place.
Guilt had not been in her vocabulary the evening sheâd set up those explosives. It hadnât even crossed her mind. Instead, she was running purely by what perverse ideas the darkness in her mind had whispered to her throughout the last few months, focusing on the numbness, on the self-satisfied feeling of vengeance thatâd flooded through her when those charges had gone off in the building a few buildings across from where sheâd stood.
There was no need to worry. The men converging in that building had all been rich men with a history of pedophilia and the like, left to walk around free after some underhanded bribery. Itâd been easy enough to lure them all in, with a few well-placed invitations here and there. Hell, sheâd even made sure the janitors had left for the night. They were small fry, all things considered â so it was easy, but still all the most satisfying.
That was one thing sheâd have to thank Garry for at least.
She knew how to make a strong statement.
As sheâd hoped, sheâd passed their little test, and as such had gone through her training â once again finding her strength and prowess in all the talents thatâd felt natural to her but hadnât been able to practice in whatâd seemed like too damn long.
Eventually, sheâd learned how to be one of them, settling into the role with an ease that scares her; in the few times sheâs shaken herself out of whatever cloying stupor sheâd fallen into with doing this kind of work again. The guilt has eased somewhat on her part however, knowing that those she takes down now are some of the worst scum on earth. It feels somewhat reminiscent of her old life, though with another kind of darkness still very much prevalent â just far easier to deal with.
Itâs when you convince yourself youâre that doling out justice that it makes it all that much easier to sleep at night.
On her own, she works as both assassin and spy, and sometimes as mere backup to those partners who temporarily require a third member on their missions. Her marks that mark her as one of the organization are hidden along her body, with one interlaced with another tattoo to draw off suspicion if required. The O is along the inside of her wrist, connected by a thin band and feathers that comes off looking like nothing more than a permanent charm bracelet, whilst the X is about the size of her thumb and placed along the upper left side of her chest, settled just slightly above and right next to her beauty mark. Youâd only be able to see that one if she wore a very low cut top, which she admittedly does a lot of the time â but itâs easy to write that one off as just another random tattoo.
Jackie takes on the smaller targets on a regular basis, which is just fine with her because it leaves her more room to move around after her kills; more room to investigate, and a higher chance of keeping her illegal activities silent. It makes it far easier to keep that part of her life separate from her career as well, so that she can do her part without necessarily getting tagged by too many of the big time crime rings for her efforts. Her activities sate her need for power, and rid the world of filth while sheâs at it too. Otherwise a vigilante.
It also makes saving of innocent civilians caught in the fray much easier for her. Which the organization would severely frown upon, if they ever caught wind of it. So far however, sheâs managed to keep her actions nigh untraceable, though the higher ups have started to notice quite a few things from watching their new recruit...
#&& between heaven and hell (assassin au)#torture tw#murder tw#rape tw#/ jackie: am i doing this again?#/ me: aaaaaaah yes bu t hopefully not so much of a blow up this time !!#/ idek what this is it got too damn long#/ i think i went off topic#/ i have to put this on the blog soon ajkajxkasjdbajbdjka#/ IM NOT SURE IF ITS INCONSISTENT OR SOMETHING SEEMS WRONG#/ I ALWAYS FEEL THIS WAY WHEN I WRITE ABOUT HER DOING THIS#/ FUCK OLD HABIT#/S#/ honestly its more drabble than verse info but ajhsabdjbask WHATEVER#/ I'LL DO ASKS TOMORROW I HATE MYSELF#/ I WAS GONNA DO IT TODAY BUT IM OUT OF TIME#/ I JUST#/ I WANT JACKIE TO HUG PEOPLE AGAIN AND REPLY TO PEOPLE#/ WHY AM I LIKE THIS
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Papers of Homelessness - Chapter 25
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BEFORE | NEXT
a/n: so sorry for not posting the chapter earlier. but i didnât know i would not return home on sunday for my appointment, so i didnât put the chapter on queue. well, so here it is. three days late.
You three finally calmed down enough to sit down for a meal of⌠instant ramen. Your eye twitched when you saw the amounts of boxes of instant noodles that the house had and had then realized that the reason why both Papyrus and Undyne suck at cooking was this.
You sighed and asked Alphys for the pantry or the vegetables. The blonde nodded and gestured for the fridge, explaining that Undyne bought those for her cooking lessons.
Yeah, no. Undyne wasnât getting anywhere near vegetables. She doesnât deserve to.
Well, time to cook for crazy people once more.
FunâŚ
You concluded from the tomatoes and garlic that Undyne had tried to make something⌠with tomatoes and garlic. Honestly, with Undyne, who knows?
So you took the noodles and quickly made a proper sauce, disheartened that there wasnât anything more to use.
At least there was saltâŚ
You felt insulted.
The two, when trying the noodles at first with skeptic expression, grew sparkly eyed and devoured the rest of the food. You sat there, grimacing at the slightly runny consistency with the noodles, but grinned amusingly as you heard their exclaims. Itâs almost like they had never had a proper meal.
âYou are telling me you never learned how to properly cook?â You raised a brow at the two.
Undyne turned red in indignation. âI do know how to cook, punk!â
Alphys nodded.
You snorted. âExplain it to my destroyed taste buds. I think I needed an extra shift just to get the taste out of my mouth.â
Undyne bristled and you quirked up a brow. âYou do realize that I hate lying, right?â
Alphys placed a hand on her companionâs shoulder. âL-letâs not s-start fighting. H-he means well.â
Undyne glared at you and you glared back. After a long moment, she relented and went back to her food. You smirked in triumph and pushed away your plate, unable to stomach the food anymore, folding your arms.
Payback was sweet.
Soon the plates were thrown to the sink and you quickly washed them as a polite gratitude for using the place (your mom did teach you manners). Then Undyne, having fortunately forgotten the previous fight, dragged you back to the living room, where the couch was moved while you washed the dishes and several blankets in different colors were thrown on the floor. Alphys was sprawled over a giant puffy pink pillow, her chubby legs moving in a very anime-like manner.
You were starting to feel that you got dragged into something very⌠bad. You looked at the clock on top of the TV, seeing that it was already past eight. You should really get goingâgah!
âCome on, stop running away!â Undyneâs big hand clasped over your shoulder and you sweatdropped. âWeâre not that terrible!â
âI agree!â Alphys piped from her position. You sighed and made a mental note to avoid meeting those two ever again. Your social tolerance was dropping rapidly, nearing dangerous lows.
You three sat on the floor and you picked a green blanket, covering yourself with it, hoping it would defend you from the insanity of those two women.
âSo now for the best part of sleepovers!â Undyne exclaimed and you did a take back, eyes widening to painful levels.
âExcuse me!?â
The bigger woman blinked and stared at you confusingly with her fist still in the air. âWhat?â
âSince when was this a sleepover?â You demanded. âI do have to go home at one point. Plus, I did not even agree to sleep here!â
The two women exchanged looks and then begun to laugh. You frowned, not happy with the laughter on your expense.
âWell, seems that weâll have to start with the classics!â Undyne grinned mischievously and Alphysâ eyes sparkled.
That was no good. And you didnât even agree!
âWhat⌠classics?â You dared to ask.
âGlad you asked! 20 questions or truth or dare!â
âWhatâs the point?â
âItâs⌠itâs to learn more about ea-each o-otherâŚâ Alphys explained and you mulled over the information before shrugging. If youâre stuck here, might as well learn something.
âAlright then. I guess Iâll go with the 20 questions. So what do you need to do?â The women suddenly wore matching grins and you shuddered.
You made a bad choice.
Alphysâ glasses gleamed as she rubbed her hands. âSo, first question â full name and age.â
You raised a brow at the odd question. Well, it does seem like information gathering game. âChara Dreemurr, twenty-one. You?â
âAlphys Eld, twenty-three.â
âUndyne Burna Eld, twenty-four.â
âYouâre related?â
Undyne grinned. âThatâs your second question?â
You nodded. The redhead laughed and hugged her companion and nuzzled the blond hair. âNah, I just took Alâs name because weâre engaged!â
âŚ
Wait, what?
You frowned in surprise. Two girls⌠they were both girls if you werenât blind, engaged? That sounded just plain weirdâŚ
But to honest, you couldnât say anything since you yourself are weird⌠psychopathic weird, or whatever the psychologist had called your abnormal behavior⌠something about obsession or compulsion⌠whatever. It still meant that you were in no place to judge.
You then noticed that the two were holding their breaths. You blinked yourself out of your stupor and shrugged. âNot my place to say anything. As long as you donât ask me for advice.â
The two relaxed and smiled. Then Alphys asked. âDo you have anyone special to you?â
You hated your face. Undyne cheered while Alphys sulked and fished out a small paper and gave it to the redhead, her face bright red as well. Undyne cackled as she pocketed the paper.
âDo I want to know?â
âNope!â Undyne happily said and slung an arm around your shoulders. You stiffened and pushed the arm off. Undyne cackled, not perturbed about your action. âSo tell us about them!â
You sighed. âFrisk, sheâs 20 as far as she knows.â
âYour coworker?â You nodded. âOooh, forbidden love!â
âItâs not!â You fumed.
Alphys trembled excitedly. âWhat is she like?â
You scowled. âIsnât it my turn to ask?â
âOh, oops.â
âSo, uh⌠what do the two of��you do?â You asked a bit awkwardly.
Undyne started. âIâm actually just a guard for the mall nearby. Alphys is the awesome one.â
âU-UndyneâŚâ Alphys blushed and fidgeted. âIâm still studying robotics and computers.â
You whistled. âThatâs smart.â
âRight!? AND she also teach AND she sold her invention!â Undyne hugged the blonde. âThatâs how smart my fiancĂŠ is!â
Alphys turned beet red. You felt new respect for the timid woman. Seems like those two are not to be underestimated despite first impressions.
âOur turn! What do you like about Frisk the most?â
âSince when did information gathering turned to gossip?â You inquired, but faced with the redheadâs smirk you gave in and scratched your hair, rocking yourself a bit. âWell, sheâs crazily strong despite being a shorty. Sheâs also quiet. Not much like my boss, but close. Sheâs weird.â
âIs she pretty?â
âPretty?â Well, sheâs quite normal looking unless you count her eyes⌠âSheâs normal.â
âYour face is blushing~â
Damn it.
âMan, you are really easy to fluster despite your all âIâm too cool to hang with youâ attitude!â Undyne laughed and you bristled.
âWell, is Alphys 'prettyâ?â You shot back.
Undyne cackled. âAre you even trying?â She held the chubby woman and squashed their cheeks together. âSheâs beautiful!â
Alphys was red but she also smiled happily. âThank you, Undyneââ
âAnd my favorite part of her is when I fall asleep on her boobs!â
âUndyne!â
You agreed. Your ears burned as you looked away. âToo much information!â
âI bet your Frisk doesnât have as big rack as my Alphys!â
âWhy are we even discussing it!?â You nearly yelled, embarrassed. This is not something that you ever wanted to talk about!
âHuh, she doesnât!â
âU-Undyne!â
Someone kill you.
And yet, despite your discomfort, a very cartoony picture of friskâs back formed. She then turned and appeared to be holding two watermelons to her chest.
âLike this?â
You couldnât help yourself. You began laughing at the image. Alphys and Undyne startled as you bent over, shaking from your hysterical laughter.
âUndyneâŚI think we broke himâŚâ
âOops?â
You heaved, trying to talk through the tears and laughter. âW-waterm-melons! W-why waterm-melons?â
The women stared.
âWe broke him.â
âNot my fault.â
âUndyne!â
âNot. My. Fault.â
You decided to call it a night when you finally calmed down from your fit and so Undyne guided you to the bus station you usually took to return home. Thank god that the last bus comes at midnight so you werenât worried about getting to the stop so late. Hopefully youâll be home before nine-thirty.
"Thank you for hanging out with us,â Undyne started when you two got to the stop. âWe donât get visitors often unless itâs Papyrus or Alphysâ family.â
âHow are you even friends? From what I figured, heâs much younger than you,â You raised a brow in curiosity. The two did seem like a compatible duo, with their extreme personalities. But not very likely to meet unless Undyne has any connection to the hospital or if Papyrus has any connection to the mall or the college.
âWell, I met him when I broke my leg and had gotten an infection there for poor handling. He was goofing around and I just felt the powers of friendship tell me to befriend him!â
You deadpanned. Why did you expect any other explanation?
âWell, how long do you know one another?â
âAround five years. He was just starting and I still did boxing.â
Your eyes widened in shock. No wonder she was an amazon. Damn, this woman was becoming weirder by the moment. âYou stopped?â
âYeah, Al was becoming worried and I became annoyed with the sportsmanship in the training and official fights,â Undyne frowned. âBesides, that break made sure I wonât be able to get back onto the arena.â
âSorry to hear that.â The thought of losing an ability because of an injury was an awful thought. You shuddered at the thought of you losing your legâs mobility. You relied on your speed and agility much more than your strength when fighting. Thatâs why you had your knife⌠that your mother confiscated⌠you pushed your hand into your pocket and felt around the empty space⌠you felt naked and vulnerableâŚ
âI just thought of something weird!â You jumped at Undyneâs exclaim, your heart leaping into your throat. You took a deep breath to calm yourself, reminding yourself not to space out around that crazy amazon and then stared at said amazon, asking her to elaborate. Undyne placed her hands on her hips and tilted her head  in thought. âWell, Papyrus had once told me when I got him drunk about an imaginary friend that he used to have when he was a small kid.â
You gaped. This was why she had him have a heart attack?! For an imaginary friend?! "And? Why is it so important?â
âWell, thatâs the thing,â Undyne shrugged, âI donât think he remembers the imaginary friend since he had never mentioned it since, so thatâs not the weird part. But it was the name of it that was weird.â
You felt a sinking feeling in your gut as you asked, âWhat was its name?â
Undyneâs dark eyes flashed.
âFrisk.â
Crap.
NEXT
#undertale#charisk#alphyne#papers of homelessness#undyne#alphys#frisk (undertale)#undertale chara#sleepover#romance#poor chara xd#fanfiction#fanfic#Chapter 25
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