#I finally got this done

[littlestar000]

I love Fighter!Siffrin's design, ITS SO GOOD. So here, have a figure of them. @anxiousapplepie your roleswap AUs are so fun! I love their designs.

[kawaiilizzie]

Finally, after a few years of work, the list of Lobera characters is finally complete! With basic details on the characters, the introduction of some new ones, and even deep dives into the transformed states, this was something I really want to get done in the new year. Now it's finally done! Dive in and enjoy!

[arlecchno]

asphodelus [ scaramouche x reader ]

5. you're on your own, kid.

prev masterlist next

is being lonely a normal thing? or is it just due to your upbringing?

warnings: mentions of suicide? not a bunch but scaramouche has joked about k/lling himself lmao, allusions to murder like always, a bit of fighting and blood, more to be added once i'm free

a/n: lol despite the title and summary i basically said nothing about being drowned in loneliness except for a paragraph or two but i'm too lazy to find a new one so bare with me pls

extra a/n in the end!!!

scaramouche felt like he just came out of hell.

well, technically, he did.

he had stayed at your lair longer than he intended to last night, and right now, he is currently sipping the most bitter coffee known to man at seven in the morning, in hopes of cutting down his need for sleep.

(it doesn't help, by the way. his eyelids are on the verge of closing.)

one look at him and you could just tell he's sleep deprived— not that he wasn't for the past few years he has worked in this department.

maybe he should just quit this stupid job.

“what in the world happened to you?”

scaramouche swiftly whipped his head towards the owner of the voice, and lo and behold, the last person he wanted to see in the first hour of his working hours, the man of the hour— tartaglia.

the ravenette clicked his tongue as he stepped away from the office kitchen, heading straight back to his desk with his mug in hand. he was not about to deal with someone so insufferable this early in the morning.

but it doesn't make it any better when the aforementioned ginger eagerly follows him from behind, insistent on getting an answer. scaramouche's not surprised, honestly. that's just how childe has always been, never backing down until he gets what he wants.

scaramouche's reply was curt. “leave me alone.”

but that doesn't stop childe from following him.

it wasn't until they finally arrive at scaramouche's desk that childe asks another question. “that case still keeping you up?”

right— if there's one thing about childe, it's that he has been by scaramouche's side since childhood. so, basically, he knows everything. from up to his darkest secrets and down to his traumatic experiences.

“no.” scaramouche half-lied.

to be fair, scaramouche wasn't entirely lying— he was confined in your base for pretty much most of the night, busy with the whole fantomatique ordeal, but that didn't mean it didn't remind him of those days; not when the fantomatique, the organization you're in, was the sole reason he lost what he had back then.

“well what has got you so uptight then?”

scaramouche didn't have time to sit in his chair when childe shoots that question. suddenly deep in thought, he just had half the mind to actually break it down to him and explain what he's been up to, but a flashback from last night flooded his mind.

“if you ever dare say a word about our partnership, you'll know who's throat i'm going for next.”

yeah, that's definitely not happening.

he may have joked about ending himself a few times, maybe a little too much, but never in his life would he ever want his blood to end up in your hands.

childe irked a brow at the ravenette's silence. before he could comment on it, another voice interrupted him instead.

“balladeer! captain's calling for ya!” someone shouted from across the room, and both of the detectives turned their heads towards the source of the voice. they didn't need to look at the person to know who it was anyways— it was the tsaritsa's assistant, katlin.

with an audible, and clearly loud sigh, scaramouche placed his mug down on his desk harshly, before brushing past childe's taller frame.

it's not like scaramouche wanted to meet his captain. hell, meeting the tsaritsa wouldn't even be the last thing he'd want to do– he'd rather explode than to ever have to face her. yet he needed an opportunity to squeeze out of the stupid personal conversation childe had decided to have this early in the morning, and this was his only resort.

childe's voice fell on deaf ears by the time he reached the tsaritsa's office.

he stopped for a moment, hand on the doorknob. scaramouche knocked three times on the wooden door, and a muffled come in can be heard from the other side. he inhaled deeply before pushing the door open, and he was greeted by the sight of the tsaritsa working on a pile of paperwork on her desk quietly.

scaramouche approached slowly, and stopped once he was just a few steps away from her desk. he stood there for a few beats, and when the tsaritsa didn't bother to bat an eye at him, he almost wanted to roll his eyes.

an asshole, as always.

“did you call for me, captain?”

after a hot second, she finally tilted her head up from the pile, staring at him with a deadpan look, one that never fails to be scaramouche's reason to end it all.

“oh.” was the first word that came out of her mouth, and she continued. “i did.” she said it as though it was a question, which prompted scaramouche to dig his nails into the palm of his hand that was shaped into a fist. he's glad that he could at least hide it from her prying eyes— save it for the high desk she currently occupies.

“right. i wanted to let you know that you are in charge of patrolling the city today.” she cleared her throat, flicking her eyes back to her work. “that's all.”

scaramouche frowned, confused. “but i'm handling that case from the other night–”

“not anymore.” she cut him off before he could even finish his sentence, and scaramouche gritted his teeth.

“what? why?” oh, he knew why, he didn't need an explanation to know exactly why she wouldn't give him a big case. there's no reason for him to be handling major cases when he's still under the fuckery of the tsaritsa's supervision. it's not like he hasn't been doing the same old patrol shit for the past year. this wasn't a surprise to him at all.

the tsaritsa sighed, looking at him once again with that same blank expression. “i've handed it over to the people who are far better for it, balladeer.” well, that definitely stings. “i don't expect you to be ready for such a task, not after that stunt you pulled last year.”

“...and how long do you plan on keeping me in the shadows? am i not a detective?” scaramouche pressed, although he already knew the answer to his question.

maybe when you finally deserve that detective title you live up to.

and those same exact words rolled off her tongue, which made scaramouche dig his nails into his palm deeper. right, it has always been that answer. what was he even expecting from the likes of her?

without replying to the tsaritsa, scaramouche turned on his heels and left the confines of her office at the speed of lightning, making sure to slam the door shut. if the captain was going to keep making him do such lousy jobs that even the lowest scums of the fatui could do without supervision, then he might as well break a few furniture or so in return. it was only fair.

the streets were anything but peaceful, scaramouche thinks.

it was roughly around ten in the morning, and the city was as busy as ever. folks were out and about, and he could vaguely recognise the same twenty people or so by the fountain doing their weekly protest against the fantomatique, as if that could make any changes in snezhnaya.

scaramouche sighed as he continued on patrolling, with a few of his subordinates trailing behind.

the ravenette was just about to leave the city and head on over to his next patrolling area when a sudden fight broke down at the same spot people were crowding at by the fountain he saw earlier, and that made scaramouche tsk in annoyance.

i'm not getting paid enough to deal with shit like this. his second insight of the day.

as his team hurriedly jogged over to the scene, the two men that were fighting already had each other's fists in the other's faces, and scaramouche grimaced as he witnessed the tall and bulky man successfully knocked the shorter man down, leaving a trail of blood running down the man's nostrils.

gasps and whispers were exchanged between the small crowd as they watched the scene before them. what was supposed to be a peaceful protest to fight against the deadliest organization had swiftly turned into a local fight you'd typically see in rowdy bars. scums.

“what the fuck?!” the man on the ground yelled, before quickly standing up to continue on with the fight. the shorter man was seconds away from landing a punch towards the taller man's stomach when scaramouche finally interfered. the show was amusing to him, but he had to put a stop to this, lest he prefers a full-on lecture by the jester later on.

“that's enough fighting, you two.”

the two men suddenly glared down at scaramouche, who was way shorter than both of them. amusing, really. they quickly shared a glance, and as though the tables had turned, they ganged up with one another against the shorter male, looking down at scaramouche with eyes full of mischief.

scaramouche only looked at them with nothing but boredom, hands shoved in his pockets like he has no care in the world. of course, who was he kidding? he was confident that he could take the two down in mere seconds, despite the fact that they both looked like they had a much bigger build than him. after all, the ravenette was put through rigorous training for him to be accepted into the fatui, no less that he's one of the higher figures in the said academy.

one of the two men scoffed, and scaramouche raised a brow as he stared up at the man with tanned skin. “who does this midget think he is? aren't people like you supposed to be running your legs and fighting for the safety of this city? and yet another person was killed last night. have you no shame, standing here, yet contributing nothing to the city?”

“the fatui do not deserve such praise from the kingdom when all you people do is patrol and run around like the weaklings you all are.” the other man said, already stalking up towards scaramouche.

scaramouche paid no heed to their insults. who do they think they are, trying to pick a fight with him?

the crowd could only nod their heads and whisper between one another, agreeing with what the two men were saying.

scaramouche could not blame them, truly. the people of snezhnaya had lost hope with the fatui. fifteen years had passed and the citizens are still forced to live in fear, in their own homes, in their own country. the fatui have barely done anything to keep the city safe, not when there was no way the fatui could have done anything to take down the fantomatique without getting their heads sliced off the second they look into the fantomatique's plans.

the fatui used to be the organization that the citizens of snezhnaya look up to and seek help from, but now they only serve as merely a name with zero contribution.

but even so, it didn't mean that the fatui haven't tried. the people do not need to know the struggles the fatui had to endure during times like this. hell, they don't even know the amount of members who had died trying to keep the city safe.

scaramouche only had a bit of pity towards these citizens. there was no point in doing so when the only thing he gets in return is this sort of treatment.

“if you boast so much about us being useless, then why don't you try being one yourself?” scaramouche had said in return, and the two men scowled.

then, scaramouche continued. “oh, pardon me. you both are already one yourself.” the slight jab of insult made the two men clench their fists, resisting the urge to jump at the short male. “tell me, what is the point of you being here, protesting, when you are too cowardly to even do half of the things the fatui do on a daily basis?”

“you–”

“might i also remind you that you are within the vicinity of the city, therefore the violences and ruckus you have caused here could get you arrested?”

the two men pursed their lips into a thin line, as if they had their mouths zipped the second that sentence rolled off the ravenette's tongue.

“if you think that you can pick a fight with me then be my guest.” scaramouche shrugged, knowing fully well that he could take both of the men down in a heartbeat.

when scaramouche finally decided to look around the crowd, eyes trailing over each person present there, he somehow saw you. you who was already staring right back at him, making scaramouche slightly falter at the sight.

what were you doing here? in the middle of a protest against an organization you are in?

as if you could read his expression, you shrugged your shoulders, exactly like what he just did a second ago, and scaramouche frowned.

the two men in front of him stared at scaramouche weirdly, confused as to why the ravenette was suddenly paying attention to the crowd.

just as scaramouche wanted to go after you, you vanished into the said crowd, and that made him even more sour than he already was.

damn you and your stupid assassin skills.

“uh, sir? what do we do about them?” one of his subordinates had asked from behind, and that finally made scaramouche snap back to reality.

scaramouche looked over his shoulder, and back to the two taller men. he sighed, bringing a hand over his face. “just… make sure they don't make a scene again.”

his subordinates could only nod as they took care of the two men, whilst scaramouche took the liberty to walk out of the crowd to search for you. that is if he manages to find you, archons know where you had decided to disappear to.

just as he passed by an alleyway, he was quickly dragged into the darkness by his fatui coat, causing him to whip his head around to the perpetrator, hand holding his gun on his duty belt.

and when he pulled out his gun and had it pointed to the person who had dragged him in, he was instead greeted by your figure looking right back at him, eyebrows raised and hands in the air, feigning innocence.

“woah there, officer. no need to get violent.” you waved your hands, albeit a little too excitedly. “it's me.”

“it's detective to you.” scaramouche corrected you, slowly putting his gun back. “what the hell are you doing here?”

“excuse me?” you scoffed involuntarily. “i live around here. do you really think i live in my base all day long? what kind of psycho do you think i am?”

scaramouche rolled his eyes. “you're a maniac. cramping up in your lair all the time wouldn't surprise me.”

“you wound me, balladeer.”

he ignored your comment. “what were you even doing in the crowds?”

“i could ask you the same thing, detective.” you enunciated his title. “aren't you quite the hotshot yourself in your department? why are you out here doing a weakling's job? patrolling the city?”

scaramouche had half a mind to tell you about his temporary demotion, yet he zipped his mouth shut instead, ignoring you once again as he observed his surroundings, making sure there was no one else here but you two.

you sighed when he didn't reply, pulling out something from your cloak, piquing scaramouche's interest. “what's that?” he asked.

instead of vocalizing your reply, you simply waved the item in front of his face. two tickets to a… fair? festival? whatever it is, what are you even planning on doing with them?

“what the hell is this? a date?”

you gagged. “what? god, no. as if i would ever go out with the likes of you. not even over my dead body would i ever disrespect myself like that.”

scaramouche rolled his eyes at your harsh words, and you didn't wait for him to snap back as you got to the point. “viktoria is going to be hosting a festival by the end of the week, it might be our best chance on getting the information we need from her.”

“and what do you plan on doing once we've got her in our hands?” he asked.

“we drill her until she's nothing but a blabbermouth.” scaramouche raised a brow at this, as though he's not fully convinced by your words. “what? she might be a tough nut to crack, but she's never shutting that big mouth of hers once she starts talking.” you grinned.

“should i be concerned on what you might have committed in order to get these tickets?”

“oh wow, again, what the hell do you take me for?”

scaramouche leaned on a wall beside him. “a psychopath, that's for sure.”

frowning, you slapped one of the tickets to his chest, keeping the other back to where it was in your cloak. “if you ever won an award for being the biggest douche in snezhnaya, i, for one, would not be surprised.” you retorted, and scaramouche shrugged his shoulders in return as he slipped the ticket into his pocket.

“do you have any more intel that i should know of? or is that all?” scaramouche queried, and you took a moment to think.

after a hot second, you simply patted his shoulder, walking past him to exit the alley. “i'd say… try to dress citizen-like.” you looked over your shoulder to eye at the ravenette's clothing, and scaramouche gritted his teeth, knowing fully well that you were judging his outfit. so much for calling him a douche earlier.

you seriously cannot be looking at him up and down when you're currently donning the same exact outfit as his, the only difference being the stark contrast between his fatui themed colors and your… dull ones.

“do you have a problem with the way i dress?”

you didn't bother to reply to his question directly. “maybe i have forgotten to tell you. viktoria knows the fatui like the back of her hand. it wouldn't be nice if you were caught red handed this early into the game, no?”

and just like back then at the fountain, you were gone in the blink of an eye.

damn you and your stupid dendrobium shenanigans, he thought once again.

and what the hell did you mean by dress citizen-like? was there something wrong with his sense of fashion? scaramouche looked down at his outfit, the usual white button up shirt with a simple black tie and black pants, completing it with his fatui coat that goes down to his ankles.

what could possibly be wrong with his choice of clothes?

after your little rendezvous around snezhnaya city, you finally decided to head back to the comfort of your home.

the corridor to your apartment was dark, a stark contrast to the winterly yet bright day in the city— despite the fact that the sun is close to setting. it didn't take long for you to reach your doorstep, unlocking the wooden door with the single key you were holding.

you apartment looked just like any other ordinary apartment you'd typically see in snezhnaya. you had only made minimal changes to the interior when you had purchased the place, fearing that you might have to move out yet again for the umpteenth time.

as much as you loved the luxury you get from each mission you were sent to, being the dendrobium truly has its individual cons.

the shift of your foot in the quiet atmosphere made a soft crinkle, as though you had stepped on something. a piece of paper, maybe. looking down, you eyed a piece of letter on the carpet by the door, and after a bit of squinting, you eventually recognized the familiar bloody stamp on the top right corner of the letter.

sighing, you bent down to pick up the letter and rip the cover open, not caring if it damaged the letter in the process. your eyes darted over to the handwritten letter, barely reading through its contents. there was no need of doing so, it's bound to be the same stupid content either way.

dendrobium,

a new target awaits. retrieve the documents needed from a merchant named alexis nikova. finish your work within twenty-four hours. your reward will be waiting for you at the usual place.

messenger VI.

groaning frustratedly, you tossed the letter on a desk near the living room. i just got home, for god's sake, you thought as you discarded your coat before flopping onto your couch, head leaning back.

you stared at the ceiling, and the ceiling stared right back at you. maybe if you stared at it long enough, you would think that it was straight up mocking you for the amount of risks you're taking in order to live.

“must be nice being a ceiling, huh.” maybe you've gone just a tad bit insane for saying this.

sighing once again, you readjusted your position on the couch with your back to the cushioned seats.

this was routine. you close your eyes, you try to calm your mind and rest before doing your nightly dendrobium duties, just like how you've always been doing for almost a decade.

and before you knew it, you were already entering dreamland.

except for the fact that it wasn't quite dreamland at all.

with a short and shaky gasp, you jolted awake, shooting up from your lying position on the couch. beads of sweat rolled down your face as you tried to calm your heavy breathing and shivering body.

you're not certain what time it was, but one thing's for sure; it was well past midnight. the moon that was shining brightly in the sky and the eerily quiet street downstairs gave it away.

great, you passed out for the whole evening.

you stared at the starry night as you calmed yourself down, serving it as a way of comfort... or some sort. you weren't sure if it helped in any way.

after a moment of nothing-ness, you finally decide to grab yourself a cup of water, ignoring the way your head throbs from your recent nightmare.

nightmares— you're definitely not a stranger to it. if anything, nightmares are your best friend. the kind of best friend who won't stop bugging you, leaving you no personal space. yeah, that kind of friend.

you're not even sure when was the last time you had a positive and enjoyable dream.

as the warm water fills your dry throat, you sighed in contempt. you looked at the ominously large clock by your counter, and you groaned when you saw the time.

2:08. way past midnight.

you would've been out finishing that stupid task at this time around, but instead you had just woken up to yet another gruesome nightmare. great, just great.

despite the fact that you have well over 15 hours until your mission is due, you have no intention of dragging it any longer. you're not a fan of doing things last minute— contrary to what people your age have the tendency to do.

maybe it's the fact that you've been brought up differently than other kids, or the fact that you practically had no one to look up to when you were a child yourself. well not anymore, for that matter. you've always been dependent on only yourself.

dwelling on the past isn't what you do— definitely not during nights where you're supposed to be finishing your tasks; yet here you are.

if not for the fact that you were from the streets, or for the fact that you were taken into this organization— you probably would've become a perfectly normal kid.

you could probably imagine yourself owning a small bakery down the street; like the one you'd always stop by every saturday morning with the kind lady serving you. the owner there would always insist on giving you extra pastry, excusing it as what she'd say: “you remind me of my own daughter.” maybe she's too kind for her own good— dully because she's serving a murderer every weekend.

nevertheless, if it weren't for your upbringing, you would've been a normal person, dealing with life normally, instead of having to fish out hearts and blood every night; all for the sake of your own living.

your apartment is too quiet. the place is nothing but despair. you feel like the wooden floors are eating you up, and your knees are at the brink of giving up— just like your whole being.

and yet you have no one to lean on to for help.

you're all alone. and you may think that's okay, but it's not. but what is there to do than to just suck it up and not dwell on it?

so you down your cup of water and swallow up your miserable self— and instead go out for your nightly duties as though it'd help rid your deteriorating mental state.

and maybe the relief in finishing up your next target might just give you a bit of color in your life— well, at least for tonight the color will be red.

scaramouche thinks he's gone nuts.

it's been a full week, and he's done nothing but patrolling. no cases under his lead, no crime scenes he needs to overlook, not even three sheets of paperwork on his desk that is due soon.

it's not like he's expecting anything less, nor anything more for that matter, but god forbid the tsaritsa lets him have at least a bit of fun in his gray colored life as a detective. correction— revoked detective title, but admitting that would hurt his pride and ego.

and it doesn't make it any better that he has nothing to do but sit in his desk all day after patrolling in the snowy city— and having to witness people like childe and signora experiencing the most fun in their jobs, leaving him in such a crestfallen state he might as well just break both his desk and chair in two.

good for them, he'd thought one time. leave it to the most miserable people to get the most exciting cases to work on. (he likes to think he is not miserable himself)

there was basically nothing for him to look forward to the following the weekend.

so that quite explains the reason why he's currently standing over the golden bridge— the place where he had met you for the very first time, professionally. not that whimsical and silly showdown or whatever he had put up to whilst chasing you down that one night.

you're late, five minutes late to be exact.

scaramouche's not the time of person to be so calculating (he is), but he couldn't help but glance over the giant clock on the highest building in the middle of the city every few minutes, save it for the fact that his week has been nothing but depressing. this was the only thing he might have looked forward to, albeit his very displeased face.

after two minutes or so— you finally arrived; in all your out-of-breath glory. and maybe a bit sweaty yourself, but scaramouche won't point that out to spare your embarrassment.

5:07 in the evening.

“you're late.” is the first thing he says as you finally calmed yourself down from all of that running.

you glared at him. “good evening to you as well, balladeer.” you enunciated his name with just a tad bit of annoyance, but he ignores it.

“what has caused the dendrobium to be so…” you raised a brow, a signal for him to continue and finish that sentence. or maybe a warning, he thinks. “unpunctual.” he settled on the least insult he could think of, but the way you're currently looking at him with those murderous eyes tells him that he's not safe either way, insulting or not.

“i had some errands i had to run at the last minute.” you replied, wiping off the bit of sweat on your forehead with your sleeve— despite the chilly weather.

the ravenette doesn't reply, instead opted to glance at your outfit. well, there isn't much difference from your usual choice of clothing, but at least you looked... decent, to say the least.

“i see that you've actually taken my advice, balladeer.” you said after a moment, and when scaramouche flickered his eyes to yours, you were already looking up and down his outfit. “well aren't you quite dressed for the occasion!” you beamed as you clasped your hands together.

scaramouche rolled his eyes and turned around, not giving you a second to relax from your high. “stop wasting my time and get going. i don't have all day.”

he walks first, leaving you behind. he needn't worry anyway, because not even ten seconds later, you were already on the same pace as him.

what a show off, he thinks. (you're not. it's just your average agility and strength; one that he could definitely never outdo. and not that he would ever admit that to you).

“can't you be a little more enthusiastic?”

“can't you be a little more quiet?” he shoots back.

you groaned. he's definitely not going to hesitate bursting your bubble every time you say something positive.

it was silent for a moment, with only your footsteps to accompany the both of you to your destination as the sun starts to set.

“so,” you tried striking up a conversation when you felt that it was too quiet and too awkward, looking at him beside you as you both walked down a path. “got any plans for the evening?”

scaramouche side-eyed you from your left. “don't we have a job to do? like getting that viktoria woman on her knees?”

you gasped dramatically. “oh, you seriously cannot think that would be the only thing we will be doing for the whole evening? that would only take around... a quarter to an hour, or maybe less, depending on how long she is willing to blabber that big mouth of hers, but that's besides the point.” you threw your hands up into the air a little too excitedly, looking up at the sky. “we practically have all night to enjoy ourselves!”

“that is a quarter to an hour less of my time, then. would that not be good for the both of us? these kinds of festivals are a bane to my existence— to anyone, really. there are so many things that i can actually put my effort and time to than waste it on an unenjoyable event.”

you snorted at his reply, finding amusement in his words. “oh balladeer, has anyone ever told you that you're sad and miserable?”

“yes.” he said. “quite a lot, actually. maybe a little too much for my liking.” he ends his sentence with yet another sarcastic tone.

and again, you stifled a laugh. “how do you even see a joyous festival and immediately think ‘oh, this is not worth my time, i shall better go back to my sad life to continue doing my sad job like the sad person i am.’” you tried mimicking his voice, but it came out a little bit restrained and whiny. he's too unbothered to comment on that.

“there is nothing joyous about festivals. only boring people like you would find solace in such stupid events.”

you laughed, only this time you couldn't hold it in any longer. for someone so dull and boring, he is quite the epitome of amusing. and a little bit of funny, if you have to admit.

and maybe— this might have just made scaramouche have the slightest bit of interest in this festival you look forward to so much.

taking down the most dangerous organization with you will be quite the roller coaster, he thinks. but that's what makes this whole mission better.

he's still not sure of your motive and why you want to take down your own kind, but maybe along this ride he might be able to learn a thing or two about you.

well, one thing's for sure is that you have such horrendous taste in fashion. and you're too cheerful for someone who is tasked to commit murders every few nights.

and it's kind of weird that for the second time since he's known you, scaramouche looks forward to working with you. despite your quirks and questionable sense in style.

the reason behind scaramouche's deep hatred towards the tsaritsa needs to be studied.

a/n: woah h finally posts a new chapter after a two month hiatus???? this is not her. she's currently drowning in a pile of books and on the verge of ending her life. (it is me)

anyways yeah i'm back from my slump i hope you guys are still here 😞 i'll try to update more frequently i promise!!! as always i hope you enjoyed this chapter i made a ton of changes to my writing over my hiatus so i hope this makes up for my absence LMAO i'm trying to improve more if that's not obvious haha anyways i guess i'll see you all in the next update :P

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come and join the taglist!

[dis0rderly-cl0wn-nerd]

J doodles part 2 <3

[bloodybloob]

He got big toothses

@cloudninetonine

[nikoteani]

It’s a single word.

A name.

The name of a distant memory long gone.

It isn’t hers.

It never was to begin with.

@questfriendspodcast

[heilos]

I am so hype for the I Don't Want To Be A Magical Girl animatic pilot @kianamaiart is in the process of making right now. Something just clicked in my brain where I had to make an elaborate piece of fanart with these amazing character designs the second I saw them, so I took the opportunity to sit down and finally learn Clip Studio Paint properly. Logo was made by kianamaiart and julietran.jpg on instagram. I just cropped out the solid background color for this fan poster to give it some extra flair. Kiana, you're a phenomenal artist and person and I can't wait to see what you've got in store with this project. I hope you like this as much as I enjoyed making it. :)

[punkisaround]

📌 Friendly Punk Trans Dude Intro Post

He/Him Pronouns/Masc Terms Only || 18 Years Old || Anon Asks Open!

Hi! My name is Punk or Moth, feel free to use Either name! This blog is literally for shitposting and word dumps. Topics may include, But not limited to; Weed Smoking, My incredible distaste for society, and really shitty jokes, I think

18+ Interactions Only, Not technically an NSFW blog but I'm not a huge fan of kiddos

I am fully aware I cannot stop those from looking at my blog However, but this is the internet, please remember to use common sense and be safe.

DNI: All Lives Matter Supporters, Blue Lives Matter Supporters, Pro Genocide, Anti Abortion Supporters, Homophobic/Transphobic Blogs

I Like and follow from @xxsolariumsunxx [Outdated SFW Art Content]

If you're feeling lucky, take a gander at my NSFW blog! 18+ ofc. I'm Feelin' Lucky!

Authors Note,-

I am the Main Host of The Ballpit System🧃 || No, Other Alters will not post, it will be just me.

Yes, we are medically recognized and officially diagnosed with DID, as well as BPD, ADHD, Autism, and Hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome.

Fakeclaimers DNI, you are a fool if you truly believe it is your right to question the validity of the strangers on the internet.

[mambodork]

All the budget went into making the snails

[bleaksqueak]

Happy Halloween 2024!! Sweet little Moth Witch blessings upon ye

[bonus-links]

HOMESICK, pt. 9

first | prev | next>>

PATREON

[ewwww-what]

Ugh. Literally just let her go home???

[hallowshumour]

WARNING‼️⚠️☢️

[dodothefool]

⭐️RADICAL BEAAMMMMM⭐️

[lynxgriffin]

Mightier Than The Sword

Gerson had one regret, but now Alvin has many. A fancomic about my thoughts and theories and who -and what- the Knight is!

While not directly connected, I'd say this one is in the same vein as the Deal With The Devil series! Hope you enjoy!

Alt text for this comic under the read more:

Page 1

Panel 1 - Wide shot of the interior of the Boom household. Several monsters are gathered in a clean-looking hall, dressed in somber clothing and talking quietly in small groups. The monsters include QC, Cat Mom, Toriel, Asgore and Mayor Holiday. Father Alvin stands waiting at a door in the hall as his sister, a red-headed turtle monster in a pink dress, exits through the door and speaks to him. “Alvin…he’s ready for you.”

Panel 2 - Mid shot as Alvin prepares to enter the room. Ms. Boom steps out of the way, and puts a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Both of them look somber. 

Panel 3 - Alvin enters the room, mostly dark and lit by a few candles on a nearby desk. Gerson Boom is lying on a bed ahead of him, watching him enter. Alvin closes the door behind him and says, “Father, I’m here.”

Panel 4 - Alvin approaches his father, lying in bed. The bedroom has a few amenities, including a footstool set off to the side, a large rug bearing the delta rune, and a massive bookcase filling the entire back wall. A few books and papers litter the ground. Alvin bows his head, and says, “The hammer is ready for…for afterwards.”

Gerson just smiles, and responds, “Wa ha, is it? Well, it’ll do fine, I suppose.”

Panel 5 - Closer shot of Gerson extending his right hand towards Alvin. He’s smiling still, content with where he is. “Come here, son.”

Page 2

Panel 1 - Closeup as Alvin takes his father’s hand in his own, and clasps it tight. “Whatever you need…I’m here,” he says from offscreen.

Panel 2 - Alvin kneels by his father’s bedside, still clasping his hands. Gerson says, “Of course you are. Wa ha…you’re such a good and kind man, Alvin.”

Panel 3 - Closeup on Alvin as he just holds on to his father’s hand. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes. 

Panel 4 - Focus on Gerson as he holds up a hand to conspiratorially whisper to Alvin. “And I know I can trust you with a secret, right?”

Panel 5 - Closeup on Alvin as he looks back up, face earnest. “...Of course.”

Panel 6 - Gerson holds up one finger as he speaks to Alvin. “I told your sister I had no regrets, but that was a BIT of a fib! I’m afraid I have one regret…”

Panel 7 - Side view of Alvin as he learns closer, his face now worried. “Father?...”

Page 3

Panel 1 - Focus on Gerson as he leans back on his pillow, looking up at the ceiling. “I wish I had started earlier. Writing stories, I mean. Seein’ you an’ your sister’s eyes light up whenever I read you a new chapter…and then seeing all that joy from so many young folks after those stories were published!” he says, looking wistful.

Panel 2 - Alvin watches on sadly as Gerson continues, “It was the greatest feeling in the world, Alvin. It’s what life’s all about, y’know. Helping the young folks grow.”

Panel 3 - Gerson closes his eyes and looks back towards the ceiling again, still wistful. “So, I wish I’d started writing stories sooner.”

Panel 4 - Closeup on Alvin as he bows his head, still holding Gerson’s hand. “I truly do cherish those times you read to us, father…” he says.

Panel 5 - Closeup on Gerson as he closes his mind with happy memories. “Me too, Alvin. It’s a shame…I’ve still got so many tales to tell! But–”

Panel 6 - Gerson is interrupted by a round of hacking coughs. His time is fast approaching.

Panel 7 - Gerson settles back in to his bed and says, “The Angel’s given me SO many good, happy years. Doesn’t seem fair to ask for more.”

Panel 8 - Closeup on Alvin as he continues to hold his father’s hand tight. “This doesn’t seem fair, either…” he says, tears still pricking at his eyes.

Page 4

Panel 1 -  Insert closeup of Gerson as he smiles at his son. “That’s life, Alvin!” He doesn’t seem bothered by his imminent passing.

Panel 2 - Side view as Gerson leans in closer to Alvin again, hand raised, back to sharing his secrets. “But, knowin’ my secret…there’s something I’d like to ask of you.”

Alvin faces his father with seriousness. “Anything,” he replies.

Panel 3 - Closeup on Gerson, as he looks hopefully at Alvin. “You have a good heart, Alvin. I want you to know this joy, too.”

Panel 4 - Gerson continues in the next panel: “Please try writin’ stories of your own, alright?” Closeup on Alvin as he looks shocked and a bit worried by the request.

Panel 5 - Mid shot as Alvin holds up a hand to Gerson in protest. He says, “Father, I…I have no talent for writing fiction. Not like YOU.”

Panel 6 - Closeup on Gerson as he refutes his son: “Hogwash! I know you can.”

Panel 7 - Wide shot as Alvin stands up, and looks around the room. “No, I…”

In the foreground, there’s Gerson’s desk, currently showing some lit candles, some paper, an inkwell, a notebook, and his favorite fountain pen.

Page 5

Panel 1 - Closeup as Alvin grabs two objects off of the desk: the small notebook and the fountain pen. Offscreen, he says, “If you just…”

Panel 2 - Back at Gerson’s bedside, Alvin pulls up the footstool and puts the pen and notebook in front of him, intending to use it. He faces his father, and says, “Tell me your ideas, I could write them down, and–”

Gerson interrupts him: “‘Fraid it doesn’t work that way, Alvin!”

Panel 3 - Gerson holds up both of his hands and smiles as he explains: “My tales are between my soul and the pen. You’ll need to make your own.”

Panel 4 - Gerson watches as Alvin, tears in his eyes, looks down at the notebook and pen in hand. “I–I cannot…” Alvin starts, looking despondent.

Panel 5 - Side view of Alvin as tears continue to stream from his eyes. He says, “Not without you!” In the background, in grayscale, there is a scene from Alvin’s memory: Gerson reading a book to his two children by the fire. Gerson looks happy, and both kids are enraptured, with Alvin clinging to a cat doll that looks like Seam.

Panel 6 - Closeup on Gerson, his face now more worried and pleading towards Alvin. Gerson says, “Y-you can… It’s all I ask…”

Panel 7 - Gerson turns away as he’s again interrupted by a round of terrible sounding coughs. Alvin stands holding the notebook and pen in the foreground.

Page 6

Panel 1 - Horror comes over Alvin’s face as his father continues to cough loudly, clutching his chest. He realizes that his father might be close to death now.

Panel 2 - Wider overhead shot as Alvin turns away from Gerson, looking frantically around the room. “No! Not yet!--” he says desperately. Gerson is still racked with coughs.

Panel 3 - Closeup as Alvin grabs the candles from the desk–

Panel 4 - And then pulls a book from the bookshelf, with the delta rune on the front –

Panel 5 - And then finally pulls out what appears to be a beaded rosary, with the delta rune made of beads at the end of it.

Panel 6 - Wider shot as Alvin places the objects in front of him, candles to the side, holy book in front of him. Gerson can only lay there as he does so, trying to catch his breath.

Panel 7 - Front view of Alvin as he clasps his hands together in front of his face, the rosary threaded between his fingers. He closes his eyes and bows his head in prayer. “Angel…Angel above! Please, heed your servant’s prayer!”

Page 7

Panel 1 - Closeup on Alvin as he continues to pray, the candles glowing around him. He keeps his eyes shut even as tears well in them. “I know you call back my father’s soul, but please! Please refrain!”

Panel 2 - Gerson desperately reaches a hand out towards his son, shaking, but unable to reach him. In the foreground, the fountain pen sits on the footstool between them. “A-Alvin…” Gerson’s voice is shaky now.

Panel 3 - Aerial shot as Alvin prays over the book, and Gerson is still confined to the bed, only able to watch. “This world still NEEDS his gifts!” Alvin says. “I pray to you, don’t take them from us now!” The shadows around Alvin start to grow strange, not matching the candlelight.

Panel 4 - Gerson continues to hold out a hand, now not looking well. “No…”

Panel 5 - Closeup on the candles as they spark to life, now glowing stronger.

Panel 6 - A strange bright glow begins to emanate from Gerson. Behind him, the books in the bookcase all rattle and shift as if in a localized earthquake. The colors of the room grow brighter and stranger.

Panel 7 - Still reaching out a desperate hand, Gerson lets out a soft breath. His soul, an upside-down white heart, comes up from his body. On the footstool in the foreground, the fountain pen also begins to levitate, as if by magic.

Page 8

Panel 1 - Front shot of Alvin as he continues to pray desperately, his head bowed and hands together. “Grant us the love shown between his soul and the pen!” Behind him, the colors have grown stark and bright, and a shadow resembling the angel looms behind Alvin.

Panel 2 - Alvin looks up to discover something amazing and terrible: Gerson’s soul has been drawn to the fountain pen, and begins to flow down into it.

Panel 3 - Closeup as Gerson’s soul is completely absorbed into the pen, hovering high over the bed.

Panel 4 - The candles turn strange blue and pink colors, and the books in the bookcase shake and rattle relentlessly.

Panel 5 - Extreme closeup on Alvin’s eyes as he sees this miracle; the light of his father’s soul reflected in his eyes.

Panel 6 - Closeup as the pen suddenly drops, and clatters back on to the footstool.

Panel 7 - Wide aerial shot as the room very suddenly goes completely dark and silent, the bright colors and lights now gone. Alvin stands up and backs away from the bed, still clutching the rosary, his face filled with horror. Gerson now lies unmoving in his bed, having passed away.

Page 9

Panel 1 - The same shot as the first panel of the first page, with the other monsters waiting in the hallway. No one says anything as Alvin emerges from the bedroom, leaning on the door for support, his head bowed. Everyone in the room knows that Gerson has just passed, although they don’t know the rest.

Panel 2 - An establishing shot of the forest and mountains surrounding Hometown…the skies are a dark, gloomy gray.

Panel 3 - Above shot of Gerson’s newly dug grave. At the bottom of a small pit lies Gerson’s hammer, covered in his dust. Politics Bear stands over the grave, holding a shovel. 

Panel 4 - Closeup as the shovel begins to dump dirt over the fresh grave.

Panel 5 - Another closeup of Gerson’s headstone, with bundles of fresh funerary flowers laid in front of it.

Panel 6 - Wide shot of Gerson’s funeral. Alvin stands over his father’s grave, reading last rites from one of his books. Lots of monsters are in attendance, including Alphys and Undyne, Napstablook, the Holiday and Dreemurr families, and more. A very young Kris, Noelle and Asriel are present, but Dess is not. Everyone is dressed in dark mourning attire.

Panel 7 - After the funeral, Toriel approaches Alvin and puts a hand on his shoulder. She says, “Beautifully said, Alvin. I know your father is watching proudly by the side of the Angel.” Alvin looks distant and mournful.

Panel 8 - A closeup of the fountain pen laying forgotten on the desk in Gerson’s room. Gerson is, perhaps, not actually with the Angel right now.

Panel 9 - Back at the funeral, Alvin bows his head, eyes closed. “You are too kind, Toriel,” he says.

Page 10

Panels 1-3 - We see the seasons pass through the changing of the trees…from the barren white trees of winter, to colorful pink blooms for spring, to the bright oranges and reds of fall.

Panel 4 - Sometime much later, Alvin again enters his father’s old room, alone.

Panel 5 - Much of Gerson’s room has remained untouched. The fountain pen still sits on his old writing desk in the foreground. Alvin steps inside, and carefully turns on the overhead light. “It’s been years,” he says.

Panel 6 - Alvin cautiously approaches the pen, which seems to loom large ahead of him. He hesitantly picks it up.

Panel 7 - Alvin places some blank pages on the writing desk. “Surely…”

Panel 8 - Alvin sits in front of the blank pages, still holding the pen cautiously. “Surely by now, I can do it.” He’s going to try writing.

Panel 9 - Closeup as Alvin dips the pen in the inkwell, and it comes away full of ink.

Panel 10 - Closeup as Alvin holds the pen over the blank page. The pen trembles slightly in his grip.

Panel 11 - Alvin tries to put pen to paper, but he’s still trembling. He looks down with great anxiety. “I…I…”

Panel 12 - Closeup on Alvin’s face as he looks more panicked, shaking and sweating. In the background, his memory of his father’s soul being absorbed into the pen plays back at him. This is still his fault.

Panel 13 - Closeup again as Alvin’s hand shakes uncontrollably, and the pen with it. Ink spots begin to dapple the blank page–

Page 11

Panel 1 - Alvin’s shaking hand accidentally knocks over the inkwell, and it spills black ink all over the blank page.

Panel 2 - Alvin picks up the ruined paper and folds it in half to try and stem the ink spillage. He quietly curses to himself. 

Panel 3 - Closeup as Alvin holds his head in his hand. It’s clear that this isn’t going to work. “I can’t…” 

Panel 4 - Closeup as Alvin puts the ink-stained paper back on the desk, and quickly grabs up the pen and inkwell.

Panel 5 - Taking the pen and inkwell, Alvin exits his father’s room again, head bowed and expression sad.

Panel 6 - Left behind, the folded paper slowly peels apart and unfolds…

Panel 7 - To reveal that the spilled ink has created a rorschach ink blot image of a titan. 

Page 12

Panel 1 - Wide shot as Alvin trudges down the streets of Hometown, alone. His head his bowed, and he’s still clutching the articles he took with him. It’s almost nighttime, and the sky is dark. “I cannot bear this kind of burden,” he says to himself.

Panel 2 - Shot from behind Alvin as he approaches the school building. It’s dark, and no students or teachers should be there. “Maybe you belong where you always have…”

Panel 3 - Now indoors, Alvin continues down the empty hallway towards a particular destination. “With the youth.”

Panel 4 - Alvin opens the door to the storage closet at the end of the hall. It opens with a soft creak. “Teaching. Telling stories,” Alvin continues to say to himself.

Panel 5 - Alvin places the fountain pen and inkwell on a small shelf in the storage closet. The closet is almost completely black. 

Panel 6 - The inkwell and pen are left on the shelf as Alvin closes the door behind him. His expression is mournful as he locks these reminders of his father away. “Inspiring someone better suited,” he says, hoping this is a suitable escape of his responsibility.

Page 13

Panel 1 - But in the storage closet, the objects are subject to something else already there: the grand Dark Fountain. The pen, ink and papers all fall into the darkness of the fountain–

Panel 2 - And start to change, the pen seemingly turning into liquid itself–

Panel 3 - As the pen falls deeper and deeper into the dark, the liquid begins to reshape into something new, something resembling a person–

Panel 4 - Until it lands on empty ground, now a person in knight’s armor, knelt over and holding his head in his hands.

Panel 5 - The Knight comes to, and starts to become more aware. He’s dressed in armor resembling the dark metallic sheen of the fountain pen, his mask resembling the pen tip. A bright deep red cape flows from his shoulders, and a single red-orange feather tops the helmet. “Where…am I?”

Panel 6 - The Knight again touches his helmet with both hands, as if not sure exactly what he is.

Panel 7 - Interior shot of the helmet, which reveals a figure much like Gerson…but much younger, more idealized-looking, with colors not matching his actual self. A Dark World interpretation. “WHY am I…?”

Panel 8 - A closeup of the Knight’s hand, slightly trembling.

Panel 9 - The Knight stares down at his own hands as realization begins to flood him, or at least something that looks like realization. “Wait. I see why. I KNOW.” he says.

 Page 14

Panel 1 - The Knight holds up his hand, and a sword appears in it in a flash of lights. The sword resembles the tip of a fountain pen, almost split neatly in two. “I serve the Lightners! That is my purpose!” Says the Knight. 

Panel 2 - The Knight draws the sword back with great fervor and determination. His thoughts echo around him in strong letters: “A purpose so bright, so clear…”

Panel 3 - In the final panel, the Knight drives the sword into the ground, causing an eruption of black ink-like material to spew from the ground…the creation of a new Dark Fountain. In the fountain itself, words reflect his purpose: “I EXIST TO GIVE THEM STORIES FOREVER.”

[rxbin-iii]

the Wayne siblings

Batkids (1/2)

Do not re-upload/re-post my work.