#but nope. another bullshit thing had to happen | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

scekrex · 7 months ago

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Hurt/comfort anyone? 😌

We all know Adam's "big and tough" act, how he gloats before anyone that he's the absolute best since he's the og dick and he's the reason the rest of the mankind was created, but what about Adam just being Adam like anytime else, especially the scene in court and Sera just talking his ear off about him acting irresponsibly and just revealing the exterminations to everyone in the worst way possible, just giving him a good ol' talk, but not in a nice way, nope. She crushes his ego in a way before leaving him alone in the room, saying she has stuff to attend and he's just standing there, all deflated and his mask glitching from how many conflicted feelings fly over his face, he's resignated, he's even sad a bit, but also angry. At Sera, at Heaven, God even, but mostly at himself since he knows he fucked up another thing in his life that he was trusted with.

He goes back home to unsuspecting of anything reader and just passes by him, not saying a word, even tho reader tried to greet him and hug him, but was unable to since Adam just brushed past him quickly. There was a heavy air surrounding reader's husband and he grew concerned, so he went to check up on him, seeing Adam just curled up on the bed, wrapped up in his own wings, shielding himself away from the world, not a sound coming out of him, but reader knew something shitty happened and just gets behind him, hugging him tightly and gently petting his wings, not saying a word to let Adam calm down and speak when he's comfortable enough to do so. Adam just smashing himself into reader and asking quietly if he was actually so bad at everything that he didn't deserve anything good in his life, if that was why everyone he cared about before left him and even now no body cares in the slightest bit about his existence. Basically just Adam having an existential crisis and reader being his anchor, trying to tell and show him how it actually is and not what his mind is telling him.

This sad, wet cat bitch needs validation and love like no one before 😞🤘

Muah ❤️

Adam might be an insecure piece of shit underneath all that narcissistic bullshit act of his but he's my insecure piece of shit and I love him.

If I'm so wonderful then why am I so misunderstood

pairing: Adam x male!reader

warnings: language, hurt (with comfort)

note: not beta read bc fuck you I don't have beta readers

“Adam,” the older seraphim raised her voice against the first man loudly, it echoed through her office with much more power than the first man had expected it to, he flinched a little at her tone, his wings dropping to their lowest. “Sera, I-” Adam wanted to explain, wanted to turn it into the stupid joke it had been, but the older seraphim had enough of it. She had enough of Adam, she had enough of his behavior and she was about to let him know. “You’re behavior is no longer accepted by us,” she started what would turn into a monologue, Adam made himself appear a little smaller at her words. “You walk on heaven's holy ground, eat the food our Father provides and whenever someone does not show you respect, your first argument is that you're the first human,” all of the things Sera had listed were true, well they had been the most obvious ones but that didn't make them less true. “And yet you behave like one of them sinners,” that however caught Adam's attention. He was what? How dare she insult him like that, he was very much not acting like a sinner. Or was he?

“You walk heaven's streets with curses on your lips, you dirtied your own purity by sleeping with so many women and men, you behave like a total child and don't know when to stop and where to draw the line and I personally am under the impression that we let your behavior slide for way too long,” she stared Adam in the eyes, giving the first man the most serious look he had ever gotten from the seraphim. The brunette lowered his head in defeat, Sera had often given him shit for being too loud, too much of this, too much of that, she had told him he wasn't behaving like the pure first human should - but it wasn't Adam's fault, not really, because how was he supposed to behave ‘normal’ when God had given him two wives just to take them from him again when he was alive? How was he supposed to fit in and act like everyone else when all that would bring him would be pain?

“Maybe divine judgment failed you. Maybe you should have ended up in hell amongst the other sinners. Father certainly wouldn't have liked it, not after Lucifer's fall, but it would have been the correct decision.” And that made Adam crumble into pieces - at least mentally. Because deep down inside he knew she was right, that no angel other than him dared to stain the name of the Father above, no other angel dared to behave as reckless and merciless as he and his exorcists did. And yes, no other angel than him had slept with so many women and men - a thing he used to be proud of. Before he had met you, before you had become his lover, before he had committed himself to you and only you. Before you, he had been different.

She smoothened out her hair, straightened her back and looked down at Adam, “I have to attend an important meeting. You shall leave and overthink your actions, Adam.” And with that she left him there, leaving him as she had shattered not only his ego but the last piece of confidence he had held inside of him. It took the brunette a while to realize that Sera was not coming back to comfort him, to tell him that she had been too harsh, why should she? She was right after all, Adam was a horrible person, he knew that, had known it ever since.

When the door to your shared apartment opened and Adam walked through it, you were quick to get up and greet him with a warm hug, expecting your boyfriend to be just as excited to see you as you were to see him. But he wasn't, in fact he didn't even look at you as he crossed the living room in order to get to the bedroom, no ‘sup babes��, no ‘Fuck I've missed ya stupid ass' no fucking nothing. The tips of his feathers were dragging on the floor as he walked, a sign that something wasn't right - Adam always made sure that not a single inch of his beloved wings was touching the dirty ground, even in your apartment. The brunette clearly wasn't in the mood to talk, yet you went after him to let him know that he wasn't alone, that you were there no matter what was wrong.

You opened the bedroom door quietly and what you saw shattered your heart. Adam was laying on the bed, his body looked like a ball made out of feathers, he had curled in on himself, his wings shielded him from all of reality, from whatever was hurting him right now. Yet you saw how his body shook, the first man was crying.

Wordlessly you closed the door behind you, trying to do so as quietly as possible. Then you walked over to the bed and cuddled up behind him, one of your hand gently found its way into his hair, petting it just the way you knew he liked it whenever he was feeling upset about something, the other hand of yours smoothened out the feathers covering his wings, gently rubbed the little gap between where the wings grew out of his back - you were very aware how sensitive that area of the angelic body was given that you yourself had experienced it before.

For you it was ridiculously hard to keep quiet, you wanted to talk to him, wanted to ask what was upsetting him so much, why he was crying, what there was for you to do to make it better, but you didn't. You remained quiet, Adam had made it clear that he preferred not talking about it at the moment - or maybe he simply found himself unable to do so, you weren't quite sure which was the case but either way you respected it.

A small smile appeared on your face as the brunette leaned into your touch, he tilted his head backwards, sad, puffy and reddened eyes watched you as you continued to pet his hair without a single comment, if Adam wanted to talk, you would listen. If Adam wanted to stay quiet and enjoy your presence in silence you were fine with that as well. For you it simply was important that the first man knew he wasn't alone. You were there to provide comfort and a safe space he desperately seemed to need.

“Am I as fucking terrible as people tell me I am?” there it was again, his unnecessary cursing, fuck Sera had been right. He rolled himself over, buried his face in your neck and pressed his body against your own. Your body warmth calmed his nerves, made his mind quiet down for even just the tiniest moment, but it did cause it to quiet down. “Is that why I only have Lute and you left? Because I'm fucking terrible? Because I don't deserve damn good things to happen to me?” his voice was really just a whisper yet you understood every word perfectly fine, even if it was mumbled against your skin. Your hands remained on the gap between his wings and in his hair, giving Adam the stability he craved. He needed someone to cling onto, he was too unstable to hold himself together so you did that for him. “No,” your voice was soft and warm, yet serious, it caused Adam to blink in confusion. “I don't deserve you,” was the next thing he said, and that was where you drew the line, you gently tilted his head upwards, then placed a soft, loving kiss onto his lips, “Bullshit Adam, you're wonderful and I love you.” “But I’m not. I curse a-fucking-lot, I can't keep shit together, for fucks sake I can't even do the simple things like telling you I fucking love you every day.” And yes, that was true, but that didn't cause you to love him any less, if anything it was things you loved about him especially. “I don't care about all of that, I still love you.” “Will you leave me too? Like Eve? Like Lilith? Once you finally fucking find someone better?” You shook your head lightly, placed another kiss onto his forehead, your lips kept resting against his skin as you spoke, “No, dummy. To me there's no one better than you are. You're the best for me and you'll always be.” Adam didn't answer you.

He clung onto you even tighter, wrapped his wings around you and held you close. He didn't believe you, simply couldn't, not after what Sera had said. But at the same time the first man trusted you with his existence, so why would you lie to him? His inner conflict was silenced as you pulled him into another gentle kiss. You couldn't help but hum a soothing melody, “You’ve already changed so much, so many things you've done,” you felt as Adam's eyes fell shut and as his body relaxed underneath your touch. “So many songs you've sung, and in the end, they will still hold their grudge,” you felt him nuzzle against your skin, felt how his breath evened out. “There’s something I've been dying to say, more than anything,” you smiled as you sang the last part, feeling Adam's fingers digging in your skin as he tried to pull you even closer - not that it was nearly enough though. “More than anything, need you to know I love you more than anything.” The first man pressed a sloppy, lazy kiss against your jaw before he fell asleep, from his lips fell a quiet, “More than anything.”

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel adam #adam x male reader #male reader #adam x y/n #adam x reader #adam x you

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mochi-munchies · 4 months ago

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Practice Prologue: How to Snag Yourself a Dadmare! (Fanfic)

This is basically a pilot chapter or unofficial prologue to a fanfic I have in my backburner (the number is so big 😭). The plot summed up is basically if the Murder Trio sought out Nightmare to be their boss instead of Nightmare collecting them as his minions. A Reverse AU, if you will. (The reason I'm posting it here instead of AO3 is bc I'm honestly not quite happy with the result and feel it fits more as a beta version of the work.)

Fandom: Undertale (UTMV)

TAGS/WARNINGS: Canon-typical Violence, The Stars being Annoying, Minor Gore Mention (if you think about it), Sprinkles of Angst, Gratuitous Amounts of Banter, I'm Really Bad at Doing Killer's POV.

Word Count: 5937

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When one first started up establishing themselves in the multiverse, it was greatly advised to take those delicate, tentative steps under the guiding hand of another veteran Outcode - or if someone was incredibly lucky, under the wing of one of the few gods who not only possessed an impossible amount of understanding to the happenings of the multiverse, but could even bend it to their will within a certain degree.

The gods, after all, were respected far and wide for their power for a reason, and those who were fortunate enough to gain their interest were often destined to be favored among the multiverse's inhabitants and the Creators alike. Though whether the latter resulted in more suffrage or not was really up to the luck of the draw.

But even with such guidance, the road taken in traveling the multiverse was never without great risk of peril and danger. The multiverse was surprisingly cruel despite its inhabitants themselves not often being as such, and all it could take is a single misstep to send you hurtling into the void.

Still, with a good head on their shoulders and a healthy dose of determination, even the most unlikely of schmucks could last a week outside of their AU, at the very least. Maybe.

Not that anybody was around to tell Killer these things when his AU first glitched out and spat him into some no-name alternative timeline of Candytale.

Which, for the record, was weird as fuck. He spent four days at the very least wondering if this was like some kind of major psychotic breakdown, albeit a low-key hyperrealistic one.

Maybe smoking four packs of dog treats in one sitting was a really bad idea. Maybe this was Chara’s one last parting shot for stealing the RESET. Maybe this was his subconsciousness’ way to process through his trauma or some bullshit. Mmn, all good theories, but they never really did much to explain why there was another him included in this strange reality mixup.

Though, not like watching Gumdyne - heh, still funny - melt into a deformed.. sticky.. syrupy puddle of sugar goo wasn’t enough to shake him out of his funk. Like, the regular melting blood and bones took a while to lose its gross factor on him, but this was an entirely different kind of yuck.

Especially when some Temmies started scuttling in from out of nowhere licking the shit up, that was kinda much.. even for him.

He tried a few things at first, like RESETing a few times, trying out a few genocide runs, he even let Asgorito - seriously, who came up with this shit? - kill him a couple of times before he finally came to the conclusion that, yo, maybe there was something more at play here than a few screws being loose in his noggin.

As he lay there, surrounded by the sugary wreckage of what used to be ‘Minthee Town’ - which was an absolute garbage ass name, the atrocity wasn’t even a proper pun, it was practically sacrilege - anyway, he had an epiphany.

He knew of there being such a thing as alternative timelines. He went through the whole science phase, after all, back when he was still a hopeful little bag o’ bones with a future set in his sights. At least.. before the incident with Gas- NOPE! Been there, done that! Didn’t need that particular memory springing up again!

…Where was he going with this again..? Oh, yeah! The fact that he was stuck within a transdimensional nightmare! Right, if this wasn’t a warped figment of his mind again, then the logical explanation would likely have something to do with the timeline itself.

But what if there was more than that..? What if this goofy candy hell-ucination, was in actuality, an alternative universe? Because there was no way there was a path where the kid somehow made everyone reinvent themselves as tacky snacks for shits and giggles.

Shit.

The idea sent a shiver down his spine as he gazed out at the ruins of Minthee Town. Soul cycling into a fuzzy mess as his teeth chattered in a physical tic, he could somewhat distantly feel the freezing burn of his hate splattering down his cheeks as he considered all of the possibilities.

So much FUN..!

It took a lot of fucking around to figure it out. But, finally, Killer pieced together the basics of this alternate universe. This was a reality, a world with its own rules and physics and inhabitants. And most importantly, it had its own loopholes! Now THAT he had to take some special time with!

Before this entire mess began, he remembered the last memory he had before everything turned upside down. It was a few days after his last genocide run, the Underground was void of all life, and the world - figuratively speaking - was his stage. So of course, he did what anybody else would do..

He jumped off the craggy area’s peak and LOADed his save file on repeat to keep himself stuck in a perpetual loop of falling!

The adrenaline rush was therapeutic. Not as great as a mid-fight exchange of blows, but it was the best substitute he could think up at the time.

And somewhere during his antics, the save file gave off an off-tune ding as the entire world around him shuddered unsettlingly. Next thing he knew, he was in candy world.

So, if it was the weird bug that happened back then that caused him to be dropped into an alternative universe, theoretically, he just had to do something equally as dumb to get himself into another new timeline!

And thus, Killer, the timeline jumping, genocidal maniac was born! And boy! Was it fun! Especially after he learned that the machine the old man left behind in the basement could be used to similar, less exhausting effect! (Which was great because he was starting to run out of high places to jump off of in the Underground.)

The thrill of the unknown, the rush of adrenaline when he found a new kind of toy to take apart and use up to its fullest! Nothing could ever beat it! Although..

There were times where he found himself thinking that something was missing, somehow..

No matter how many bodies he went through, how much EXP he racked up in his runs, the euphoric rush was definitely losing its buzz, and his emotions were slowly breaking out the ice of apathy as the something he was missing became more and more prevalent.

He was sure he was going to lose whatever was left of his mind, at this rate.

Until he met them.

~ ~ ~

It was a chance encounter, as most significant events tend to be in the chaotic fabric of the multiverse. Despite the near limitless potential brought about by countless worlds reaching across the yawning void and grasping the power to cross over the dimensional plane, outside of the more ‘popular’ worlds, interactions between travelers were embarrassingly rare as they were often messy. Again, not like anyone was around to tell him all this shit at the time.

But Killer being the lucky duck he was, somehow beat those odds not even a full month after his antics began.

It was like any other day. He had just jumped into a new timeline, expecting to distract himself in the usual rush of short-lived blood and dust.

Only to find that someone had already beat him to it.

He didn’t think too much about it at the time, figuring the human of the world was probably in the middle of their own little killing spree. Yet, as he sped walked somewhat impatiently through the petrified woods, he came to a stop as he noticed the dark figure slouching in front of the bridge.

"You're not from here," Dust's voice echoed faintly, emotionally dead and flatter than MTT’s ass. The edgelord couldn’t even be bothered to lend him a glance, which - rude - rubbed Killer the wrong way.

The skeleton in front of him had a sizable amount of LV. More than what was possible in a single Underground, and he immediately recognized the other as something similar to himself. But Killer wasn’t too worried about his chances.

He didn’t know how long this guy was at the game, but his LV was nowhere near his, if he could feel it so strongly from this distance, that either meant he hadn’t accumulated enough to warrant teaching himself to suppress it, or the bastard’s stats hadn’t burnt out yet. He was clearly at the advantage here.

Killer palmed the knife in his hoodie pocket, mulling over his options. “Neither are you,” he quipped. His grin twitching upwards as the atmosphere grew dense with killing intent, his soul wobbled in excitement, as if wanting to taste the preludes to their combined violence.

Finally, something to spice things up a bit!

Thank the stars, it’s been getting harder and harder to find a good distraction.

He stepped closer in eagerness, posed ready for anything. Squeezing the hilt of his knife as the other skeleton finally straightened up and regarded the other with a dull stare.

“..You’re a monster,” Dust stated. Factually. Dead. Not even spoken as an accusation.

“So are you,” Killer chuckled, toeing just a bit further as he prepared himself for a lunge. Should he start off old-fashioned with the Blaster barrage, or kick things off with a good slice-and-jab? He cocked his head, feigning curiosity, “What’s your game, pal? You here for some fun, too?”

Dust’s face scrunched up in faint distaste at his words, though his empty sockets did nothing to betray any emotion. It was like looking in a strangely warped mirror now that he thought about it. One expressive and devoid of anything, the other too burnt out to showcase anything but stoicism.

"Fun?" he echoed, the word tasting bitter in his mouth. "There's nothing fun about this."

..Huh. Dust’s words hung heavy in the stale air, the weary bitterness in that statement so strong that it even managed to break past his lofty dissociation for a moment. Giving Killer pause.

For a brief moment, he felt the other giving off the same emptiness growing inside of him. And for some reason, that pissed him off big time.

He didn’t like it. Felt too much like the old him.

Without any hesitation, Killer rushed forwards to stab the offensive fucker.

And the rest was history.

After that, it was like the two were somehow linked by some invisible force. Always running into each other at the absolute worst times. Whether it be during a bad clash with the locals or during a particularly bad LV rush, it always ended up in a fight between the two that resulted in more and more insults landing than actual blows.

Dust couldn’t stand Killer’s flippant decadence as much as Killer couldn’t stand his self-righteous and equally self-destructive nihilism.

Yet, no matter how much they couldn’t stand the other, there was an undeniable but fundamental change as things fell into a routine. Each encounter seemed to escalate into verbal sparring and sometimes outright physical skirmishes, yet they somehow - miraculously, one could say - managed to survive each other’s onslaughts.

And every time they walked away, they were inadvertently already looking towards the next time, thinking to the future- which was something neither had done for such a long time. Honestly, Killer nearly shocked himself into a coma when he realized what it was that he had been missing before, why neither could outright finish off the other and end the game.

It was the feeling of having a playmate.

Chara - as much as Killer was all too proud to be rid of the little shit - was good at keeping things interesting. Especially considering how they were limited to the one timeline at the time. It’s incredible the kid managed to keep him entertained for so damn long looking back on it. But Dust was a different kind of fun. He brought a new dynamic to the game, challenging him more in ways that were more than just physical. It was mental. Emotional. As much as Killer hated the word and everything associated with it.

It was riskier, more high stakes than if it was just his life on the line. Because at the end of it all, Killer could always RESET. His mortality was a thing of the past now. His emotions, however, was a bomb lying under the table. Dust knew how to drag them out of their grave and expose them for all to see, and taking the bet to see if he’d be able to rebury them again and again sent a special kind of thrill through him every time.

There were times he had caught himself thinking about the other skeleton more times than he cared to admit.

And as months transitioned to years, Killer found himself drawn to Dust's unpredictability and mystery. Dust, on the other hand, though initially repulsed by Killer's carefree attitude towards violence, began to see a twisted sort of honesty in Killer's actions. At least someone could still enjoy his jokes. They were both monsters, yes, but where Dust saw only despair and inevitability, Killer saw opportunity and freedom. They pushed each other to confront uncomfortable truths about themselves and their existence in the multiverse.

It wasn't until one particularly brutal skirmish that the third member of their future trio entered the picture.

~ ~ ~

They just so happened to have been in Horrortale at the time. Once again falling into a spat over something neither could even remember now. Not like it was anything important, what Killer did remember was that he just wanted a good fight. Something Dust could only ever give him when he was forced full-throttle.

Killer’s laughter echoed eerily through the trees as he dodged another volley of attacks from Dust, his knife flashing in the dim light of the Underground. “Come on, Dusty! You can do better than that!” he taunted, his voice dripping with gleeful malice as the flaky snow crunched beneath their shoes.

The other skeleton summoned a furious wave of bones in response, his face set in a taut grimace that grit with anger when the bastard simply danced between the trees, making it difficult for the constructs to land. “Shut up and fight, you damn psychopath!” he spat, frustration and anger fueling his attacks.

Killer giggled with an exaggerated waggle of his sockets as he wove behind another tree, only to lean out with a shit eating grin as he felt the killing intent soak up the surrounding area. “Aw, don’t be like that, Dusty! What’s wrong? Can’t keep up?” He dipped back when a slew of bones were fired, teleporting to the other side of Dust before brandishing his knife.

Dust barely managed to block the attack with another bone - pah, the guy really relied on his magic too much - gritting his teeth as the force pushed him back. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?” he muttered, his voice dripping with disdain.

Killer only laughed in response, a wild, unhinged sound that didn’t make it far through the stale, dead air. “Oh, I know! And that’s why you love me!” Expecting the slash, Killer skipped back and watched cheekily as Dust proceeded to charge him.

“You son of a-!”

CHNK..!

Without so much as a warning, it was at that moment a sizable hatchet whizzed out from the darkness of the trees and embedded itself within a trunk. Just shy of lopping Dust’s head clean off, if it weren’t for his quick flash of blue magic to manually pull his body away.

Killer hadn’t even noticed it until it landed right where his own head used to be. A double miss.

He shivered as he stared at the rusty weapon, feeling excitement wrack through his body as his LV pumped up in anticipation. He probably would’ve died if that was aimed at him first.

Neither of them thought much of it back then. How easily they side-stepped as one and stood together, brandishing their weapons without even the slightest consideration of the other taking advantage of the opportunity to stick it in their back.

“Show yourself, you dirty cheat!”

At first there was nothing. Just dead silence from the vacant forest until someone lumbered out from one of the closer trees.

Emerging from the shadows was a hulking figure, his single eyelight gleaming dimly in his socket as he stared the pair down with a mix of amusement and disdain. His expression was one of a very tight, very sharp smile, too rigid to fool anybody, as if a tired mask that was worn too many times before.

"You two.. done screwing around?" His voice rumbled like an avalanche, low and authoritative. Killer felt a shiver go down his spine as that eyelight dilated, staring them down in a way that made himself feel pinned under a microscope despite the lack of a CHECK.

It made him uneasy. “Hey pal, nobody ever told you it was bad manners to crash a party? Not even gonna invite yourself first, big guy?” Killer’s grin twitched wider, regaining its manic edge even as he felt the buzz of LV slowly dropping from the high. “What’s your deal?”

Dust shuffled a bit uneasily beside him, likely feeling the same wrongness he was getting from the giant. Though of course he was saying that a bit dramatically, as the stranger was probably only a head or two taller than himself. Maybe up to Undyne’s chin if he was being generous.

But, to be fair, a head or two was a lot for bags of bones like them..

The skeleton sighed, as if already annoyed with them, "my deal is.. I'm tired of hearing you two idiots fucking around in my forest... These are my hunting grounds.. and no humans are gonna come by with all your bullshit."

Dust's sockets narrowed, but there was a flicker of recognition in his eyes. "It’s Horror.. right? Heard stories about you.. Though, I thought you'd be.. taller."

The skeleton - or Horror - snorted, a hint of humor in his eyes. "And cruder and uglier and dumb as a rock, I bet?" His socket curled up into a crescent as his grin broadened somewhat mean spiritedly. “Sorry I’m not the.. hulking, stupid bonehead you were expecting,” he teased with a dry snicker.

Hm..? There seemed to have been a story there, or maybe an inside joke? He’d have to remember this exchange the next time he caught Dust in an amendable mood. It seemed like something that could be useful to have in future encounters.

Because he’d surely be making a return trip if that initial toss was more than a fluke…

“Ey.” He perked up, not having noticed that he had been drifting off in his mind until Dust not-too gently elbowed his rib, snapping him back into the moment to find Horror giving him a grin.

“Heh.. easy there pal… I know I’m handsome and all, but I don’t think you’re my type.”

Killer's grin only widened at Horror's taunts, the tension in the air somehow diffusing through the newcomer’s unusually relaxed and strange demeanor. Which he would later learn was due to the fact that the guy had no fucking magic, what the fuck. "Is that so? Your loss then.”

They were getting too comfortable..

Killer twirled the knife in his hand, subconsciously putting himself back in the mindset for a hard, dirty fight, ”So, big guy, you here to join the fun, or are you just gonna stand there and glare at us all day?"

Horror growled, eyelight narrowing as if he was disgusted by the suggestion. “Depends… Are you brats always this loud.. or is today an unlucky occasion?”

Dust tensed beside Killer, sensing some shift in Horror that Killer must’ve missed as his LV suddenly flared up in brief warning, letting the intent bleed out just a bit more threateningly as if to ward off some rabid animal. "..We don't back down from a fight," Dust muttered, his grip tightening on his bone construct.

Immediately, he recognized the stance Dust was falling into. Knew the moment he kicked off, the bastard would spring forwards and swipe with his magic attack, only to nail him with a hidden construct spearing out from the snow at his feet .

Killer braced himself, feeling the instinct to follow Dust’s intuition and using it as an excuse to test out the new toy. "Well then, big guy, let's see what you've got!" Without warning, Killer launched himself at the other, Dust following not too far behind.

They had their asses handed to them, in the end. Though, Horror wouldn’t walk away afterwards without his own wounds to lick- courtesy of one clever crack across the chin from Dust’s sneaky usage of Killer’s knife, but that didn’t discount the fact that they lost! Ugh, and the bastard didn’t even kill them afterwards! He just gave them a stupid warning before watching them slink out of the AU.

Ugh! He’ll have to pay the bastard back twice over next time! The sour ache in his bones only fuelled the sentiment, angry and spitting at having all of his hard work in winding Dust up to that point having been utterly wasted. Leaving his LV unfulfilled and pulsing like an open wound.

Well.. At least this could only be the worst of it.

~ ~ ~

Things only got worse from there, as his little jaunts across the dimensions finally seemed to catch the attention of the.. Star Sanses. Which, for the record, was the corniest ass name he had ever heard. They sounded like some cheesy music group, and certainly looked the part with those vomit-inducing colors.

Who the fuck even dressed in yellow, unironically..? That was like, the ugliest color of all time and the idiot had literally draped himself in it!

Admittedly, finding himself on the run as some kind of world-hopping criminal was cool as fuck.. For about a week. There were only so many times he could listen to the yellow idiot’s self-righteous and pitying monologues before wanting to stab out his ear canals- or more preferably the twat’s ribcage.

Besides, once he found out that the idiots were less about fighting and more dead set on ‘returning him to his rightful AU!’ All the fun and games were sucked right out of it.

The day Killer went back to that brain-rotting, monotonous, day-by-day, script-driven mockery of a life would be the day he RESET for the last time. And he was certain the sentiment was well shared, if Dust’s absolute frustration upon any mention of them was anything to go by.

Unfortunately, avoiding the goody-goodies - or ridding himself of them altogether - was something easier said than done. Because as much as they were naive, and overly optimistic, and laughably underleveled, one thing they were not was incompetent. Because apparently, two out of the three Sanses, were in fact not real Sanses, but Gods.

“Wait, waitwait waitwait wait.” He ignored the warning sneer Dust leveled him with for his theatrics, actually focusing more on their discussion for once than the idea of driving Dusty boy up a wall. “There’s Gods? Like- Gods exist, for real?” He had to grit his teeth to hide the doubtful laughter in his tone, though judging from the way Dust’s LV was starting to flicker to life, he was doing a shit job of it.

“You- are you fucking with me right now..?” Uh oh, he knew that tone, “you’ve been shitting around the multiverse for up to a year now, and you’re telling me you didn’t even know shit about the Gods?”

Killer tilted his head. Then looked around the dusty pub they were seated in, a reflection of his own Grillby’s if not considerably more stocked. He looked around as if someone would seriously appear to clear his good name, but when none of the dusted remains of the regulars saw fit to do so, he just shrugged his shoulders.

“Uhhh.. nope.” Killer looked over to Horror with a hopeful look, only for the larger skeleton to pointedly ignore his beseeching, winning smile in favor of cleaning the rest of his plate with a wry curve of his teeth. Traitor.

Dust slammed his bony hand on the table, rattling the city of half-empty glasses he had scattered about his side of the bar top. “You’ve got to be kidding me! Do you even take anything seriously?”

“Nah,” without looking, he took one of Dust’s many abandoned shot glasses and threw it back, slamming the empty cup a little more exaggeratedly just to play on the asshole’s nerves. “What’s the big deal anyway? Aside from being super annoying to shake off, they don’t really seem all that threatening..”

Dust took a deep, exaggerated breath, clearly struggling to keep his temper in check as his phalanges tore a small line through the wood. “That’s because they don’t see you as enough of a threat to treat you seriously, you fucking doughnut.”

That momentarily took him off guard. “Doughnut..?” He whispered to himself. Over his shoulder, he could hear Horror chuckling to himself, repeating the insult under his breath.

“That yellow fucker? Dream, or whatever? He’s the God of ‘Positivity’ or some shit,” as if recalling a particularly upsetting memory, Dust suddenly uncorked a new bottle before chugging it back. “First time I came across the little bastard, I was gathering up some EXP in an AU..” the psycho’s eyelights shuddered out, a bitter look growing over his mug as his wrist absentmindedly swirled the contents of his bottle.

“Came outta nowhere, suddenly confronting me about all this bullshit about ‘helping me become a better person’ and ‘easing my suffering’ or whatever.” He took another swig, “Been a long time since someone pissed me off like that..” his empty gaze suddenly jerked back to Killer as his voice trailed off. “Well, since someone who didn’t deserve it pissed me off, that is..”

Several glasses along the bar top went scattering across the floor as Killer lurched up in half-genuine annoyance- thankfully all empty, or Dust would’ve torn him a new one. “Ey! What’s that supposed to mean, Dusty?! I thought we were friends?!”

Both skeletons seated beside him leaned away in disgust.

“Yeah.. no thanks pal.” As if to make a point, Horror took his plate and scooted just a bit away from them, a motion that Dust was quick to imitate. Bastards, the both of them. Why did Killer even think of these two as friends playmates, again?

“You guys are so mean to me..!” Killer allowed a brief silence to settle overhead for maybe three minutes, as his soul cycled itself back into a completely perfect circle. “So what happened..?”

Dust side-eyed him with a completely new bottle in his hands, “Mmm..?”

“About Dreamy?”

Again, the same look of disdain flashed over the hooded monster’s features before he resolutely pinned his glare to the contents of his drink. “Tried to kill him.”

Horror snorted from where he was rummaging under the counter, his grin widening as he pulled back with something that looked like a mini-fridge. “Bet that went well.”

Dust's grip on the bottle tightened, the glass creaking under the pressure. “Bastard just kept dodging everything, wasn’t breaking so much as a sweat even after I busted out the blasters.. Even worse, when he hit me with those arrows…” He stopped for a moment, suddenly leveling them both a serious look, “have either of you ever been hit by those?”

“Hah, I’m not that unlucky,” Killer replied, a playful smirk dancing on his face. Horror only made a questioning sound behind him, seeming to take interest in the conversation with Dust’s seriousness.

“It felt like my skull was being.. hotboxed or some shit.. Like, the bastard’s magic was seeping into my head and- and I don’t even know how to describe it.. I could still feel my LV burning, but whatever the bastard did was making it harder and harder to summon enough intent to attack. I didn’t want to fight anymore, but my magic still did- and- and it..” Dust's grip on the bottle relaxed slightly as he exhaled, a mix of frustration and resignation evident in his tone. “I had to bail before I overheated.”

That… Killer didn’t exactly know what to expect after Dust said ‘God of Positivity’ but that.. that was not it. He imagined briefly what it would be like to feel his LV screaming at him, not being able to summon any attacks. Experiencing his intent seeping through his fingers as some hopeless kid with a hero-complex tried to reprimand him for his life decisions as his magic burned itself outside-in.

He had to hunch over the counter as an intense wave of nausea radiated from his soul, causing large splatters of hate to spillover from his sockets.

Oh… that.. that was not a great feeling.

Killer leaned back, ignoring the pointed looks the two were giving him for his outburst. “Damn, sounds like a party pooper.”

Well, if he didn’t have enough reason to avoid the Star shits before..

Horror grunted, phalanges slowly creeping towards the socket housing his ill-gotten eye with a contemplative frown, “they've been a thorn in my side too.” He admitted.

“Sometimes, when things are getting a bit too rough for Traps, I try and do some ‘grocery shopping’ y’know..? But more often than not.. that stupid Ink-asshole shows up to ruin everything,” Horror grumbled, his fingers now hooked along his socket. “Like he’s got nothing better to do than meddle in my business.”

Killer snorted, shaking his head. “Ink..? Seriously? What’s he gonna do, paint you to death?”

“Don’t underestimate him,” Dust interjected, his voice low and serious. “Ink might be a brainless loon, but he’s also probably the most dangerous out of the three of them. He’s got crazy power and little to no consciousness in wielding it. You think Dream and his arrows are bad? Try pissing off someone who goes around warping timelines into ones like ours for shits and giggles.”

..What..?

Dust gave Killer a dark look, a flicker of frustration passing over his features. “That other God? Yeah, that’s Ink. Calls himself ‘the Creator’ or something tacky like that. He supposedly plays a hand in making AUs, but I don’t know how legitimate that rumor is.”

Seriously..?

Killer remembered Ink, even thought of the bumbling moron as the most palatable of the trio - at least he didn’t seem to be so obsessed with forcing his morals down other people’s throats - but the idea of the scatterbrained artist being a God was almost laughable. Almost.

Killer’s grin faltered slightly, a shiver running down his spine at the thought. “Great. So, we’ve got one God who can mess with our minds and another who sees us as customizable pets.. That’s fantastic.”

Usually, he’d be all for a good challenge or two to mix things up, but this was clearly looking to be an inevitable nightmare. Would his RESET be able to pull him through his code being rewired, or his own head being fucked with..?

The uncertainty in that was very disconcerting.

“Oh..? You finally realizing how fucked you are?” Dust's tone was filled with bitter amusement, though his glare spoke of a deeper frustration. “These guys are playing on a whole different level. And we're nothing but misbehaving brats where they’re coming from..”

Killer slouched back in his seat, rubbing his sternum as if to physically dispel the unease creeping through him. He didn’t like seeing the unease wobbling in his soul. He didn’t like feeling.

“So we’re supposed to just keep running and hiding like a bunch of beat dogs?!” Killer himself was startled by just how virulent his tone came out. However, he was quick to wave it off- he was mad, of course he was fucking mad. He came out into this multiverse, slayed the kid once and for all, gave up his very character, thinking he was finally set free from the monotony, the pain.

And now, just because of a couple of idiot gods with hero-complexes, he was back to bowing down in the face of some untouchable power..?

NO. FUCK THAT.

Emboldened by the frustrated growls sounding out in response to his outburst, Killer darted up from his seat, sockets fixed upon the wooden grooves of the bar top as his soul fizzled with sparks of determination.

Immediately, he could feel the heavy intent hovering over the back of his neck. As well as saw the tell-tale glow of Dust’s magic reflecting in the multitude of abandoned bottles.

He didn’t even flinch as he craned his skull back to see the craggily ridges in Horror’s axe glint menacingly under the dim light. In the corner of his eye, he could see Dust braced for a lunge, a slew of bones twirling over his shoulder in caution. But instead of feeling threatened, Killer felt a spark of inspiration.

“Let’s team up.” He proposed, his voice cutting through the tension much like his favored knives.

Dust’s sockets narrowed, and Horror’s grip tightened on his axe. “What kind of bullshit are you on now..?”

Killer shook his head, a manic grin twitching wider, meaner, sharper across his face. “So you’re just gonna spend the rest of your lives living under the thumbs of those sanctimonious pricks? You two hated your worlds enough to find a way out into this multiverse, but now that the enemy ain’t some cheating little brat, you wanna call it quits?”

Neither looked amused - good, that’s exactly what he wanted - and Killer could taste the bitterness feeding into their LV.

Dust was the first to speak, his voice dripping with skepticism as he let the bones drop- but not yet dissipate. “So, you think teaming up will solve all our problems? You think we can take on Gods, Killer? Seriously?”

He didn’t let his expression waver. He leaned backwards instead, forcing his bones to languidly stretch out along the bar top in a show of confidence. “I’m saying we can be stronger together. We’ve all had enough of our lives being determined by someone else, haven’t we?”

Feeling a bit audacious, Killer reached out and flicked the remaining bone attack from Dust’s loose hold, sending it clattering to the floor in a playful, teasing manner. The typically neurotic maniac didn’t even seem to flinch.

“C’mon Dusty… don’t tell me you went and collected all that LV just to play it safe.. Maybe getting out of that comfort zone of your’s will finally help you loosen up a lil’.”

Horror's grip on his axe loosened slightly, a malicious grin slowly growing along his features as he let it settle over his shoulder. “You know what..? Fuck it.. why the hell not? I’ve been wanting to show that little… blue pet of theirs a thing or two.”

Dust still looked skeptical, but there was a flicker of interest, of temptation, in his sockets that Killer was quick to latch on to. “You really think we can take them on..? The Star Sanses aren’t just powerful, they’re connected. They’ve got resources, allies, and a moral high ground that makes them practically untouchable.”

Killer’s head tilted, a coy smirk rising up in the shadows of his features as he chuckled, “the game wouldn’t be half as fun though, would it..?”

. . . . .

He knew the moment Dust’s grin rose to match his own, he’d won himself a couple of new playmates.

#undertale au #utmv #undertale #undertale fanfiction #fanfiction #bad sans gang #bad sanses #murder time trio #alternate universe #dadmare #beta version #its not that great #but its not bad either #basically me wanting to write a fic about the murder trio forcing dadmare to adopt them #honestly I might just take this down later from cringe #bc I know I could've done better than this

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ellesthots · 4 months ago

Text

Fateful Beginnings

XXI. “belonging”

parts: previous / next

plot: somehow, you always find your way back home. Batman gets an intriguing lead on John Doe.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, dead body, cancer, confrontation, depression

words: 3.2k

Tears studded your cheeks as you vented to Mar about the morning's happenings. She'd never liked Dr. Vry, and at some point the conversation had exploded into a rant about the subpar character of the woman. "Remember when she accidentally input my A as a C and told me 'fate' must have guided her grade input? Then didn't fucking change it because of fucking, written in the stars bullshit? Fucking tanked my GPA."

"I just don't get it. The email said nothing about him, she said nothing about reporting on him besides being excited he would be there." You collapsed flat on your back in a starfish pose. "It was like she expected me to be starstruck by him or something. Like that was the only course of action." Like everyone else seems to be. The world caters to flashy, superficial things.

"Fuck her! You don't need her!"

You stared at her blankly for a moment. "Except for my housing, my food, my plane tickets back home?"

"How much an hour is it? Like $15?"

"$43."

"Oh fuck, in this economy you should've said you'd suck his dick, too."

Maybe you were spending a little too much time with her. "I feel like alluding to me doing anything with that man should be a crime." You flopped back on your bed and checked the time--it was barely past noon. You hadn't even managed to be at the job until the afternoon... shame threatened to cocoon you faced with such obvious failure. At this point you remembered the check Dr. Vry had sent would arrive today, and a few minutes later you sat inputting the code you'd been mailed to your digital check.

You spent the next twenty minutes listening to Mar continue to rant while you ordered some groceries. By that point she'd gotten a text from one of her friends for their Friday night bar hangout and had dismissed herself, leaving you tethered to your house as you waited to stock your fridge. You watched out the window as she got into an Uber, and after she was gone for sure, and just as the check deposited, you called your mom. Moreso even than the likely imminent firing, the stress of her health threatened to spiral you off the deep end. She picked up on the third ring. She sounded tired.

"Hey, hun." She cleared her throat, then yawned. You heard a small buzzing sound in the background, then heard a small meow. Another night he spent purring and cuddling her. Thanks, Walter. God, you were so glad she had him. "Everything alright? The photos you sent of your apartment were really good, I showed them to Debbie and she couldn't believe it! 'In GOTHAM?' is what she told me!"

To tell or not to tell about the troubles this week held? She yawned again. Not the time. "You sound tired." Your grip tightened around the phone.

She sighed. "My doctors moved my appointment to six thirty in the morning, can you believe that?" She tsk-d.

"How'd the appointment go?"

"Oh just fine. I had to sign a bunch of paperwork and talk to practically everyone in the place." She sounded bored and vaguely annoyed, which she hadn't been before. Irritability a potential side effect?

"Did the shot hurt?" Small talk, but what else was there to discuss? Your likely firing?

"Nope." She began cooing to Walter, who became exponentially louder with his purr.

"How's your arm? Any side effects yet?" God, why did things feel so dry today? Did Gotham really create so much distance already between you and your family? Were you just anxious and overthinking? Was she annoyed?

"My my, they must have you busy with interviewing skills."

You opened your mouth to respond, but she questioned you instead. "When are you coming back hon?"

This question confused you. "Uh, whenever you need me to, but I thought starting next month? For the injections?" You twirled with a frayed end on your blanket. Can I still return this? It's been like a week and it's already tearing apart... she snapped you out of your wandering with her next sentence.

"Sure, your dad and I are going on a cruise this week."

A cruise? Right after her first dose of an experimental cancer drug? With unknown side effects? "Mom, your treatment,"

"Oh we'll only be gone a week. Won't interfere with my next appointment." Walter meowed again. Who would be taking care of him?

"I mean, okay. I just think with not knowing the side effects of your first dose,"

"The way I see it dear is this might be the best I ever get to feel."

That sentence hit like a ton of bricks atop bruised ribs. "Couldn't you wait a week, just see the side effects?"

"The cruise leaves the port tomorrow."

"Mom,"

"We still can't believe that donor. Whoever they are, they really opened our finances up. Your father's been saving for years to try and make that initial bulk payment,"

You recalled the argument they'd had when your mother's cancer was initially found. Your mom wanted to start a payment plan immediately, but your dad thought if he put it into deferment for a few years and made payments to a high yield savings account every month their money would 'go exponentially further'. You hadn't cared much at the time, mostly because money stressed you the hell out, and at the time you were trying to avoid thinking about your mother's prognosis. Before you could decide what to say next, your dad had walked into the room and starting shouting loud enough for you to hear on the phone.

"Hey sweets, how are you and that Wayne guy doing?"

"I don't know how else to tell you guys I don't like him. We don't talk." This conversation was going nowhere, and you could smell an impending argument if you stayed on even another minute. You needed to check on one last thing before hanging up. "Who's looking after Walter?"

"Oh don't worry about that,"

"I am worried. Do you need me to come back to watch him?"

"Debbie will be stopping in throughout the week to check on him."

Walter was never very fond of Debbie; whenever she came over, in fact, he ran and hid. If you knew Debbie any less you might think Walter was placing judgment on her character, but no: she was just very loud, her laugh sounding a bit like a stampede. Walter was never very skittish, but after enough startles, he'd come to hide whenever he heard her come around. His discomfort was all you needed. "Tell her not to come, I'm coming home for the week."

"Hon," your mom began to chastise you, but you refused to let her finish. "No, no, I'm coming home tomorrow and I will stay with him. Case closed." After saying goodbye and lying about having already bought a nonrefundable ticket, you hung up and bought the earliest flight for tomorrow: 11am. You did your best to avoid thoughts of how the thousand Dr. Vry had sent was already disappearing, and filled the rest of your evening (sans figuring out what to do with fresh bags of perishable groceries) packing to head back the next day.

The bat signal hadn't lit since Thursday night. Bruce had been left reeling, kicking himself for not following up with Gordon on the owl debacle. He went out every night, and every few hours would move to the usual meeting place with Gordon to find an empty sky. It was Wednesday night before the signal lit again, and by that point Bruce had nearly gaslit himself into thinking the owls hadn't been there in the first place.

Gordon looked morose, but resolved. "We have the autopsy back for our John Doe." He held up a graphic photo of the man, gray and laid out on stainless steel. His chest and abdominal cavities were peeled open and pinned to keep tension, revealing a normal—yet punctured—chest and abdomen. Gordon confirmed its complete lack of novelty. "Nothing. Couldn't even trace back a name. No one posting about a missing husband, child, brother, nephew, friend." He paused to clear his throat. "However, we did find something unusual in one of his fillings."

"Unusual? How?"

"The coroner said he almost didn't catch it, but he runs the deceased through an MRI machine after especially gruesome cases. Normally fillings don't show up on magnets, but these ones did." He held out his other hand, revealing a few small pieces of chipped silvery metal. The metal was extremely slick and had a mirror finish to its shine. "It's a metallic alloy of sorts. I'll send it to the lab for processing."

He nearly asked to take it back to his own lab, but that would pressure the boundaries. Gordon was in a tight spot being seen with Batman. He couldn't push it. "How long until it's processed?"

Gordon shrugged, his nose scrunched like he was still smelling formaldehyde's stench. Bruce thought he might've caught a whiff off his jacket. "Not more than a coupla days. I'll signal for you." If the city was in a better place, if Gordon was in a better mood, he might have winked.

The pause gave Bruce just enough time to speak. He said it casually, without much fuss, as if it were a rolling breeze. "Did you see what was on the knives' handles?"

Gordon sighed. A good one? A bad one? Bruce's eyes trained on him like a hawk. The cowl felt tight. "Chicken scratch, most of 'em."

"Most?" Say more.

"No traceable logo."

Frustration bled into his tone. "Looked like an owl."

Gordon's eyes focused on no particular point on the back wall, his eyes narrowing. What? He saw it too, right? pounded against his ribs to be heard. After what felt like hours Gordon shook his head. "Maybe."

"Maybe?" Was this an elaborate scheme? Did Gordon not see it? Was his, was his mind failing him? It glinted off the light perfectly, the etching was transparent in its shape, the beak, the feathers, the claws...

"You alright?" The Bat was lost in thought, breathing thick and heavy. Bruce nodded. To push, or not to push? Silence hung like smog between them. It was crucial to push it, imperative to reality check his mental faculties. "It didn't resemble an owl to you?"

Gordon shrugged. It gave no information to Bruce, who was close to running out of the room and laying face-down in his pillow the rest of the night while he actively avoided looking further into the death of his great-grandfather. Was his time coming sooner than his had? Was it due to his lack of sociability? Had he been concussed one too many times? His neuronal pathways seized up, the myelin sheaths disintegrated?

"Do you know anything about owls?"

Did Gordon know? Was this a trick question? Wait, he wasn't Bruce. He considered saying he'd seen them in peculiar position throughout town, but moreso than Gordon's rocky relationship with the police force, the man had no idea who Batman was; Bruce had to keep exclusively to formidable behavior due to the weakness of the knot tying them together. A kooky moment, or a Freudian slip could force Gordon to take out some scissors and sever their relationship. Bruce shook his head, and left.

Uber. TSA. Flight. Baggage. Uber. Key. Door. Lock. Walter. Eat. Sleep. Walter. Eat. Sleep. Walter. Eat. Sleep. Walter. The past few days had passed in such inconsequential monotony you resisted the conclusion you weren't alive at all. The only moments of reprieve you gathered were when Walter walked up and jumped into bed beside you, tucking his fluffy back against your stomach. He was the only reason you were able to sleep with the anxiety of your job being in limbo, and your mom having fled the town after her first shot. Your mom had left a note saying that the connection would be spotty on the cruise, but they would be back no later than 5pm the following Friday. Now it was Wednesday, and the food your parents had left was starting to dwindle. Your muscles ached to be moved further than the walk from your bed to the bathroom, your bed to the kitchen, or your bed to the living room couch. You put another ice cube into Walter's bowl, grabbed your helmet that was thankfully still in the hallway closet, and took off for a ride to the grocery store on your mom's old bike.

The air was warm, and the sun threatened to burn every centimeter of exposed skin. You'd forgotten just long enough that the stinging sensation was of hot sun piercing onto skin to where you decided against going back for SPF. You didn't have to worry about such basic, human things in Gotham; the sun barely came out, and when it did it was covered by such dense clouds and thick smog you couldn't begin to feel heat against your skin whatsoever. The buildings were hard and cold, the dense metal keeping you chilled no matter the season. Now the sun accosted you, the wheels of the bike running over fresh leaves and the occasional string of hay. You swerved past clumps of clay dirt that lay in the middle of the road, shut your eyes for a few seconds as you coasted, not having to look out for a pedestrian or car every five feet. This was living, this was where you wanted to be. Tears prickled your eyes as you coasted into the dusty parking lot of WinCo, a local grocery store chain to the PNW. You forgot a bike lock, but the city was small and trusted enough that you never heard about bikes getting stolen, anyway. The initial panic was immediately eased, as well as the tight knot in your chest. Maybe you belonged... here?

You walked into the grocery and went straight for the fruit aisle. As you placed apples and oranges and pears in your basket, you absentmindedly flipped through the past. When you were growing up here, it was too boring. You'd wanted nothing more than to leave. You wanted to see skyscrapers, and big cities, and always have something happening around you. Now that you had experienced the worst of what a city could give, this town with its penetrating sun and lofty trees felt like paradise. A paradise that was quickly interrupted, when you accidentally knocked baskets with Lara. "Oh shit,"

"Y/N?" She pulled her basket in and glanced to her left, at someone who you presumed was her exchange boyfriend. She stared at your shoes, you noticed her cheeks going pink. Tension yanked on your shoulders and your stomach flipped. "Hi. I'm watching Walter while my parents are on a cruise."

"No longer in Gotham?" Her boyfriend turned around when she mentioned The Most Feared City, and walked over. "Gotham? That shitshow? I don't know how anyone can live there."

Fucking prick. A strange defensiveness overtook you. "It's not as bad as people make it out to be." Yes it was. "I'm just visiting home, I have a journalism job back there."

"How's Bruce Wayne?" Her tone was mocking, quite unlike Lara, and you figured it had to be Rose and Gabbi's bitter influence in the time you'd been gone that brought this upon her. Mystery Man's eyes lit up, one of the buttons on his shirt threatened to pop like the bulgy vein in his forehead. "You know Bruce Wayne? The Bruce Wayne?"

"She knows him, alright." She side-eyed the guy and giggled. He laughed, which was startling, and shame bolted through your body like a sticky, sharp rod. He leaned into her ear and said, still loud enough for you to hear and likely purposely so, "Her?"

Before shame could fully envelope you, you righted the wrong; in part because the idea of someone believing Bruce had been inside you made you want to sink into the floor, in another wanting to assuage yourself of guilt. "We haven't fucked. Sorry. I was just trying to get back at losers I thought were my friends."

Lara gasped. "I can't believe you!" It rung hollow in your ear just as Dr. Vry had. If someone put their hand over your head they'd feel steam. "You didn't used to be like this, it's fucking disappointing." You spun around and ignored what she was saying behind you, shoving your feet against the ground, making your calves burn with each grief-consumed footstep. It doesn't matter what they think. It doesn't matter what she's saying. Soon enough you made it across the store to the pantry aisle, pretending to inspect some cavatappi noodles in your quivering hands. The cardboard soaked up your bulleted tears, and you tossed it in your basket after catching a glimpse of your reflection in the boxes' plastic window. You fell to your knees and covered it up pretending to inspect the marinara, not trusting your thighs or knees to keep you steady. Everything hit you all at once, panic rising in your chest and narrowing your esophagus. You grabbed a random sauce and ran to the self checkout, ringing up your two items, grabbing a bag, and taking off for home.

The ride home wasn't as quaint as the one there. The sun wasn't at your backside, now it seared into your bleary eyes as it set, making you unable to see a rock in the road, sending you flying overtop the handlebars. When you touched your knees and elbows, they stung and stained your fingertips red. The last ten minutes of the walk was utter misery, as blood dribbled slowly down your knees and down to your wrists. Walter meowed when you came back, but you couldn't pet him. You turned the water as cold as you could manage to wash away the cakey blood and dirt. Your hands hesitated before lathering the shampoo, and when they scrubbed the back of your head you began to cry again. Your face was hot and your body ice cold. You sat on the floor, pulled your knees up, and wrapped your hands around your chest as sobs shrieked out of you. The water ran pink, then pastel, then clear. Being alive hurt. The thought pounded at the back of your corneas, chafed blisters between your thighs, and spiked the ridges in your throat, that you might never, ever, feel "home". Walter meowed at the door, you turned off the shower, and toweled off to open another can of Friskies.

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selineram3421 · 2 years ago

Note

hiii may I request alastor w a super cheery and sweet s/o? Basically everyone is terrified of him but then there’s reader who they think is the sweetest angel who somehow got sent to hell. Even alastor has never seen reader mad, but then an incident happens (you can decide what!) and reader loses it, later they’re covered in blood but they still have a cute lil smile even though there is a dead body underneath them. Alastor is watching respectfully. He’s stunned but is incredibly entertained. Def wants to see it happen again.

Oh I love this! Sweet sweet sweet.

Sweet Dangerous Thing

Romantic: Alastor X Sweet Reader

Warning! ⚠

⚠ descriptive injuries, blood, fluff, soft Alastor ⚠

Alastor was always unpredictable, chaos wise and just in general. Everyone around him would always be on edge. Waiting for his next plan of attack.

This time however, the hotel crew (who all knew of the Radio Demon's shenanigans) were surprised by the soft looking demon he brought over one day.

"This is the establishment I'm working with my dear.", he says softly.

Mouths hit the floor at the way he looked at the demon on his arm. It was like the way Gomez would gaze at Morticia, but ace.

"Oh its absolutely lovely!", they say with glittering eyes, looking around the lobby. "How does the kitchen look? Is it big?", they asked looking at him with a head tilt.

"That's what she said-", Angel coughed.

Vaggie whacks the spider quickly and Charlie shushes him.

"It's a chef's dream!", he says, walking them over to the kitchen. "A baker's too!"

The crew follows, peeking through the kitchen door windows to see the two demons interact.

"Who is that?", Charlie asks. "Hun, do you know?", the blonde looks to her girlfriend.

"Nuh-uh. Deadbeat?", Vaggie looks to Husk.

"Hell, I'm surprised that they ain't dead yet. Niffty?", the cat demon looks up at the little cyclops sitting on his shoulders.

"Nope! Not a clue!", Niffty says, face pressed against the glass. "Sparkle?", she says, not taking her eyes off of the two.

"How the fuck would I know?", Angel says.

Meanwhile, the two in the kitchen are looking at the oven.

"So much space! I could make pie, cake, bread, cookies!", they list off, opening the oven door.

"I assume its to your liking?", he asks with a smile.

"You bet'cha! And there's a sink in the island counter! It really is a baker's dream!", they gush.

The others just outside the door began arguing about who it could be.

"Must be another poor fool who made a deal.", Husk says.

"No way! Have you seen that smile! Its totally different.", Charlie shakes her head.

"What if he's just playing nice until he kills them?", Vaggie shrugs.

"Maybe a friend?", Niffty guesses.

"Nah. That's his fuck buddy.", Angel smirks, crossing his arms.

Everyone looks at the spider demon with a grossed out face. Vaggie literally kicks his ass and he hits the doors, falling face first onto the kitchen tiles.

It's quiet.

Charlie steps over Angel, watching out for his hands and looks up with a smile. "Hi! I'm Charlie and welcome to the Happy Hotel!", she says clasping her hands together.

"That's nice but are they ok?", they ask, pointing at the fluffy demon.

"I'm-", Angel is cut off by Vaggie.

"He's fine, just an idiot."

"Um-", they go to speak but the other two also enter the kitchen.

"Who the fuck are you?", Husk bluntly asks.

Alastor's smile twitches. "That's quite rude Husker, ask properly."

The cat demon quickly changes his tone after clearing his throat. "We don't know who you are, can you tell us?"

Everyone is shocked at the answer they give.

"I'm Alastor's significant other!"

After introductions, you all sat in the lobby.

The group asked for details, so you settled with telling them about the day that you and Alastor had met.

"I was trying to order something at a café and some brute of a demon tried to lay a hand on me.", you explain.

"Of course being the gentleman that I am, I couldn't let such a thing happen!", Alastor says proudly.

Most of them want to say bullshit but kept quiet.

You smile at your darling and place a hand on his. "He defused the situation and offered to pay for my things.", then you look back to the others. "Its quite the café cliché but we've kept in touch since and one thing led to another. Now we're here!"

They sat in front of you both, a bit shocked at you holding hands with the red dressed demon.

"I'm very glad that I took care of it. I got to meet such a lovely being worthy of my attention.", Alastor lifts up your hand and kisses the back of it.

That was nearly two weeks ago. The shocked look on their faces made you laugh.

And you being so kind, gentle, and naturally sweet. They wondered how exactly you ended up in Hell, deeming it a mistake.

(Also wondering how the hell Alastor got you. Especially with him being...well, him.)

You were at the hotel today, helping Niffty with making and setting up baked goods for guests to take. She would ask a lot of questions, but you surprised her by keeping up with things you could answer.

The doors open and a demon rushes in. "I need help!", they gasp out.

"Is everything alright?", you ask confused, stepping out from behind the check-in counter.

Husk's ear twitches and moves it to the side to listen in from the bar.

"Please! I n-need somewhere to hide!", the demoness says and looks back towards the doors.

"Calm down now, I'll help but I need you to explain at the counter.", you usher them over to hide under the counter and give a pen and paper. "Niffty, would you be so kind to finish up?"

The little demon nods and speeds her way into the kitchen to get the rest of the sweets.

Getting more check-in papers, you gently whisper to the scared demon. "Stay quiet and write down what's-"

The doors are kicked open by someone with a loud bang.

"WHERE ARE YOU!? YOU FUCKING BITCH!", a bull demon shouts.

The noise gains the attention of the others in the vicinity. Including Alastor.

"Hello sir! Would you like to check into the Happy Ho-", you don't get to finish as they stomp over, grabbing your face and pulling you forward.

"Where. Are. They.", he demands.

Before Alastor can take a step, there's a loud snap.

"AAAAARGH!", the bull shouts out in pain, his wrist twisted all the way around and to the point of muscles ripping and blood spilling out.

Your mouth split open with a sharp row of teeth, your smile is wide as you laugh in such a disturbing tone it sends shivers down everyone's spine.

"ꁸꐇꂑꍟ꓅! Quiet~", you shout and then repeat softly, tapping the demon on his nose.

He hisses as you pull at his hand, making the skin stretch at the wrist, the pain getting worse.

"I ought to teach you a lesson on proper manners! You just stormed through here as if you were the ruler of Hell! Tsk tsk.", you shake your head in disappointment. "And to treat staff so poorly. How awful."

The demon before you scowls. "I'm here looking for a bitch-"

Another twist of his wrist and he shuts up after letting out another shout in pain.

"Disrespectful too!", you say, ripping off his hand completely and tossing it to the side.

He screams in pain, moving away from you and holding his bleeding arm. "YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT!", the bull shouts.

Then he makes the mistake of trying to hit you.

Most of the bystanders watch with fear or disgust. However, Alastor watches with fascination and awe. His heart skipping a beat as you tear the demons neck open with your teeth.

You drop the body of the now double dead demon and sigh when looking down at the messy floor. "Oh jeez, Niffty is not going to like this.", you say with a frown, blood stains covering your form.

Alastor goes up to you and holds you close. "That was magnificent my darling!", he says, picking you up with a spin. "You had my heart racing! You sweet, dangerous thing!"

You just giggle and wrap your arms around him.

The others just stand there stunted by how you both just ignore the body. Even the girl you helped looks weirded out. They watch as you both leave, Alastor still carrying you and not minding the blood at all.

Niffty quickly goes to work, disposing the body and cleaning the floors.

"So..that happened.", Angel says with a shake of his head. "Who knew Sweet-cheeks was crazy like Smiles."

Charlie walks over to the new demon behind the counter. "Hey.. Would you like to stay at the Happy Hotel?"

"It was like the way Gomez would gaze at Morticia, but ace."- I want this.

~Seline, the person.

Taglist@

@c4rved-pumpk1n @ducky-is-dead-inside @stolas-thebirb

I'm going to connect this to another work.

This one➡ Here!~✨

ML for Alastor🎙

#x reader #gn reader #alastor x reader #romantic #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #alastor the radio demon #hazbin hotel alastor #fanfic #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fanfiction #niffty hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel angel dust #charlie hazbin hotel #vaggie hazbin hotel #husk hazbin hotel #like gomez and morticia but ace

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hell-drabbles · 7 months ago

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I imagine Companion will go back to human world but would treat Hell/Heaven like a vacation home after all the trouble is finally over and sorted

They'd like visit Hell occasionally maybe just during the Winter months or something like for Lucifer

Also what would Companion and Solomon's relationship be like if they had ever met?

I might write a Companion and Solomon piece now

What if Companion was alive in Solomon's time rather then Ra-On's

Dante Anon

Hmm that's assuming I have this Embittered Companion AU end on a happy note. I kid I kid, though I would imagine that instead of vacation home, it be more like visiting relatives on the Companion's part? It's not the place they're attached to so much as the people there.

Anyways hhohohoho I have thoughts!! Read under the cut, because I ramble.

Though, I wouldn't be shock if there were angels and devils that are trying to make excuses and events to have the Companion stay longer. They want the Companion to treat Hell and Heaven like a vacation home but the Companion has a lot of fun not giving them what they want. And it ends up sparking a weird rivalry between the angels and devils on who can get the Companion to treat their realm as a vacation spot first. That would be funny.

Anyways...

If anything, the Companion probably visits those places every once in a while just to make sure things aren't going to shit. Probably had a few scares that another war was brewing because of the amount of chaos happening in Hell and Heaven, but nope that's just their default state of being. Angels and devils are always brimming with the need to fight and fuck so they just express it openly, to the detriment of the buildings around them.

One of those "I care for them but boy am I not in the mood to handle what drama will come of it." Because there will always be drama. The Companion is cursed with that bad luck!

Hmm the Companion and Solomon interacting... Well, let's see, I would imagine hostility(shocker, I know right?) on the Companion's part because the first time they've met him would be when Solomon temporarily takes over Ra-on's body and that's a big no no in their books. Though, what is the Companion to do besides do their usual verbal threats? They can't just punch the problem out of Ra-on, because that's his body they're hitting.

And, well, obviously Solomon can't hate the Companion in any capacity because he's lived long enough to know that this anger is coming from care in their heart. He's got that kind of long lived wisdom to him that sort of pisses off the Companion because no matter what the Companion says, he won't flinch of falter at any of the words they say. He pities them and every other devil and even Ra-on. Solomon has basically endless patience and the Companion can't help but interpret that as him treating all of them like they're children. Like his years of experience automatically makes him obligated to teach them, so any advice he tries to give tends to snub the Companion the wrong way. Any advice given to the Companion when they're angry tends to translate to "There's something wrong with your way of life, your independence, so I'm gonna give you advice so you can correct that."

Because lord knows Ra-on tried to do the "protagonist gives life advice and wisdom when they have no experience to justify or explain it," to the Companion and it escalated to a huge argument. You know, when the dating sim protagonist somehow say the right words towards a love interest that is having their second act breakdown. The kind of words that are very much holier than thou but because they're the "right words," the love interest takes them in and is forever changed. So yeah, who is Ra-on to think he's in any position to give life advice to someone like the Companion who has their shit together?

And ho, if the Companion was alive during Solomon's time? Man, imagine some reincarnation bullshit where the Companion and Solomon were very close friends, where Solomon had a crush on the Companion at one point but they were lost to the sands of time or disease or an angel attack? Either way, the Companion is the Lost Lenore to Solomon and man did he spend a long time mourning for them. Solomon passes, lays dormant for who knows how long until Solomon reawakens again in Ra-on though his blood. He pities the descendant that has to undo all his contracts, has to inherit all the troubles that Solomon had left behind,

And then Solomon sees the exact face he thought was forever lost. Solomon can't say a word, can't even breathe.

And just as Solomon is about to run to them, to embrace them as he always wanted, the Companion glares, grabs this body by the shoulders and growls, "Who the fuck are you?"

Wouldn't that be a time?

#admin #embittered companion au #solomon #ra-on #dante.anon

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osaemu · 1 year ago

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could you do professor aizawa who has a student always running late to lectures and loud and annoying. And he catches her breaking the law (doing graffiti or something) and threatens to expel her but comes to a compromise and sees a different side of her? If not anything u write is amazing anyways! ❤️❤️

ミ★ who says? 🜚

pairing: aizawa x reader

summary: your reputably strict teacher catches you breaking the law – minor offense or not, who knows how he'll react?

word count: ~1.5k

warnings: no explicit romantic interest, but you can interpret it that way if you want. cursing. graffiti? mentions of illegal activities. half-baked character backstory. barely proofread.

a/n: hey anon! sorry this took a while, i just haven't really been motivated lately so um my bad! i wasn't sure if you wanted the request in a romantic way so i went the safe route, just lmk if you want me to write another one!

"what the hell are you doing?"

caught off guard by the sudden sound of a deep voice, you yelp and quickly turn around. a tall, dark figure emerges from the shadowed alley behind you, and to your dismay, it's your taciturn professor.

fuck.

"oh, hey, sir!" you say hurriedly, desperately trying to appear casual while leaning to the left a little. you attempt to hide the neon spray paint decorating the wall behind you, even though you know your efforts are futile. "...what are you doing here?"

aizawa scowls and takes a step forward, letting the flickering lamplight illuminate him. "cut the bullshit and answer the question," he says irritably.

that would be a problem. his eyes were already trailing to the paint behind you, and the last thing you wanted to do was explain why you were in a dark alley in the middle of the night.

you should've expected that he'd be here, lurking the corners of the city like a stray cat. actually, was that a tuft of cat hair on his shoulder?

well, whether the answer was yes or no, there was certainly a scowl on your teacher's sharp features. the shadowed alley and dim lamplight further accentuate his face, and it's right then when you realize that hey, your teacher was kinda...

nope. not going there.

thankfully, aizawa didn't really give you the time to reflect on your possibly-broken brain before his narrow eyes focused on the neon scene behind you. "the hell is that?"

when you don't immediately answer, his sharp gaze lands on you. his scowl deepens before he continues "listen, i have a busy night. i can't be dealing with a student's mess right now." he nods at the graffiti behind you and wrinkles his nose slightly. "explain yourself, and make it damn quick."

fuckkk.

you knew better than to argue at this point, so out with the carefully curated story you had dreamt up the night before.

"oh, this?" you wave your hand at the graffiti. "nope, wasn't me. i stumbled upon it and i was trying to figure out who did it. you wouldn't happen to know, would you?"

well, the excuse sounded better in your head. out loud, it sounded a lot like a rather pathetic lie, despite the way you tried to turn it around on your unamused teacher at the end.

to your dismay, aizawa sighs and massages his temples with his calloused fingers before looking down at you, somehow looking even more irritated than before. "if you don't want to talk to me, you can talk to the principal instead."

oh, shit. you couldn't get in trouble again, especially for something as stupid for this. you were already on thin ice with u.a's insanely-patient staff, and even then, you didn't want to push your luck.

"ah, no, never mind!" you say quickly. despite your chronic carelessness, you were genuinely grateful that you were at u.a, and it wasn't worth jeopardizing your spot over a little fun. "i'll talk, i'll talk."

"damn right, you will," aizawa snaps, pulling a water bottle out of nowhere and opening it. "explain this," he says, waving at the graffiti before taking a sip of the water. "and cut the bullshit. straight to the point."

seeing as you have no choice, you decide to tell him half the truth. you'd rather keep the last part to yourself, and frankly, it felt plausible enough.

"it was just a dare," you mumble, carefully monitoring your expression to make the half-truth believable. "lost a bet to my roommate, and i had to do something illegal."

"you couldn't have just stolen some alcohol or something?"

"are you condoning theft and underage drinking?"

aizawa scowls again, but there's an amused undertone to the scoff he lets out a second later. "just sayin', there's plently of other illegal activities that don't involve damaging public property."

you shrug. "seemed like something memorable."

"so, you want to tell me the whole truth now?" your teacher says dryly. when you look up, surprise visible on your face, he shakes his head. "don't try to hide things from a high school teacher. i've seen it all, now spit it out."

you sigh and look away, frantically thinking about ways to squirm out of this situation. but no matter how many half-formed plans you concocted, you knew that there was no escaping an explanation.

"fuck." you didn't mean to curse out loud, but the word somehow escaped your lips. fuck.

surprsingly, your muttered curse drew out an amused half-smirk on your typically stone-faced teacher. so the way to his heart is through curse words. noted.

"watch your language," aizawa says offhandedly. his tone and body language make it clear that he's only saying that out of obligation, not because he gives a shit. "and watch the damn clock. i don't have all night. i'm a hero, for god's sake."

"oh, yeah, my bad." well, it wasn't like you had any choice at this point.

so you reluctantly tell him about how you never really got to enjoy your elementary and middle school years because the atmosphere was so competitive. because everyone wanted to get into u.a. and even though you didn't really care as much as the others overcome by the hero-fever, you couldn't stand being the only one left out. so the years of your life where you were supposed to enjoy youth were thrown away in pursuit of a far-off success.

it all kind of came tumbling out, one sentence after the other, and when you finish your sob story, you realize that you probably just word-vomited all over your teacher, who probably doesn't care.

what if i just die of embarrassment?

aizawa doesn't respond to your words for a heartwrenching second, and right when you're sure he won't, he speaks.

"that explains why you're so damn immature. always running late to lectures, passing notes in class, and more focused on theatrics than content, yeah?"

the words sting, and it probably shows on your face, because a second later your teacher's stern expression softens.

"could be worse," he mutters, pulling out his phone and checking the time. "c'mon, i'll walk you back to the dorms. can't have you out alone in this part of town this late."

aizawa beckons for you to follow him, and when he starts walking, you jog behind him to catch up. "wait, so am i in trouble?"

he continues walking with his hands in his pockets but looks over his shoulder at you, expression unreadable. "i won't report this to admin, so not officially. but you're in a shit-ton of trouble with me."

"watch your language," you mumble, suppressing a grin when his dark eyes narrow into a glare. "what? can't take your own advice?"

he scoffs. "watch it. i'm still your teacher."

"yes, sir."

"damn right."

the rest of the walk back to the dorms happens mostly in silence, and when you finally arrive well past midnight, he walks off without another word.

it doesn't feel right to let him leave without a thank you, so as his dark shadow blends into the night, you call "thanks! and good night!"

and maybe you imagine it, but you could've sworn that he raises his hand in a farewell gesture as he disappears into the darkness.

"so, what happened? you in trouble?" your wide-awake roommate croons, looking at you curiously. "i saw you come back with mr. aizawa – are you expelled? he does that a lot."

you pause, toothbrush halfway to your mouth. your roommate's right. aizawa does have quite the reputation for being a di- a rather harsh teacher to his students. and honestly, he had every reason to expel you, or at least threaten to tonight.

your roommate repeats your name a couple times before you zone back in and smile distractedly.

"no, you're still stuck with me," you reply, staring blankly in the mirror.

"huh. that's weird."

yeah, it really is.

"fuck, you damned hero! keep you and your righteous head out of my damn busine-"

aizawa tightens his hold on the low-grade villain's hair and scoffs when the guy yowls in pain. "i get paid to deal with your bullshit."

"you damn heroe-"

before the villain can say the rest of his statement, aizawa jams his fist into the man's mouth and uses the other hand to call the poilce. after a brief summary of the capture, the police send a couple cars over and retrieve the villain.

aizawa watches them drive off, dark eyes tracing the cloudy horizon. his mind flickers back to earlier today, when he found one of his more... problematic students graffiting a back alley.

had it been anyone else in their place, they would've recieved a severe warning or expulsion on the spot. but, unlike what some of the kids said about him, he wasn't cruel – he was a teacher. and a damn good one at that.

most cases were solved by the simple threat of expulsion. but in cases where a threat would make things worse, sometimes letting the culprit go without an explanation worked better.

a sigh slips through aizawa's dry lips as they curl upwards into a smile. he wouldn't be so nice next time.

a/n: if you read all that, i'm sorry for the shitshow of a fic that was 😭 it's been a hot minute since i wrote for mha, and even then the plot was super rushed fjsjdjsjd

i promise my jjk and bsd writing is better check my profile i pinkie promise 🙏🙏 love u lots

if by any chance u actually liked this, reblogging would help me out of my misery thanks sm

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mags-writes · 1 year ago

Text

Sunlight || Part VII

Summary: frank gets some insight

Series Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical swearing, first time writing x reader, no use of y/n, no beta readers we die like ray nadeem

Pairing: frank castle x fem!reader

Authors Note: a short one so I can properly finish the last chapter

PROLOGUE/MASTERLIST || PART I || PART II || PART III || PART IV || PART V || PART VI || PART VII || PART VIII

You blankly stared out at the fatherly love pouring from John Pilgrim as he held his sons to him in a hug that you knew was the most comforting thing those boys would ever feel.

The phantom itch of your own father's arms wrapping around you made your skin crawl knowing that it wasn't real and that you'd never feel that again. And not because of the John Pilgrim that was hugging his children in front of you, but a different, more deranged John Pilgrim that was still running around back in your dimension. A man with the same face and same voice.

"She refused any pain meds that would actually get rid of the pain so she's got a little relief and she's a bit loose-lipped." You heard distantly.

Amy sat down in front of you, blocking your view of John and you smiled warmly at her.

"Hey, baby." You said.

"Hey. How are you feeling?" She asked.

"Better, now that I've got some more fluids in me." You look at the IV and blood bag sitting next to one another that was hooked up to you. "How about you? You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." You knew she was rattled but you also knew that she was a tough kid and that she needed a few night's sleep before she felt more at ease. "Frank's worried about you though. He's like a kicked puppy-"

"Hey." Frank interrupted, sitting down next to you and kicking Amy's legs. "It's rude to lie."

"Yeah, sure thing Pete." She retorted with a smirk.

She got up leaning down to give your arm a squeeze before walking away again.

"Are you saying you're not worried for me?" You teased, nudging him with your shoulder.

"As if you'd want me to be." He replied, nudging you back. "Can I ask you somethin'?"

"You saw me shove a knife into a man's throat, Frankie," You laugh, looking at him with that sweet smile. "You don't have to ask that anymore."

"Okay, fair enough." He chuckles before setting you with his own smile. "That thing you did. The Mississippi countin'. What was that?"

"Oh, that." You teeter back a little before settling with a small smile. "Jack Murdock, Matt's dad, taught me how to throw a proper punch when I was six when he saw what my older brothers were like. It wasn't his fault but it just encouraged me to get angry. Then when the accident with Matt happened, and I started having to look out for my younger brothers as well as my older brothers, I just got so goddamn angry." You paused, going to show him your right hand but forgetting about the bandages. "You can't see it but there's a small scar from where I knocked out the two front teeth of this kid that was picking on Matt. I was sick of being the one keeping my brothers safe for their sake and then getting in trouble, being told I should mind my own business."

"Yeah, that's bullshit." Frank said, bringing his arm to rest across your shoulders and bringing you into his side.

"Jack talked to my parents and convinced them to let him train me in boxing." You laid your head on his shoulder and closed your eyes.

"That's where those light feet come from." Frank joked, making you smile bashfully and turn your face into his neck briefly.

"Yeah. Before he died, he taught me to put a pin in my anger." You open your eyes again, looking down at the bandages on your hands. "Take as long as I need to count to three but I better have a lid on it by three Mississippi's or I'd get my head rung in."

"Was he ever wrong?"

"Nope."

"Hey." You jumped at Dinah sneaking up on you again. "Sorry."

"Nope, gotta get used to it." You said and she took the seat across from you that Amy had. "You good?"

"I should be asking you that." She replied, nodding down to your hands. "They say it's gonna be a few weeks before you can actually use your hands."

"Yeah, don't know how I'm gonna cook anything." You brought your bandaged hands up in front of your face, frowning at them and wincing when you tried to move them.

"Karen and I have been talking," She leaned forward on her elbows on her thighs, giving you a serious look. "We're all going to help you move in with me."

You drop your hands, eyes widening a fraction. "Dinah, no, you don't have to do that for me."

"You're not going to be able to take care of yourself during the day with Frank and Matt off at their jobs." She said, reaching out and taking a hold of your wrist.

"What, and you can?"

"I got a promotion recently so I can take some time and transfer it all to work from home and maybe have an odd office day." She squeezed your wrist slightly. "That way I can help you recover."

"Dinah, you don't know me."

"I know that those boys would still be in danger if it weren't for you." She said earnestly. "I'm not going to let you sleep on a couch while you're in recovery."

"But..." You stuttered, looking at Frank for a second before looking back at her. "I make them lunches. And Dinners."

Dinah pauses, giving you a look like she can't believe what just came out of your mouth.

"Why the hell are you making lunch and dinner for two grown men?"

"I'm Italian!" You whined, bringing your hands up. "It's what I do!"

"Hey," Frank squeezed you to his side and brought his mouth to your ear making you shiver. "Quit bein' so stubborn."

You sigh, finally relenting. "Fine."

"I'm also hiring you." She adds, standing up and smirking.

"Pardon?"

\\\\

Tagged: @danzer8705 (sorry for forgetting to tag you in the last chapter!)

#frank castle x reader #frank castle fic #frank castle fanfic #the punisher x reader #the punisher fic #the punisher fanfic #daredevil fic #daredevil fanfic #marvel fic #marvel fanfic

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caffeine-clouds · 2 years ago

Text

Sonic Characters When They're Sick

Hi, I'm sick - which is fun. But this gives me a good excuse to make yet another post. How Sonic characters act when they or their friends are sick, let's go hoes:

Sonic: He has two moods. When he just has mild sniffles? The WHOLE world knows about it;. He whines with the worst case of man flu imaginable and acts like he's about to die - much to the annoyance of everyone around him.

However, when he has a sickness you should worry about? No, you won't know about it. He'll keep trucking along to the best of his ability until he faints. As for when his friends are sick? He's more likely to laugh than anything else before running to get some medication.

Tails: He's smart so he actually knows like - how to take care of himself. He has a tendency to downplay his symptoms though but thankfully Sonic can spot when Tails is going through a rougher patch than he's letting on. The only time Tails will neglect looking after himself is when he's currently working on a big project and he doesn't want to stop - regardless of his sickness. Sleepless nights end up only making things worse and you get the point. Sonic or Amy has to drag him away from his work as a result.

Knuckles: For a guy who's lived in the wilderness all his life and has never stepped foot in a hospital - he's only gotten sick once in his life, guess he built up his immunity. He's got all the natural herbal remedies ready to go for his friends and basically goes into full-blown crunchy mom mode when he hears they're struggling. You have medicine in your hand? Nope, nope. Put that down. He's got the flowers, herbs, salts, and essential oils right here - you'll be just fine.

Amy: Again, as a functioning member of society - she knows how to take care of herself. She balances it out - she has both medicine and natural remedies to treat herself and others. She is doting on others when they're sick, especially Tails. Although she doesn't have patience for Sonic's bullshit. She WILLL show up to your house with dozens of baked goods because sugar = happiness, simple equation.

Rouge: Drama Queen, period. Homegirl is dramatic even when it's just a common cold. This has had an undesirable effect on her teammates that we will discuss later. She lays on the couch under a blanket, tub of ice cream in hand and watch whatever TV show she's been meaning to binge. Being ill is an excuse to be chill - that's her motto. She might remember to take actual medicine.

Shadow: Can't get sick. But when someone around him is sick, his germaphobe mode fucking activates. He will be cleaning the same countertop for ten minutes straight, very vigurously. Why? Because Rouge ended up accidentally teaching him that all form of Mobian sickness is the end of the world and in his mind - anyone could die from a cold if untreated. He does not want it spreading, and if he could get Rouge to wear a hazmat suit - he would. He's the one reminding everyone else to take their fucking meds.

Omega: He doesn't really understand the concept of sickness all that much but when he sees Rouge in pain - his instict is to go straight to the source. He will interrogate to find out who she caught it from and will proceed to beat up that person if they fail to stop him. Although let's be frank - he's mainly just feigning his ignorance at this point so he can have an excuse to get violent.

Blaze: Again, knows how to take medicine and keep herself hygenic. Often doted on by castle staff allthough she doesn't really like it when it happens. She will keep insisting she can carry out her royal duties instead of taking rests - which can have poor effects. But again, castle staff are there to stop her from going too far. Her friends also encourage her to rest because they know of this habit of hers. If her friends are sick - she'll make sure they have their meds, a place to rest, and a warm cup of tea before leaving them so she can go about her day.

Silver: Surprisingly the most competent in dealing with sickness alongside Amy. Again, a surprisingly strong immune system despite how much ash he's probably inhaled over the years. Maybe chaos energy exoposure fixed it - who knows? But anyways - he rests, he takes his medicine, but if he hears his friends are in a fight he will show up to it regardless of how he feels. When his friends are sick - he's supportive, always checking in to offer company and he's texting cute cat GIFs to cheer people up.

Tangle: She's got you, okay? She'll make you a nice drink - hot chocolate - with cream and sprinkles - she's on it, she'll give you snacks, she will find her old video game consoles and comics to keep you entertained, she will get you dozens of blankets - everything you need! Everything... except... medicine. She has a tendency to forget the important part.

Whisper: If she doesn't know you too well, she'll pass you the paracetamol with the longest piece of apparatus she can find so she doesn't have to get too close to you. If she is close to you however, (i.e. Tangle) - she is fretting, girl is waiting on hands and knees, she is ready to give you EVERYTHING you need - you just gotta say the word.

#sonic the hedgehog #sonic #sth #sonic headcanons #tails the fox #amy rose #knuckles the echidna #rouge the bat #shadow the hedgehog #silver the hedgehog #blaze the cat #tangle the lemur #whisper the wolf #e 123 omega

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kiwiana-writes · 7 months ago

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20 Questions for Fic Writers

Thanks @cha-melodius and @stereopticons for the tags! I know I’ve done this in the past, but it’s been a hot minute…

How many works do you have on ao3?

239!

What's your total ao3 word count?

822,937—but that’s a collaboration-boosted lie. Per my writing tracker, words that I have personally written and published on AO3 is 693,613

What fandoms do you write for?

Mostly RWRB these days, but the majority of my back catalogue is Schitt’s Creek, with a few others sprinkled in for fun. The Pairing definitely made my brain whirr… we’ll see.

Top five fics by kudos:

With so much of my heart (that none is left to protest), RWRB, 65.5k, the Much Ado About Nothing stage actor AU

Kinda think that I might be his type, RWRB, 12.8k, Alex and Bea fake date and Alex gets a little distracted by Bea’s brother

We were supposed to find this, RWRB, 3.3k, soulmate AU

We always walked a very thin line, Happiest Season, 2.7k, Riley character study/alternate ending

All the Lonely Starbucks Lovers, RWRB, 5.8k, barista Henry repeatedly putting his foot in his mouth in front of his coworker crush

(This is how I learned Puck It has been knocked out of my top five 😭)

Do you respond to comments?

Yes! And absent a Schitt’s Creek resurgence of some kind that sees me absolutely inundated I don’t see that changing.

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Five ways it could have ended (and one way it still could), Schitt’s Creek, 1.2k, for the love of god read the tags

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Like… most of them? I love to end on a good HEA haha. For sheer joy, though, it’s probably With so much of my heart (that none is left to protest)

Do you get hate on fics?

From time to time. I’m very free with the delete button. Weirdly, it occasionally pops up in the AO3 comments but mostly seems to come to me via anons on tumblr??? I have no idea why.

Do you write smut?

It’s been known to happen, I guess 👀

Craziest crossover:

I haven’t written any AO3-era crossovers! A few fusions/media AUs, but no crossovers.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope. I’ve only been asked once, and they wanted to post off AO3 which is a big heck nope for me (and my permissions statement has now been updated to reflect that)

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Heck yeah I have. I’ve done several anthology-type collaborations where we each wrote a chapter in a fic, and I’ve fully cowritten fics with @ships-to-sail several times. We have another collab coming up for @aroyallybigbangrwrb and I’m also cowriting The Big Secret AU with @indestructibleheart which is essentially us one-upping each other on emotionally devastating ideas until someone writes them down. Good system 😂

All time favorite ship?

Stop making pansexuals choose things.

What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Look, the chances of kinktober 2021 being finished at this point are slim 😂

Schitt’s Creek kinkverse… I don’t know. I have little snippets written of future fics and they’re great but… idk. Maybe I’ll write one vignette-y wrap up fic one day.

What are your writing strengths?

Narrative POV, dialogue that feels like the characters, epistolary bullshit, smut apparently.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Coming up with actual plot lmao. Visual descriptors — I’m not even remotely a visual person so I really really struggle with writing the sorts of things people can visualise. Also like… the passage of time? A scam.

Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

Love it. I’ll shoulder tap a fluent speaker if I need an actual sentence/anything Google isn’t super reliable for. Forever heartbroken that there are no fics in my second language in AO3 and no reason for me to be able to sprinkle it into my own writing (though one of the subscriber shindig prompts might be about to change that 👀)

First fandom you wrote in?

Favorite fic you've written?

Stop! Asking! Pansexuals! To! Choose! Things!

I don’t know there are 239 of the bloody things 😂 I’m far more interested in what other people’s favourites are than what my own is!

I have no sense of who’s done this already so apologies if this is a double up but tagging @agame-writes @affectionatelyrs @anincompletelist @cricketnationrise @getmehighonmagic

@happiness-of-the-pursuit @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @indestructibleheart @inexplicablymine @nontoxic-writes

@read-and-write- @rmd-writes @sparklepocalypse @welcometololaland @whimsymanaged and, as always, anyone who wants to play!

#20 questions for fic writers #kiwiana-writes

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scaththefloof · 4 months ago

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I recently installed wayfire, and oh boy after a full 24 hours I have never been this conflicted with a desktop environment, after a day it's either "wow this is amazing," or "who tf made this piece of shit." I always go further on to try and see if this is just a random issue that I had, but this is like no other.

wayfire is a wayland compositor based on wlroots that aims to make a customizable, extendable, and lightweight environment that doesn't sacrifice looks in the name of being lightweight and able to run on shitty hardware. Perfect something that I can run on my chromebook! I already use i3 on my chromebook but I wanted to see if it could run it, and also I wanted to try out wayfire and I'm not going to lock my main laptop to wayfire when I can also try wayfire on the 16 gig emmc on my chromebook just to see how lightweight it is.

but oh boy "customizable" wayfire has the shittiest customization I have ever seen, I see all these rices on r/unixporn and I respect everyone who can make wayfire look good becuase if I can only color the background of the panel, but I can't touch everything else. Then we got some serious problems when it comes to customizability here.

look at this bullshit

to explain what's wrong here, firefox uses the gtk toolset, and the "Customize Look and Feel" app is actually Lxappearance, which pulls gtk themes and applies them to your desktop environment or window manager, I use lxappearance on i3 to theme it up a little.

But here, not just firefox, but EVERY GTK APPLICATION suffers from this not being installed. Also you can set the icon theme in lxappearance and it applies to your DE/WM. Nope, not in wayfire.

And you can also see my issue here with the wf-shell panel as well. You can customize the look of the panel in the wf-shell.ini config file, but you also need to use CSS to change the look and feel as well. But when I set the css file for the panel in the wf-shell.ini, nothing happens, nothing is applied. I even tried to sanity check myself to make sure it wasn't my css was wrong and just copied the default css and still nothing was applied.

and there is no issue with the version of lxappearance I installed. Because I got i3, and copied my configs from my other system over to my chromebook and installed picom (I did this before trying out wayfire but wayfire didn't take up much space on my drive so it worked out fine) and look, it works, Firefox is supposed to switch the theme to dark to follow the system.

also another complaint is why do the windows on wayfire have different types of decoration, what is with that?

this is just insane that in the first 24 hours I encountered issues like this, that are literal dealbreakers for me, because i3, yes you have to manually configure vs wayfire you can get a graphical configuration manager (the package is wcm). But i3 doesn't do all this stupid shit that wayfire does, and most likely there is some graphical configuration manager for i3 that I just don't know about. The thing is though, I already configured my i3. All I do now is install what I need and copy the config files so I don't really need a config manager now.

The thing is I ran into issues INSTALLING the damn thing. I couldn't install it from the AUR even though they said that's how you install it on arch! EVEN THE ARCH WIKI SAYS THAT'S HOW YOU INSTALL IT! But instead I had to install it by cloning the git and building from source!

Then there were also issues with the sound, I booted up doom and literally every sound was laggy and slow, I thought this was because I was using pulseaudio, which is weird because my first time using arch I couldn't listen to music at all on anything other than youtube with pipewire, but pulseaudio worked and so I made a note to never use pipewire for audio. Pipewire can be used for the display stuff but don't let pipewire cook with the audio. But Pipewire didn't fix the issue, and so I tried to see maybe pairing it with lxqt would work. I know someone who uses wayfire, and they use it with lxqt so... Yeah I was told to get a fork of lxqt-session so I could pair lxqt with wayfire. The instructions on github say to use make to install it, but there are no makefiles. That's the same thing as "plug the computer in and turn it on," but there's no power supply. So I uninstalled lxqt because lxqt has always been the bane of my existence when it comes to using lightweight DEs. XFCE is better by a mile, but XFCE suffers the same fate as lxqt, they aren't wayland. So I have respect to @linux-real that's the person that I talked about with the using wayfire + lxqt and they managed to get it looking nice.

A lot of people had great experiences with wayfire and it's most likely not for me. I would like to try hyprland as it a wayland compositor with high customizability, but there is a controversy behind hyprland.

But to sum it up. I tried wayfire because someone recommended it to me and said it was great, and sadly I was hit with issues and issues. And so I didn't get to see it. I have all respect for the people who were able to get this thing to actually work on their laptop.

#long post #linuxposting #linux #arch linux

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hils79 · 6 months ago

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Hils Watches In Blossom - Ep 29

A-Ze is the MVP of this drama. Going off and doing all the important research while Yang Caiwei feeds Pan Yue soup at home

Even Pan Yue would rather be doing research

I'm intrigued as to how they're going to get Pan Yue out of this fake engagement given that everyone around them is dead set on the wedding happening

Four episodes from the end is when we should be starting to wrap things up not introducing extra drama

How the hell does he know that?

I'm glad at least one person thinks the whole face swapping thing is weird

I keep thinking Pan Yue is the criminal mastermind but then it turns out he's just doing something nice for his son. OH! He's evil! Oh, wait, no he just rescued Yang Caiwei OMG IS THAT POISON? Oh, wait, it's just a healing powder for Pan Yue's injury

I love that whenever a character is in jail in a cdrama they're always in an enormous cell. I mean it's probably meant to be for multiple people but there's only ever one person in there.

I would laugh if the princess's seemingly affable brother in law was actually the criminal mastermind

I'm sure this whole illegal salt subplot is important but I just can't seem to bring myself to care about it

OMG IT ACTUALLY IS HIM!!!

If they get Pan Yue out of his fake engagement by killing the princess I will throw my fucking laptop out the window!

Ah, okay, he's not going to kill her he's just going to threaten to kill her sister.

I FUCKING KNEW THIS WOULD HAPPEN! With the added bullshit of Yang Caiwei now being made to look like the murderer. God, if I wasn't so close to the end I would nope out of this drama now.

Hongjoong went live while I was watching this episode. I should have watched that instead.

Yeah, I figure she'd probably stabbed herself but this is still utter bullshit

Of course she had time to impart important info before she died

Not even a kneeling in the rain scene can make me feel better

He does look good being all damp and sad, but also you can see the edges of his wig

I'm actually not quite sure what the kneeling is going to achieve. Or is he being punished for cheating on the princess?

Ah, there we go. Thank you for explaining.

Some of us like men who are pathetic. Don't judge.

Another single person in a massive jail cell

Given that Pan Yue's dad is the one who told him about all the secret plot stuff in the first place I don't know why Pan Yue doesn't just tell him who the mastermind is.

Well, that was very annoying but I only have 3 eps left so I suppose I'll push on. I'm not happy about it though.

#hils watches #hils watches in blossom #hils watches cdramas #in blossom #cdrama

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z-h-i-e · 2 months ago

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The Reality of Responding to Comments Left on Fanfiction

Or, a rebuttal to a Tumblr post I was going to comment on, then thought, why not just start a whole new post?

So I happened upon a post recently which compared not replying to comments to not holding open a door for someone.

Firstly, I want to point out, I'm in the midwest of the US of A. Even during the middle of covid, when people were very careful about touching things, we are so trained to open doors, we were still doing it. Hell, we try to hold open doors for each other when it's an automatic door.

Commenting back to comments, though. In theory, sure, very nice to do. In practice, no. That's the short answer; buckle up for the long one.

It's February of 2020. I'm already starting to suspect shit in the world is going down soon--while everyone else is watching the impeachment here like it's the next big reality TV series, I'm stocking up on canned goods, cereal, and cheese. (Yeah. Cheese. I'm from fucking Wisconsin. I had a mini fridge just for cheese. Judge me. I can take it.)

Once a month, during those 'pre-pandemic' days, I would take one long lunch hour -- I would use comp time, I'd drive out to Panera, I'd sit in the area upon which I based part of Salgant's house, and I'd answer comments. It was a happier time. I had time to do it. It was nice to go through all the interesting things people noticed or the bits they liked. Hell, I even like a good flame--keeps me warm, lets me roast a few marshmallows, and then I go fucking Feanor in Formenos on them. But I digress.

That was the last time I had a chance to do that. Because then, and sorry, forgive me if this is new information, but there was a fucking worldwide plague that occurred. And during that catastrophic world event, not all of us recovered to a point where we're back to normal yet. I don't know about the rest of you, but wondering each day if I'd ever get to hug my parents while they were still alive? Kind of stressful. See, my father has major medical issues (kidney failure and on dialysis, cancer survivor three times over, osteoporosis, diabetes, diverticulitis, and sleep apnea), and my mother has a few doozies, too (COPD, macular degeneration, also a cancer survivor, and a whole fucking messed up thing with her spine). With all the concerns of previously mentioned plague, the doctors at the time advised that no one else was to go into their house until there were viable covid vaccines. I would come over, drop off groceries and medications on their porch, close the door and call on my phone, then air hug from the street thirty feet away.

I remember all the stuff I did to try to keep my brain happy. I watched my way through 'If Google was a Person' and 'Epic Rap Battles of History', over and over. I found museums who had 360 views to pretend I was on field trips, and I found a bunch of virtual rollercoasters to 'ride' on. And I listened to Hamilton so many times if it was vinyl I'd have worn a hole through it.

I had coworkers who died from covid. People who seemed generally okay, people I would not have thought would be hit so hard by it. We lost several pets since 2020--two dogs, two cats, and a rabbit. In the case of our beloved Trotter, who went through more surgical procedures than I can recall, I would have to hand him off to a technician, then sit in the car for three or four hours, wondering if he would be okay, if he would feel better afterwards, if he would wake up after each procedure, if his already damaged heart could take another.

I had my share of medical bullshit throughout the past nearly five years. The big 'well this is bullshit' of them all is that I had a pretty good life plan going, along with 'we all going to do all the things to try to make a smol human in the 2020/2021 range' and, well, let me tell you folks, as soon as pandemic got volleyed around, that was a big nope. That nope was followed by so many additional 'did my warranty expire?' moments, but I have to say, the highlights of the instant replay real would be the intercostal muscle tear which has still not healed completely correctly, so it is physically painful to push a grocery cart around in a store for more than thirty seconds, the whole episode when my pancreas decided to stop working for a hot minute but it was covid city in the hospitals so I was sent home with meds and a 'best of luck' sort of thing, and the secondary infection when I did eventually catch covid despite so many precautions (funny enough, from my father when we finally had the first in-person Christmas again in 2022--so, while the concern was I could end up giving it to him, he ended up giving it to me).

But the most frustrating, the most enduring, has been my failing vision. When I was 8, and at a public school for the first time, they did vision screenings, and realized 'wow, this one does not see well'. Now, in theory, someone should have figured that out sooner -- I had jabbed myself in the eye no less than three times (possibly more) that I remember before the age of five from accidentally getting things too close to my face. So glasses and I have been pretty tight now for nearly four decades. But it was during the pandemic that I started to think I must have been dealing with some strain from computers or needed a new prescription or something. Words were far more difficult to read. I would sometimes stare at pages in books or on the screen and just see...nothing, really. (Kind of not helpful in my profession.)

I went years with terrible distance vision, but great vision up close. Now that had failed, too. But it wasn't just that. At least with distances, I could still generally see things. Up close--sometimes yes, sometimes no. So I kept getting tested and retested and asked questions and went to different doctors and described things--

--and finally, sometimes, you find someone who listens, and wants to figure it out, and does. And then you have an answer. But answers don't always mean solutions. And when I asked how we fix it, I got an answer, but not a solution.

The answer is, I can't.

And to the follow up, will it get worse, that answer is, maybe.

But it won't get better.

So as I'm still processing this, having days where I want to write but can't even see the words, I think about all of the stories I still don't have posted on AO3. I think of things on floppy disks--not just the hard floppy disks, fucking floppity floppy disks, where the only backup is on dot matrix printer paper--and I think about things that are handwritten, and stories on old flashdrives, and the words from the musical that got me through the pandemic play through my mind.

Why do you write like you're running out of time?

Because.

I am.

I'm not the biggest fan of mortality--I fucking write about elves, friends. Elves, and more elves, and after that, a few additional elves, just in case. I've rooted myself in Valinor, for the most part, over the last few years.

I am very aware that I am more likely than not on the downward slope of life's journey at this point. For anyone who has ever been sledding in the midwest during winter, you know you go way faster on that downward slope.

So I've got some pretty solid goals in mind. I have stories I need to finish. I've got art and other things I want to make. I have items I want transferred to a place that stands a decent chance of still being around when I'm not, or when I'm not able to do the moving of things anymore, from personal websites I have. I completed one really big accomplishment over the summer--I sat down and wrote my scientific paper on the Silmarils. I really wanted to get that written, and I'm very happy I did.

I've lost too many fandom friends over the past five years. People I'd known for decades, people I knew by their legal names, people I'd exchanged mail with and in some cases met in person.

So, I'd like to go back to the Panera days of having a sammich and one of those salads that are practically dessert because it's more than half fruit and take a few hours each month to answer comments. Trust me, there are no awards for four digit unanswered comment boxes. If there were, I'd have seen one by now. Every comment is immensely appreciated. They make me think about things, and reconsider things, and sometimes sneak in a character or two based on what someone says.

And I'm hoping that someday, maybe when I'm retired or at a point when I'm able to get down to working just one job or something, I'll be able to get back to the older comments I haven't answered yet. But right now, I've got a few other higher priorities in life.

Today was my father's 69th birthday. I suppose I could have answered a few comments today, but instead, after working a ten hour shift, I went to hang out with my dad--which is basically just us sitting and talking, but it's amazing because I spent so many sleepless nights over the past few years wondering if he and my mom would make it through the worst of the pandemic.

I regret nothing.

I hope that for now, you can take my word on the door opening. In fact, this morning when I got to work, I got the door for someone, then I noticed a moth on the ground that looked a bit dazed like it had just gotten itself out of a spider web, so I bent down and I managed to get it onto my finger so that no one stepped on it, then I walked back down to where there are plants and grass and deposited the moth (who at first wanted to crawl about on me, which I allowed for a moment before getting it safely onto a leaf) then came back up again, saw to a large cricket so that no one stepped on it either, and finally got in. Please accept for now the sharing of stories as the holding of the door the first time; I'll try to get it for you again if I can later on, when I'm on my way out--but I have some business to finish inside first.

#lots of words about commenting #fanfiction things #much personal stuff #happy birthday dad #fanfic comments #I will 100% make time for lost insects who need help even if they don't comment on my stories #medical things

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sokkastyles · 8 months ago

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Hi I do enjoy you takes on different avatar related stuff including the all of the royal fire family.what I wanted to ask is if you think it would have been better if Ursa was dead?

I feel like it would be and make sense narratively. She had very sensitive information about how Ozai got to power and when zuko is walking away Ozai try’s to get zuko to say by calling him weak but that no longer works so he used his mother to manipulate him he even smiles at seeing it work. But he’s just trying to waste his time. Plus it also add to the idea of found family like imagine Katara telling zuko “we are you family now” ohh we even get a zuko Aang parallel too. Idk maybe i just don’t like how Ursa was handled in the search. Sorry for how rambling I got.

What do you think?

Ursa might as well be dead as far as atla is concerned. I refer to her plot as fridging even though she is not technically dead because she nopes out of the narrative the same way she would if she were dead, and tbh I don't think the writers ever had much intention of bringing her back into the story to begin with. I'm glad she's not dead and we do get that line from Zuko at the end demanding to know where she is, but as far as the Search is concerned, that might as well not have happened.

I think you make a good point about her having sensitive information, which is enough of a reason to explain her absence without all the spirit bullshit the Search introduces. Ozai was absolutely trying to manipulate Zuko about Ursa when he told Zuko she did "treasonous things," and I could have believed that Ursa could have stayed away out of guilt, because of how Ozai made her complicit in his crimes, especially the ones against her children. We didn't need Ursa losing her memory to explain her absence, and that's one reason the Search felt empty.

Another is that as you said, she might as well be dead, narratively. I mean, I'm glad she's not, but she's served her narrative purpose so reintroducing her to the story feels pointless. She serves as part of Zuko's coming of age story and Azula's downfall and both of those arcs were completed at the end of atla. What the comics do with her doesn't really add anything to the story because those comics are not meant to progress the story, simply churn out dollars while keeping the characters stagnant.

#zuko #ursa #ozai #the search #atla comics #atla comics critical

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girldragongizzard · 23 days ago

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Chapter 11: Bankruptcy

So. Daniel Säure owns the majority of Morning Glory Corporation. And by extension, the majority of all the businesses that Morning Glory owns.

But unlike the C.E.O. of Morning Glory, he’s allowed himself to become the face of the company. The president.

In the United States, corporations have this thing called fiduciary responsibility toward their stakeholders. Which means that they have to, above all else, make profits for their stakeholders’ investments. The corporation literally, legally owes them returns.

There are a number of things those stakeholders can do if the company fails to fulfill its duties.

And this is one of the biggest reasons why business in the U.S. is so fucked up. Or so I’m told by certain regulars of the coffee shop.

I’ve tried looking it up, but it’s just not my special interest. I have trouble focusing on and understanding the articles on the subject.

But it seems to be a good explanation for what’s happening.

Because, things happen to the stocks of a company when its public facing leader is seen terrorizing an entire city and threatening to crush sections of it with his enormous, terrifying bulk. His window shattering supersonic screams in the middle of the night didn’t seem to help his case much, either.

And it wasn’t just that one night that it happened.

I think we did manage to make him desperately angry. Insulted. Not me. We. I set out to do it, but wow has everyone else really done the work.

And as his own stocks start plummeting, and he’s seeing what he’s doing to himself, he’s lashed out more wildly.

Last night, we got to see what the gaming nerds call his breath weapon. There really isn’t a better term for it.

To make some kind of a point, around midnight, after strafing my building again, and setting off another one of Chapman’s traps, he hit the bay with a beam of ultraviolet light. It created a huge plume of scalding steam, and probably wasn’t great for life in the bay.

Word is, it blinded a bunch of people, and everyone is talking class action lawsuit or even criminal charges. Though no one knows how to bring him to court.

Säure has become a dangerous dragon.

He’s a whole different class of monster, and he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

At some point, he’s going to aim that beam of deadly light at the city itself.

But, for some reason, so far, he hasn’t.

Still, someone’s going to have to do something about it.

But, as a side effect, people are starting to rally around the idea that we neighborhood dragons are preferable in comparison. Maybe even beneficial, and with the hope we can protect the city.

I don’t know about that anymore. But it is a nice thing to hear every now and then.

—

“Nah,” Rhoda says. “That ‘breath weapon’ of his is bullshit.”

It’s late Sunday morning, the 29th of September.

We’re having mimosas and ham and egg somethings at the Sanctum, a weird hybrid Perisian/New Orleans psuedo-Catholic themed goth gay club on Wallace and Halley, the actual center of my territory. They’re open for gay brunch every Sunday, with half off mimosas if you flash them your gay card. A card that they give to anyone who asks for it. There’s no gatekeeping, it’s just a promotional joke and a bit of a dare.

And by “we”, I mean Nathan, Kimberly, Chapman, Rhoda, and I.

Ptarmigan is missing. None of us have seen her since the night she last spoke to Rhoda. And I wonder if she’s doing something with Wentin, because I haven’t heard from it, either.

The others of my family are off doing their own things. We’re just who had the time and energy to meet here.

“Well,” Nathan says. “Terrifying deadly bullshit he could use to fry us all any time he wants.”

“Nope,” Rhoda says, bringing her mimosa to her lips. “Just bullshit. And I’m having none of it.”

I look directly at her and she meets both my eyes and keeps drinking, a smirk on her lips.

Chapman notices this, I can see, but doesn’t say anything.

“I’d feel better if he wasn’t out there,” Nathan says. “But, at least, we’re not alone in that.”

I have noticed, the general tension in Fairport now feels a lot like the later Cold War fear of nuclear holocaust that was instilled in me as a child by my family.

I know a lot of people didn’t experience it, but it was drilled into me. I was reminded time and again that my parents did the whole duck and cover thing, and then they’d talk about all the times the world came to the brink of self destruction. And, when I looked into it myself, later, when I had the internet and the resources and will to do so, I found they weren’t lying. They’d just underestimated the danger.

This feels like that.

But people go about their business and are mostly cheerful to each other, at least superficially, as is the habit of the typical Pacific Northwesterner.

I think Rhoda is the most relaxed of anyone in the county, and I might be the second most relaxed. And, looking at Chapman now, I may have found the third.

Unless Ptarmigan is still in the county, then all bets are off.

“Drink your mimosa, Nathan,” Kimberly says. “You need your vitamins, old man.”

“Heel,” Nathan says to her through a smirk, and then looks away and drinks his mimosa.

Kimberly throws a balled up napkin at him.

“Bad girl.”

“Woof.”

Chapman really does want to say something though, and chooses, “What did Ptarmigan say when she last saw you?”

“Oh, nothin’,” Rhoda says and pops a ham and egg bite into her mouth.

I tilt my head at Chapman and then decide to work on a promise I’d made over a month ago.

I tap my tablet several times in quick succession and then hit talk, “Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.”

I listen to it carefully and then hit it again.

“Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit,” my tablet says.

Then I look at Chapman and say, “Shit.” In my voice.

“That’s some good shit,” Kimberly says, and Nathan throws the rolled up napkin back at her.

Chapman gives me a look and says, “I don’t think that’s what she said.”

I bob my head and type, “She didn’t. She did say, ‘Holy Jesus fuck, Chapman.’”

“What? Why?”

“Your trap,” I respond.

“OK, that’s fair.”

Rhoda sighs, “Chapman.”

“Yes?” the Physicist asks.

“You’re bullshit, too,” Rhoda says. “And so is Ptarmigan.” Then she points. “But because Meg likes you, I’m gonna tolerate you. In fact, you and Meg can keep working on Säure, just so long as Meg doesn’t get hurt.”

Chapman furrows hir brows in confusion, and Kimberly catches on that something’s happening.

“Rhoda? What’s up?” Kimberly asks.

Rhoda chuckles and smirks and sips her drink.

Chapman starts to look downright unsettled, and asks, “May I? Would anyone object if I scanned the general situation in Fairport right now?”

A month ago, sie wouldn’t have said anything so blatant out in the open. Things have seriously changed. Sie has decided hir vow is defunct.

“As long as it doesn’t interrupt me or my thoughts, go ahead,” Rhoda says. “Actually. I’m very curious about the results, so please tell me.”

I glance back and forth between them. It feels a little bit like a showdown.

“OK,” Chapman says and looks at Rhoda briefly through hir brow before closing hir eyes and touching scan tattoos together.

There’s hir shift. It’s a big one, too. I feel it from tip of my snout to end of my tail. And, once again, it comes from the center of Chapman’s chest.

And then Chapman opens hir eyes and looks at Rhoda with new consideration, blinking hir eyes a few times.

“Yes?” Rhoda says.

“You’re a Bellwether,” sie says.

“What does that mean?” Rhoda prompts hir.

“Well,” Chapman says, glancing at each of the rest of us. “In the sense that I use the word, not really its original meaning, everything chaotic, everything that’s fibrillating around you within a certain radius, is being influenced by you specifically. You’re like the eye of the storm. It’s… impressive? Really dangerous if you want it to be.”

“Hm.”

“What?” Kimberly asks.

“What’s going on?” Nathan asks, finally catching up to the conversation.

“I don’t know what has happened,” Chapman says. “I can probably guess, but I didn’t see it. All I’m seeing is what’s happening now. But, for the moment, Nathan, we’re safe because Rhoda wants to be safe. And if there were a flock of birds flying by right now, she could probably wave her hand and they’d change direction.”

“Hm,” Rhoda makes that noise again. It’s sort of a cross between a hum, a grunt, a laugh, and a sob. Quiet, but it jerks her body.

I lean over and bump her shoulder softly with my brow. It’s a thing I’ve started doing in the past couple of days. She seems to appreciate it. Sometimes she’ll reach up and put her hand on my nose or the back of my skull for a moment. Which usually makes me want to push into her hand a little harder.

This time she just says, “Thank you, Meg.”

“So, are you saying that she’s keeping Säure from nuking us somehow?” Nathan asks.

“Very possibly,” Chapman says. “Along with a whole bunch of other consequences.”

“Well, I mean, I guess that’s a relief,” Nathan says. “Thank you, Rhoda. If you’re doing that.”

“I have to say,” Rhoda says. “I’m doing it for me, if I’m doing it at all. But you are absolutely welcome. Everyone should get to be safe.”

“What’s the radius?” Kimberly asks.

Chapman purses hir lips and looks around, squinting at the sky, then says, “That’s fuzzy. I think it depends on just what you’re talking about. For instance, obviously Säure was able to fry the bay.”

“And that was bullshit, and he won’t be doing that again,” Rhoda says.

“And he won’t be doing that again,” Chapman agrees.

“How long is it going to last?” Kimberly puts her mimosa down on the table and turns to look more fully at Chapman.

Chapman shrugs and says, “I haven’t seen this before. I can only tell you what it is from my own perspective as the Physicist. I’m sure Ptarmigan has other words for it. So, there’s no precedent in the entire history of the Earth. Which isn’t a surprise, because we’ve been feeling that way about the dracomorphosis. But I think I can hazard a guess by the rate of decay I saw.”

“Yeah?”

“Unless something else happens to change it all,” Chapman says. “Rhoda’s remaining lifetime. Which, if she decides that her own death is bullshit, I’m guessing could be quite a while.”

“Woah.”

“All I want is to live in a world that makes sense to me,” Rhoda says. It’s been a morning refrain for her for the past few days.

“And dragons make sense?” Nathan asks as gently as he can.

“I think I want them to,” Rhoda says. “But I don’t know that I have a say in that matter. I don’t know about any of this. But I’ll take it if it’s working.”

I bonk her shoulder again, and she pats my nose.

Then I grab and swallow a ham and egg bite. Then I drink from my bowl of mimosa that’s at my feet. The others went in on getting that for me, since I’ve spent so much of my paltry income this month.

Oh, and I did get my card back from Megan the server.

The bartender here seemed absolutely tickled to serve me a salad bowl of orange juice and alcohol. He seemed to need something to be tickled about, too. The municipal worry has affected him as much as anyone else.

I reach up to my tablet again and say, “Something need done about Säure, tho. Scaring people. Could hurt others elsewhere.”

“Can he?” Kimberly asks.

Chapman shrugs and looks at Rhoda.

“Don’t look at me, spirit. This is all your magic,” Rhoda says.

“It really isn’t,” Chapman says. “It’s currently yours. But I can help you figure it out.”

“Nuh-uh. I don’t want that responsibility,” Rhoda says. “I want to live my life. And with other people who want to live theirs. But like I said. You and Meg can work on Säure, so long as she keeps coming home.”

Chapman and I look at each other.

“How can I help?” Kimberly asks.

“Who, girl. Down,” Nathan says, eyes a little wide.

Kimberly throws the balled up napkin back at him without looking his way.

Chapman looks at her and considers the question, “Well, I think we’ve all been doing pretty well by Meg and Rhoda here already. We’ve survived the chaos of the first month of dracomorphosis, and we’ve survived the tantrums of the local billionaire. I think we start by continuing to do that.”

“Yeah?”

“But, if you want, and you have the time, you can help me research some things,” Chapman says. “Do you like digging around in the library and making the internet give you treats?”

Kimberly squints in disbelief and opens her mouth part way before smirking and laughing and saying, “Yeah. OK. I’m your girl for that.”

“Good girl,” Nathan says.

“Please stop,” Kimberly tells him.

“Sorry. I will,” he tilts his head toward her. Then he smirks impishly and says, “It’s your lead now.”

“Look,” she says to him. “The day I get to be a real live werepoodle, I’m going to hump your leg in public.”

“Ok. Uncle. Uncle for you. I’m done. Seriously,” he says.

“Thank you.”

“You wouldn’t really do that, would you?” he asks.

“Not without your consent,” she shoots back.

He just nods, and she smiles briefly at him.

Coworkers.

This makes me think of another thing, so I type one word, “Molly.”

“Huh?” Rhoda perks up a bit, and looks halfway my direction.

“How can I make sure Molly is OK? Ethically,” I ask with more care.

“Who’s Molly?” Kimberly asks.

“Oh,” Rhoda says, leaning onto the table. “Hm.” She looks at me, then at the others. “She’s a girl who met Meghan the first time she was shedding. Only, Meg got the impression that Molly was her chosen name, and that she might also be a dragon. Or, Molly said she wished she was like Meg.”

I bow my head briefly.

“How old is she?” Nathan asks, leaning forward in interest himself.

Rhoda looks at me.

“Ten or twelve. Don’t know,” I respond.

“Did you meet her parents?” he asks.

“No,” I say.

“That’s tricky,” he says. “For your legal safety, you should stay away. She’s not your responsibility, and her parents could get protective quick.”

“It really sucks,” Kimberly says. “But, yeah. Even if we were just talking about being trans, between you and her. The best thing you can do is do social work and activism and help the rest of us try to make the world better for her. But you’ve gotta look out for yourself, or you can’t do that. This world is a minefield.”

“Add in the dragon thing,” Nathan says, “and who knows how it’ll go?”

“I may have made Meghan promise me something,” Rhoda says.

“Yeah?” Nathan prompts her.

“To make sure Molly gets what she needs,” she replies. “I was distressed and in my way about my own losses. And my beef with the universe is only growing, too, but that’s between me and it now. But, I think I’d ask it again, even now. I know it’s a tall order and a tough one. But if her parents can’t accept her being trans or being a dragon, that needs to change. For the sake of her life.”

“Can you make that change?” Kimberly asks.

Rhoda shrugs and shakes her head. “I can say what I want, but I can’t make it happen.” Then she spears me with a squinty look from her sparkling eyes, and says, “She’s queen, not me.”

I bonk my head against the table, jostling everyone’s drinks but not quite spilling them.

—

If Säure and Morning Glory’s spiral continues as it is, there could be bankruptcy in their future. Either his or the company’s, or both.

Usually, on paper, that would seem unlikely. Säure’s base of wealth, invested in Pacific Northwest land holdings as it is, should be pretty robust.

But even that corner of the stock market is still a complex system and in a constant state of chaos.

And Säure’s feeling like he’s between a rock and a hard place. Being a building sized dragon is really inconvenient for him and his business. And that alone is such a challenge to keeping things stable, apparently.

But it looks like he’s also got the attention of the Bellwether of the dracomorphosis, and he lives a bit too close to her, too.

And she wants to see him go down.

So, bankruptcy for a billionaire is probably a little different than it is for a commoner, one of us plebes. But, generally, your remaining assets get divided up by the court to pay off your debts and then you are declared free of them. You’re supposed to end up free of both assets and debts, so you can start again.

So, the question we’re all faced with now is, what does a giant UV laser breathing dragon do when he’s no longer hamstrung by his own hoard?

And can the Bellwether’s influence still affect him at that point, when he’s free of some of the bigger complex systems that currently grip him?

Neither Chapman nor Rhoda seem certain of that.

And there’s sort of a countdown to that point.

A fuzzy countdown of indeterminate time.

Some of us wonder if Rhoda could just end Säure somehow, maybe by waving her hand and causing the storm around her to swallow him up in some way. Whatever that might mean.

But she just doesn’t want to do it.

Maybe she doesn’t want to prove to herself that she has that much power. Maybe she doesn’t want to become that kind of being. And I, for one, can absolutely respect that.

So, that leaves Chapman and I, and the rest of us, floundering about trying to think of something else.

And so, one day, after a short time of enjoying my new routines and respite in Rhoda’s apartment, I ask Chapman about that collaborative project Ptarmigan had proposed.

Maybe not the specific project, but the idea of doing a collaboration with her at all.

What could they do if they worked on something together that was big?

Could they focus it on Säure?

We’re sitting outside the coffee shop, and when I ask my question, Chapman stares at me for a long time afterward without saying anything.

#dragons #writeblr #original fiction #serial fiction #transformation #transgender

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