#atomic diner

[travelling-my-little-pony]

Baby Butterdrop is managing to obscure most of the chips on that plate!

In Oxford, in England.

[iukasylvie]

Today, I found out about Fionn of the Fianna - Past's Prologue by Rob Curley, Turlough Delaney, and Kevin Keane when I looked up the words "Irish comics" on Twitter.

This graphic novel is based on the Irish myth of Fionn mac Cumhaill and the art style struck me as closer to my taste than most other comics I've ever seen from outside Japan.

I would like to order it after the Japanese translation of Making Comics by Scott McCloud arrives.

[fieriframes]

[Atomicities.]

[gtaphotography]

[sterlinggalaxy13]

Up-n-atom Diner 🚀 ⚛️

[artists-who-rarely-draws]

Considering making a dating sim for 80s Stan and Ford where the player is a Waitress/waiter/Server (based on your pronouns) at the Diner, Gravity falls local born and raised.

Totally not based on that one page of Book of bill where Ford talks about how lonely he is and when he tried to make that dumb joke about finding the chef who made the atoms.

And she made a face at him and just ended her shift..

And also the idea of someone who saw Stanford all the time seeing Stanley now and being like..'wait a god damn minute-'

Working on my gravity falls style mimicry rn and I'm pretty happy with it so,

Is that something yall would be into? If so I'll start *sigh* learning how to code on renpy.

[msvelawciraptor]

1) David, you disappeared on everyone in your life too. Get the judgy tone out of your fucking voice, man.

2) Ava followed an order. Enthusiastically. Let's all ponder that for a moment.

3) Gloria being Gloria is always magnificent. Love her.

4) David can be a sweet kid, but also a bit of a shit (disappearing from the diner without a word? Dude...). He really is his father's son.

5) Total Atomic Breakdown may sound bad, Caspar, but it is an excellent band name.

6) Cosmic Shrug. Yes it's a patreon patron, but also Jesus fucking Christ, David; you are so your father's son.

7) David, there are other options when you don't like being told what to do. Have you tried being a massive bitch about it? Works for me.

8) Awww, Zeb, I love you.

9) Ava agreeing with Zeb about faith? Maybe we are approaching Total Atomic Breakdown.

10) Zeb and Effie's accents in the French part. Sweet lord.

11) Wondering if the transcript has a translation. Because I'm not catching as much as I'd like, but more than I have any right to.

12) Yes! Translations!

13) Hasn't this been coming? There's been so much talk across seasons, particularly in the last season finale, about how in every universe there's a diner or something like it. Of COURSE it's a fucking franchise. There's lots of diners and they're all hopping across universes.

14) Marguerite!?! AWESOME!

15) Also, thank fuck it's her and not Jane.

16) Is baby the dean's wife? Please let baby be the dean's wife.

[blood-injections]

Just remembered my au where Fun Ghoul like sells his soul to the witch/makes a deal with her and so he can’t die but there’s a catch. He comes back but has to serve her and be a vessel for her for some time first, and that time gets longer each time he would have died. The first time he dies he makes the deal and she’s like okay but you must serve me for a week first and he’s like okay so fun ghoul who like just died is sighted wandering the desert and visiting battle sites and new graves and the mailbox in a gas mask looking ghostly and being followed by crows and then after the week passes he shows up at the diner just. Good as new and he’s like yeah don’t worry about it. And the next time he dies it’s like a month then a few months then several months then a year and so on. Maybe he’s been like this long before he even met the Fab Four so by the time he dies for the first time as one of them he’s gone for like three years as the witch’s vessel before he comes back or after spending so long and being her vessel a couple times the deal is changed and instead of a you must serve me when you die and I will allow you to go back they like are sorta friends?? And he’s like what if it’s is just always a mutual thing like. I’m out as me and if there’s a battlefield you can hop in the drivers seat and sort stuff out or like he just gets some of her powers and is like I’ll do this for you or like during the day he’s a killjoy during the night he works with the witch and they’re just.. soulmates. It’s a much deeper and emotional story then this post makes it seem but basically it’s like his role as her vessel was fate and he channels her through him and they’re lovers but not in a sexual way. It’s like. Their souls and minds combine like in an all their molecules and atoms intertwining way and they know eachother on this deeply personal spiritual and physical level that’s beyond words and human comprehension. And he serves the desert and spends so long as her vessel that he kinda forgets he’s human but then he meets the Fab Four and starts being a person again and falls in love and like he’s in love with the witch in some sort of way but it’s more like they’re one in the same so in the physical world when he truly falls in love for the first time that’s like an actual physical love he’s never had before, it’s grounding and real like the sunlight and so once he’s with the Fab Four his physical and spiritual side are balanced for the first time in a long time.

Meanwhile Poison is The Witchfucker lmao Fun Ghoul was like btw like touching me is touching the Phoenix Witch. I am her and she is me. and Poison was like fucking BET

[feybeasts]

The website Tumblr Dot Com is like having a nice brunch at a midtier ihop where the company is pretty great and the food is affordable if not amazing, but every once in a while other tables of diners just start stabbing one another with forks for no discernible reason or a waiter will catch on fire or sometimes some sort of Swamp Ghoul will shuffle out of the kitchen and point a bony finger at you and demand you apologize for existing or suffer its Boggy Curse

And like, yeah, that’s not an ideal dining experience, but considering the Dennys next door is actively on fire and the mom and pop diner down the road just went up in a 30 megaton atomic blast, you’re kinda short on options these days

[slippinmickeys]

Three Part Harmony 19/?

Rhonda had to call Clarice and tell her that she was feeling much better and that she would be covering her own shift the next day. The plan, such as it was, was to ask around, to see what information could be gleaned from the local rumor mill.

Scully was determined to get Mulder back, and Rhonda felt responsible for his capture, for being unable to bring the supplies back to the cabin like she’d promised she would. And so she would do whatever she could to help.

She was brewing a fresh pot of decaf when the bell above the door rang. She looked up and tried not to belay her surprise. Walking into the diner was the large bald FBI director who had handed her his card however many days ago it was now. He caught her eye as he walked in, nodded, and sat down at a table far away from other patrons, in Shandrika’s section.

Rhonda grabbed her coworker. “Mind if I take 42?” she asked, nodding toward the man. “You can have my next two-top.”

Shandrika barely looked up. “Take him,” she grunted.

Rhonda walked over with a menu and a glass of water. “Good afternoon,” she said, her hands shaking a little as she set down both items. The man nodded at her and slid the menu to the edge of the table as if he already knew what he wanted.

“Do you know who I am?” he asked quietly.

Rhonda’s heart started beating in quick time. The card had given her a warning, but the agent who had been following her worked for this man, and she feared she might once again be under suspicion. Still, she tried to keep her cool.

“Assistant Director, was it?” she asked.

The Assistant Director nodded. “Skinner,” he said.

Not knowing what else to do, she smiled and nodded toward the table. “Would you care for anything to drink other than water, Assistant Director Skinner?” Her southern accent turned thick, which it tended to do when she was nervous.

“Coffee,” he said.

“Black?”

He nodded and when she turned away to fetch him a cup, she watched as his eyes slowly scanned the dining room, clocking every patron, every employee.

When she brought the steaming mug and set it in front of him, he seemed satisfied that whatever he was apprehensive about was no longer a concern, as his posture relaxed, and he gave her a close-lipped smile when she slid the hot drink in front of him.

“You ready to order?” she asked, swallowing thickly.

He nodded slowly. “I’ve been told,” he said, “that I should order the pie.”

There was something about the way he said it that piqued Rhonda’s interest and she looked at him curiously. “Oh yeah?”

He nodded. “Now, I got the same sense when I was in here last—it’s why I gave you my card. But, a friend ate here once with his wife and child. Said the Georgia Peach pie was… a choice you could trust.”

Rhonda felt a lightness, a rightness. Of course Skinner would have spoken with Mulder after he was arrested. Mulder had sent him here.

“You can trust that pie with your life,” Rhonda said, meaning it. “And so can he.”

XxXxXxXxXxX

Scully sat on the sofa, watching her son zooming throughout the room. He was pulling himself up often now, and scooting along the coffee table–it was only a matter of time before he started walking. She thought of William taking his first steps and Mulder not being around to see it and felt her insides plummet in despair.

Mulder. He had, not long after they began working together, become an integral part of her world, and the X-Files that were his passion became the galaxy she orbited within. He was, she had realized when he was gone, as inevitable and necessary a part of her as the atoms that made her up. And like the pull of gravity, everything arced toward him.

She needed to get him back. Not just for herself, but for their son. And for Mulder’s sake most of all. But how? Oh, how?

William chose that moment to babble something happily, and she turned her attention more fully toward him, Mulder’s voice in her head coming through like a creeping vine: what else is he capable of?

There was a feeling of dread inside her, but also of wonder. She suspected, when it came to William’s powers, that they had barely scratched the surface. She thought of the levitating bowl of cereal, she thought of the agent opening the door to the closet they were in and looking right past them. She thought of the men hovering above the floor of William’s nursery, of the connection she felt with both William and Mulder the last time they had all been together.

The thought of perhaps using her son’s powers to help rescue his father turned her stomach. She was repulsed by the idea, by the thought of putting her son in more danger than he was already in, of taking advantage of him, of his gift, of his innocence. It was her job to protect him.

But what were her other options? And what if it was as simple as William just…turning his father invisible? Scully pictured an empty pair of handcuffs just waltzing themselves out of the Sheriff’s office door and into their car.

She chuffed a laugh at the impossible thought. That, for many reasons, would never work. She got the sense that William could only tap into some of his more staggering gifts when he was frightened or when emotions were running high. But they had to try something. And in order to make a more informed decision–whether or not she chose to involve the boy–she needed to know what exactly he was capable of.

“William?” she said.

The boy looked up at her and gave her a wet grin. “Hi,” he said.

Scully couldn’t help the smile that bloomed on her own face.

“Hi William,” she said.

“Hi,” he said again.

She let herself enjoy the moment and then tipped her head down and looked him in the eye, intending to connect with him. She felt a slight tug on her forebrain, and then the boy looked away. She wasn’t entirely certain he understood all that was happening, but she was starting to realize that when they were tuned into each other–something that was getting easier and easier the more she tried it–he seemed to easily pick up on her emotions and motivations and even, to a certain extent, to her impulses. The more strongly she felt about something, the more tuned in he seemed to be–the invisible trick with the Bryson guy a good example–and the more he seemed to interpret her intent. She wondered if the swirling emotions she had surrounding Mulder and his capture could get the boy even more locked in, if you could assign the capricious whims of a one year old child that kind of focus.

Scully thought of Mulder, letting the pang of regret and pain bounce around inside of her, growing as it echoed off the walls of her heart. William looked at her again, and she felt the connection to him almost instantly, like she had turned a key and the tumblers of his mind locked into place with hers.

A melancholy look came over him, which she instantly lamented, but pressed on.

Letting her eyes flutter closed, she probed deeper inside of him than she ever had before, trying to find a door that led to where his gifts dwelled. A moment later, she felt something on her knee, and opened her eyes to find William pulling himself up with her pant leg, his eyes looking sadly into hers.

“Dada?” he asked quietly, and without another thought, she fiercely swiped away a tear and swung him up into her arms, kissing his soft, pudgy cheek. Guilt at pulling him into her sadness knocking her into movement.

“We’re going to find him,” she promised, and walked over to the piano bench in the corner of the room, lowering herself onto it, and the boy onto her lap.

A hint of a smile creeped onto his face, and he turned his attention to the instrument before them. They were still connected, and she could feel the pull of excitement wash sweetly over him. It knocked her own sorrow back.

“You like the piano?” she asked him, sniffing once.

He clapped his hands together and she felt both of their moods lift.

Lifting the fall board to reveal the ivory and black keys, Scully looked down.

“Should we play something?”

William drooled as he gave her a full gummy smile. She reached forward and pressed a key. She had never taken lessons (Mulder, from what she could remember, had somewhat resentfully taken lessons as a kid; fifty minutes in the basement of the local Methodist church, the instruction sandwiched between Comportment and Cotillion). She had no idea what she was doing, but let her finger press down gently at first and then again more firmly, the single note bouncing jauntily off the pine walls of the cabin.

William’s reaction was instantaneous, and she felt it in her head the same time he experienced it; his power, like a blooming surge of color, looping in expanding bubbles in the periphery of their shared mindspace. It was like synesthesia, Scully thought, eternally needing to put a name to the unknown, to the extraordinary.

A sense of awe creeping in, she pressed another key, the music coiling his power in a slightly different way between them. It was a feeling of buoyancy, a surge of dynamism. She felt certain her fingers would spark if she rubbed them together. She had closed her eyes when first experiencing it, but she opened them now, and looked around the room, this time pressing two keys at once.

The feeling William was experiencing surged through her as well, and then, without thinking, her eyes drifting past the wicker basket full of baby toys, she sent a burst of energy toward them, emanating from somewhere deep within her chest. The toys in the basket floated up, rising in the air as though freed from gravity’s bonds. Spin, she thought at them, and the toys began to twirl through the air. Higher, she thought, getting the hang of it, and up they floated toward the ceiling of the A-frame, bound by nothing but her mind and her son’s incredible power.

Scully gasped, and her blood surged inside of her, rising up instead of out, as if it had forgotten which way it was supposed to flow—as if it was trying to go two directions at once. This is it, she thought, she had sourced the flow of William’s gifts. Now how far could she take them?

She looked down at her son, who looked back with what she gleaned as mild surprise, and sent the dining room table floating as well, then the sofa. Each thing she added came with a renewed sense of control, and if she felt the power begin to wane, all she had to do was press a few keys on the piano and, like a tide easing its way onto shore, it would softly surge.

The bevy of objects in the air–in the case of the furniture, only a few feet off the ground, but the baby toys and books hovering near the top of the lofted ceiling–she thought of Mulder, and how she wished he were here to see it. And that’s when she felt it, a soft bloom of sensation, as though a watercolor she was painting was bleeding off the edge of the canvas and into the landscape beyond it. She recognized it with a patent familiarity, but then her attention was pulled by an odd sound in the room and a chilly shift in the air.

When she turned to look, Rhonda stood in the open doorway, her mouth agape, her eyes round as saucers.

[freeced]

Hailing Frequencies (Part 1)

[art by @pockamune]

Lylack fiddled with the controls. There wasn't really anything to do with them right then, so the fiddling was redundant. Like playing an electric fiddle that wasn't plugged in. Electric fiddle, Lylack thought. Electric griddle. Mm...

The lanky springhare stretched both legs out onto the control panel and looked to their left, where a monument of empty Zapfood boxes regarded them balefully. It had been too long since the last stop, Lylack decided. Stocking up on packaged food didn't mean stocking up on proper meals, and the sooner they got to where they were going, the better. Back home, they would have simply stopped off at whatever highway diner happened along, confident that, wherever you are in the world, a pancake is more or less flat and edible.

Only, they weren't in the world anymore. They were in space, and whatever its charms, the vastness of the interstellar universe meant it wasn't just lacking in diners, it was lacking in everything. Between the little life-preserving systems ringed around their favorite life-sustaining stars, you weren't looking for friendly rest stop billboards so much as for two full atoms to rub together. There was nothing. And...

No one.

Lylack wouldn't have told you they were an introvert. You never would have had the chance to ask. For as long as they could remember, they had been burrowed away working on their little pet projects and flights of fancy, taking in society as a snorkel takes in air: a regrettable necessity that prevents its wearer from diving even further out of sight. It wasn't a question of how often they felt the need to be around other people, but how often their presence was required. In fact, it was one of the main reasons they had taken this job as an intergalactic bar delivery driver—the solitude, they assumed, would be comforting. And as it turned out, it was.

Yet, thought Lylack, as they checked the scanners for the millionth pointless time. Yet.

There was a difference between solitude and being all alone. It didn't set in right away, and it had a habit of fading from your mind when you were back on solid ground again. But these times, these long hauls, halfway between somewhere and somewhere else, just as far from anything as anything could be—this wasn't just a quiet place to think, it was a silence so intense it laid a blanket on your brain. Dimensions lost their shape, time became confused and seemed to go on only when you looked the other way. The clear sense of identity that tended to emerge from contemplation lost its balance way out here, unsure of the borders between the fathomless recesses of your mind and the beckoning infinity of space. At least, it did without a couple decent meals to spice things up.

Lylack glanced back over at the stack of Zapfood boxes over there on the floor. The portside cabin deck, they tried to glue into their brain. Not for the first time this trip, they considered going back into the cargo area to liberate a case of what this whole workaday voyage was supposed to be about.

Any decently advanced outpost had a food substantiator capable of synthesizing anything a bar or club might need—everything, that is, except the alcohol it made its money on. It was true that some quaint little places here and there still brewed their drinks the old fashioned way, but by and large, an operation of that kind relied on too many moving parts when you considered that most planets didn't even have an atmosphere thick enough to support traditional agriculture, never mind a business-minded person who might be carrying such antiquated expertise. To synthesize alcoholic drinks, then, as was standard practice, you needed a Wine, Beer, and Spirits Substantiator (WBSS) and a license to operate it, both items prohibitively expensive for any average establishment to bear up on its own. (There were also similar machines and licenses for other controlled substances—Lylack didn't concern themselves with these because it was enough headache remembering their own employer's ones.)

In fact, there was no actual difference in hardware between a regular food substantiator and one labeled as a WBSS, but manufacturers were required to lock unauthorized features safely away from consumer use. Tampering with a food substantiator with the intent to create illegal goods was punishable by severe fines, or, if done with intent to sell, imprisonment. The law, as is typical, ended up as a matter of cost, and it was far easier for most bar owners to turn a profit ordering their stock from light years away than to invest in legal manufacture locally or risk getting caught up in the aftermath of a smuggling operation gone bad.

It was a long way of convincing themselves that this delivery job was necessary, Lylack decided. They didn't decide whether their job actually was necessary, though. Not now. That was too much to think about out here where a vague sense of purpose could be the only line towing you along. Here where navigating scattered asteroids would feel like walking happily among a crowded room. Here where you'd give anything to see the screen light up with anything you hadn't entered in yourself. Here where—

It was lighting up.

Lylack scrambled to pull their legs back off the panel, and in so doing, lost their balance completely, tumbling backwards over the captain's chair and accidentally mashing keys as their long feet bounced off the controls. A comm link opened.

Lylack bounded back up behind the chair, their black-tipped ears making the first appearance, followed by a mess of purple hair and deep brown eyes that looked inquisitively up at the viewing screen. "Hello?" they said, squinting at the fuzzy image wavering in front of them until it resolved into a fuzzy face that squinted back before opening its own eyes wide.

The face opened its mouth as the comm speaker chattered to life. "Lylack?" it asked hesitantly, in a voice that cracked like sweet milk tea poured over lots of ice.

"Lylack, is that you?"

[fieriframes]

[The atom was split by persistence.]

[viceroywrites]

reunions and opportunities - chapter two

gary x fem!reader

both of you didn't get the ideal high school experience it would make sense that you both would be dreading the reunion.

little did you know how many doors would open after that.

ao3 version here - chapters on tumblr are slightly rewritten and restructured.

content warning: fic contains smut in later chapters. discussions of mental health including trauma and potential ptsd (aka gary is traumatized).

chapter two

A few hours had passed since Gary had brought you two to a small diner a few minutes away from your old high school and you two had been hitting off, discussing comics, cracking jokes, and just enjoying each other’s company. 

“Wait, you dropped your entire first paycheck on a replica of the Lord of the Rings sword?” You chuckled as you stirred around the little bit of milkshake you had left. He laughed along with you, putting his hands up, “Okay, in my defense, I was going through a very passionate Lord of the Rings phase and it was my own money okay!” 

You giggled, your elbows propped up on the table as you intertwine your fingers before propping your chin atop them. “That must’ve been a huge chunk of money then you got to afford a pretty accurate replica of that. What do you do for living?”

Gary froze quickly as he was sipping on his soda when you asked that question. ‘Shit. She can’t know about me being a henchman… she’ll probably think I’m bat shit crazy or be weirded out a bit. Fuck but I can’t lie to her… okay, dude. You just gotta embellish a little… stretch the truth.’ He thought to himself.

You blinked as he froze for quite a while and leaned over the table, waving a hand in front of his face, “Hello? Earth to Gary?” you teased. He quickly snapped out of it and nervously chuckled, scratching the back of his neck, “S-Sorry about that, spaced out for a bit there.”

“W-Well, it’s kind of hard to explain my job, I guess. I kinda do odd jobs and favors for this guy who is a part of this powerful company.” Gary stuttered out, trying to figure out how to even explain what he did for the Monarch. 

‘I mean… it isn’t a lie… the Monarch makes me do stuff like reconnaissance to watching Game of Thrones with him… plus the Guild is a powerful organization in a sense… well, it was, not so sure about now.’ He thought to himself, cursing a bit for not thinking up a better explanation or just saying he still worked for the Atomic Comic Collection Connection.

Your eyebrows rose a bit at his job description but you figured it wasn’t the weirdest thing you’d heard someone do for a career. You smiled and put your hand on top of his, making his face heat up visibly. You giggled and smiled, “So pretty much like a personal assistant, right? My new job is kinda like that too so I get it.”

He let out a sigh of relief and smiled, his expression softening at your touch. His eyes glanced over at the clock, seeing it read: 3 AM. ‘Shit, I have to go early morning reconnaissance with the Monarch tomorrow..’ he thought. You noticed his reaction and chuckled, “Getting past your bedtime I’m guessing?” you tease.

Gary grins sheepishly and nods, “Yeah, sorry about that.” You shake your head and chuckle, “No, no, it’s fine. I start my first day of work tomorrow anyway so I should head out too. Walk me out?” You stand up and grab your coat, beckoning for Gary to follow you.

He quickly gets up, following you out with a grin on his face.

--

Soon after you had parted ways, Gary collapsed on the couch with a pleased smile across his face. You two had exchanged numbers and had arranged to meet up sometime soon when it was convenient for both of you.

He scrambled for his phone when he felt it vibrate and a huge grin spread across his face as he saw you had texted him: 

‘thanks for an amazing night. let’s explore the city sometime since you’re new in town, okay? good night, sleep tight! (: ’

From: [Name]

‘God, she’s like perfect… but I can’t rush this… what if she just wants to be friends…? Shit, I didn’t even consider that..’ His expression twisted into worry before he was snapped out of his thoughts by a sudden light turning on.

“You’re home late. Jeez, did you get lost on the way home or something?” The Monarch muttered, wearing his robe and cowl combo and slippers, clearly awoken by Gary’s arrival.

Gary sighed, “Sorry about that… I.. actually met someone there.” The Monarch’s wild eyebrows rose quickly and he quickly blinked, “You picked up a chick tonight, 21? You’re kidding, right?” Gary shot his leader a glare which The Monarch put his hands up in defense, “Okay, okay, jeez… so did you nail her?” He grinned with a playful tone.

The henchman bit down on his lower lip, thinking about how that dress clung to your curves, how you bit your lip playfully and your cleavage would dip a little lower when you leaned over to take a sip of your milkshake. The Monarch caught that and chuckled, “Oh… I know that look. You wanted to but you didn’t, huh?”

Gary sighed, shaking his head, “It’s not just that she was hot… cause she was super gorgeous. She was literally… just amazing. She literally has the grace and intelligence of Khaleesi but she’s like super nerdy like me.”

The Monarch’s eyebrows shot up at the description, surprised at how enamored his henchman was and he grinned in amusement, “If you can pick up a woman like that, looks like my woman wooing charm is rubbing off on you. I have taught you well, 21!”

The henchman sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose as at the Monarch began to ramble on about him teaching 21 of the ways of love and woman wooing, 

“Please stop talking.”

--

Having taken a shower and changed into your pajamas, you dried your hair in front of the mirror at your vanity. You unlocked your phone and smiled, seeing that Gary had replied to your text:

‘it would be an honor to see you again, m’lady. good luck with your first day of work tomorrow! good night, sleep tight.’ 

From: Gary

You giggled, seeing he had copied your good night message at the end of your text. After setting out your uniform for the next day, you slipped under the covers and quickly fell asleep.

Your phone illuminated part of the room as a reminder notification flashed from your new boss:

“Be at the Guild meeting by 10am. Make sure to wear your new uniform.”

From: Dr. Mrs. The Monarch

-

Your alarm blared, echoing through your room and waking you from your slumber. You abruptly shot up, groaning and sighing as you ran a hand through your tousled hair. 

Begrudgingly, you got up, getting ready for your first day of work. Checking your phone, you saw your boss’ reminder, smiling to yourself. Sure, she had high expectations but you knew she had your best interest in mind all the time. 

She wanted you to succeed and you knew that from the moment you met her.

You had previously been working for quite a while under Wide Wale as his secretary of sorts as well as a bodyguard for his daughter, Serena Ong, when she tired of the obnoxious burly men dressed as whale lice following her around and needed some girl company.

However, as much as you loved Serena and knew you lived quite the cushy lifestyle working under Wide Wale, you had to admit you were tired of being surrounded by the testosterone of the male bodyguards, the lack of respect you got from them because you were a female, having to work with your ex on a daily basis, and Wide Wale’s sometimes old-fashioned way of approaching arching and villainy.

Wide Wale was not a fool; after working for him for quite a while, he knew you almost as well as he knew his daughter. So that’s why he immediately connected you with Dr. Mrs. the Monarch after making a deal with the Guild – he knew that you wanted a new perspective and more freedom and Dr. Mrs. the Monarch had expressed interest in having a right hand man of sorts, similar to how 21 was with the Monarch.

You two hit it off right away and she immediately hired you to work under her in helping rebuild the Guild to its former state and glory.

After stepping out of the shower, you quickly dried your hair and applied a bit of makeup before slipping on your Guild uniform - a black and red button-up jacket with gold buttons, a plain black shirt and black pants, and black, platform heel boots. You clipped on your gun holster onto your thigh and slipped your pistol into the holster. 

Straightening out your outfit, you grabbed your keys and phone, grinning as you got a text from Gary:

‘hey good luck with your first day on the job. (:’

From: Gary

You smiled softly but sighed a bit, feeling guilty. Gary seemed to be such a sweet guy, a perfect mixture of dorky and caring. You could see yourself possibly becoming serious with him. But you feared dragging him into this life with the Guild you were becoming more and more involved in. 

Shaking your head, you pushed those thoughts to the back of your mind and got into your car, heading into the city for the Guild meeting.

[cookie-crumblr]

The Ghost of New Burrows

Part 1

F! PI Reader X Masked Yandere OC

His Info: 📁✨

part 1 2

CW: F!reader, reader has a vagina, (i think in this part reader is G/N tho, like nothing is specified) reader smokes and drinks a lot, murder not so much mystery, gore, guns, shooting, some self hate(sorry, luv you guys tho) not proof read, swearing, stalking, breaking an entering, a sprinkle of praise✨ mdni banner by cafekitsune!

03:04, your apartment, 2202 Gothil hill, New Burrows

New Burrows, an overpopulated, high density city in a completely smog filled and dying world.

You add to the pollution, your own small puffs of grey nicotine floating up from your lips.

The blankets cling to your naked, sweat slicked skin.

You kick them off, having stubbornly turned down your partner for the night’s offer to shower together. He is currently in the bathroom cleaning up.

Your thoughts float back to your last case again…

A domestic dispute turned cold blooded murder.

You solved it easy enough, but stuff like that clings to your mind every time.

He emerges smirking at you, you barely notice his amber eyes, your mind enraptured by your own negative feelings.

He’s very pretty. You think.

Too bad you can’t care less right now.

The water, penny scented and harshly pelting your back feels cleansing enough for now. You fear that even if something better was out there, nothing could ever clean you completely of this city’s filth. “Hah,” you bark out a sour laugh at your own dark humor.

04:50, an appartment in South Elegance District, New Burrows

“and the body?” you ask.

“Right this way, Y/L/N”

As the scene unfolds before you, you realize immediately that this was not what the enforcer on scene had detailed over the phone.

The enforcers could care less about this city and the people in it, making your job even more of an uphill battle.

They had explained the murder in bland terms, “a simple stabbing, probably”.

However, this was nothing less than a murder of pure passion.

Stabbed 32x at least from first glance.

The perp took out some serious frustration on the victim.

You spend some time mapping out the scene in your head and taking notes and pictures.

Before long you take note of a small piece of paper… Picking it up with gloved hands. There’s no fingerprints, nothing else. Just the paper, and some very neat handwriting, that reads, “Let’s Play”.

You look out the window adjacent, seeing some movement on the nearby rooftop out the corner of your eye.

A masked person sits on the ledge, swinging their legs, their covered eyes hold yours. They wave at you. Your hand finds your gun, your eyes never leaving theirs.

It’s him.

Though it’s too dark, and he’s eclipsed by the bright reds and blues of a neon bar sign.

You know it’s him.

You blink, the sound of someone calling your name, regrettably, pulling you from your staring contest with the ghost.

When you open them again, he’s gone.

One Week later~

23:30, 2202 Gothil Hill, New Burrows

The window is open, yet the smoke you fill the room with stays stagnantly floating above you.

“Fuck!” another murder happened. Another note. Another staring contest only to be lost by lack of sleep, ending with them again lost without a single trace.

You scope out rooftops, map out sites of murders and sites you see him taunting you.

Worst of all you’re discovering the only link between the victims…

Is you.

The first victim was a guy in the line at Labor’s diner, he paid for your coffee.

The second was a friend of a friend that had a small, childish crush on you.

It’s making you paranoid… Sleep is starting to elude you just as the ghost does. Within your sight, but just out of your reach.

That can’t be the only link…

If it is, he’s directly targeting you. You know that it’s true, but you want with every atom that makes you, that it’s not.

Why?

Why you?

What does he want?

The red strings in your mind are endless with no two points meeting up.

One Week later~

11:20, behind Labor’s Diner, New Burrows

You had already been drinking this morning. At least everything’s in walking distance

Cars are outlawed and lay in the poorer streets as rotting relics of the far but not forgotten past.

When this body was reported, instead of heading to the scene, you go to the nearest rooftop with a view of the body.

Pistol already drawn, you kick open the door.

He stands with his hands outstretched, as if waiting for your embrace.

You shoot, mostly just intuition guiding your bullet.

Perfect, right between the eyes. His head lurches back at the impact, but he remains standing.

You keep your gun raised, now confused.

His hands stay welcoming you.

His head rolls back forward to face you as if nothing happened.

His mask though…

It’s cracked.

One of the eyes are chipped enough to see the human beneath.

An amber iris stares back at you.

You’re frozen.

It all makes some kind of sense…

You just, never once thought you’d be the one in this scenario.

He’s playing with you directly.

But you’re not a victim.

And you’ve got him! You’ve seen his face.

But…

Wait…

You can’t remember it.

why can’t you remember his damned face?

Where you so distracted that day you couldn’t even focus for even a second on the face of someone you were fucking for the night?

god, sometimes you make yourself sick.

Your gun clicks as you pull the hammer back.

His mask broke, if you aim for the eye…

As you’re staring into his eye, you feel something like electricity pass through you.

Excitement maybe?

To catch him at last.

Yeah, that must be it.

There is no movement on the roof.

There is only you and him, you have a gun, he seems to have nothing…

You wonder what his plan is.

The little switch is pulled, and in that same second, he’s tumbling gracefully over the ledge.

You run to the spot where he once stood, looking anywhere and everywhere, at all the civilians in droves walking below, and there are no signs of the ghost.

You’ve lost him again.

“Shit!” you throw a curse into the gray sky.

To make matters worse it has started to rain at some point.

You read in an old book once how rain used to feel cleansing…

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, feeling mournful for a time you’ve never been a part of.

The rain now days smells like the wet garbage that litters the streets.

The crime scene below is being washed of any evidence he probably didn’t even leave, so you head back down.

One day later~

03:09, 2202 Gothil hill, New Burrows

Glass shards decorate the hall where you threw your now empty bottle of synth absinthe.

You’re slumped over your desk, passed out from the lack of sleep mixed with the alcohol.

Your job sits on the line at the moment. Enforcers just want arrests, and you’ve now got three murders with nothing but a ghost.

It doesn’t look good.

Your eyes flutter open, the dim light of your desk lamp is easy enough to adjust to, and you don’t look around the room.

There’s a hand petting the softest circles into your back. You hum contently.

When’s the last time you’ve been touched so lovingly?

In your sleep induced haze, you feel safe with whoever is there… And your heart feels warm, as if they’ve wrapped their arms around it, squeezing it tightly.

Their hand is warm, they lead you into the bedroom by their memory in the dark.

You hazily follow without a single question in your head.

They tuck you in, “sleep pleasantly, you’ve been doing so good, detective” They sit on the bed next to your burrito wrapped form, gently petting your head.

You practically purr into their hand, not wanting them to pull away.

They don’t.

They continue to pet you well after you’ve fallen asleep.

[alitontress]

Q&A: Naoki Urasawa’s Pluto

Ask on the subject of Brau-1589’s and Roosevelt (cont'd No. 2):

The impression I got was that Atom would have served in the front lines more directly if ordered, but instead was used mostly for PR. Having a 'young boy' on the front lines probably wouldn't have looked very good As for why he sent Brau, I would guess teddy might have anticipated Atom, but clearly didn't anticipate Brau. Or he didn't tell Brau to kill Teddy exactly, just stop him, and Brau decided to do that by killing him. Note, Brau mentions early on that removing the spear would kill him. That might have been a bluff, like the whole idea of him being trapped there, or maybe in killing Teddy he also killed himself?

Atom has a sort of no-kill rule in general (at least in other interactions of the character like the 2003 version), so I don't think he would've fought on the front lines. Based upon his conversation with Gesicht at the diner, he went to help the peace keeping forces around the same time as Epsilon being sent to do "clean up" which was after the war. In the manga there's a scene about the goal Darius has and tells Goji, “Use Pluto to kill them all! The five that destroyed my robot army! And the two that helped the occupation army enforce their so-called “peace”!” So Atom didn’t fight to kill the robot army unlike Mont Blanc, North No. 2, Brando, Hercules, and Gesicht. (Although, it could've been Gesicht and Epsilon who helped to enforce the "peace" but I don't see that as being likely). Atom wasn’t sent as PR by anyone, but people treated him like a “pop star .”

Teddy definitely wouldn’t see Brau coming, especially when he says in the manga that he was hoping Brau would join him. Teddy is all powerful (in a way...kinda), so there’s no way to stop him really other than killing him. I don’t know what stopping him would even look like though. That teddy bear creeps me out.

I think removing the spear definitely could’ve been a bluff, but the irony story telling wise, would be him dying/sacrificing himself to save the humans by killing Teddy, when, because Brau is the Blue Knight, he absolutely hate humans.