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sannirio · 1 year ago

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safe and sound [pt 2.]

part. 1 part. 3

wc: 1456

dom san x amab sub reader

18+ MINORS DNI 「im serious」

cw - non!idol au, werewolf san, size kink, mention of death, mention of anxiety and anxiety attacks.

A/N it's here! sorry it took so long to put out. part 3 will come asap lol

a soft light woke you up, the warmth of the light was accompanied by the warmth of san’s body and the steady rising and falling of his chest. his arms were still wrapped around you, one hand was on your hair the other around your waist. lowering your head back down onto his chest you took a breath in. he smelled so good, sweet, floral, his body was like a massive pillow, it was so soft, even his muscles were comforting. while you were distracted by his body you heard a yawn and felt his hand, the one on your head, move softly brushing your hair.

“mmmmmh, good morning sweetheart” he mumbled, planting a kiss on your forehead. “how did you sleep?” “i slept really good” you whispered in response. with how fast and hard you fell asleep, good was an understatement, perfect was more accurate. he smiled looking down at you, squeezing your waist slightly. “shall we eat hun?” san asked. you nodded your head yes, you were so hungry.

you sat down by the fire pit, which had been re lit. san was busy in the corner where he had been the day prior, making food. the current situation was so weird, stuck in a cave, completely lost, with a man, no werewolf, a handsome one, but a werewolf?

you couldn’t help but wonder what someone else would’ve done in your situation. run? maybe. but san was too kind. the thought of your friends slipped back into your mind again. right now? san must have noticed how you were feeling because he was by your side within a second. “are you ok? what’s wrong” worry plastering his voice. “nothing.” it wasn’t nothing, obviously. tears started to well up in the corners of your eyes until they spilled over, running down your soft face. it hurt a lot, not knowing what your friends were thinking, not knowing where they were. everything you felt the night prior came surging back into your consciousness. you could feel your heart racing, getting to a point where it made you dizzy. an anxiety attack. perfect. san pulled you into his lap, wiping your tears away “what’s wrong?” he asked. he started rubbing your back trying to calm the shaking. although speaking was hard, you were able to get out a few words. “i miss my friends” the sentence stung, unfortunately adding to the spiral you were heading down.

those words hit san like a truck. obviously he knew you’d miss them, you had no idea where you were or where your friends were. he wasn’t planning on keeping you here for long to begin with, but hearing you so upset tore him apart. “is there anything i can do baby?” trying to be as soft as possible not wanting you to hear his sudden wave of sadness. all you could do was nod. san kept on rubbing your back, moving his hand in predictable circles, trying to get your mind onto the rhythm of his movement instead of focusing on the things you were thinking about right now. the two of you could talk about that later. “look at me” he whispered, you did, tears still streaming down your face. “breath with me”

san took a breath in, keeping his eyes locked with yours. you followed along, taking a shallow shakey breath. “good job” he said “again” you both took a deep breath, this time yours was a bit more calm than the last. “good job” san repeated. the back rubs were definitely helping. a few more breaths later and the continuous circular motion of his hands, most of the anxious feeling was gone. your heart still hurt but you could breath more or less.

“do you want to talk about your friends” san asked, he tried to be as careful as possible, he didn’t want you to feel any worse than you do. “yeah,” the shakiness hadn’t completely left your body. “what’s wrong, what about your friends is making you upset?” “i miss them, i don’t know if they think i’m dead, they could be so worried. i just want to see them.” san felt his heart sink. he wanted you to be 100% well so you could leave, but seeing how upset you are was to much. “i’m sorry honey, you need to feel 100%, i don’t want you to get hurt again.” you knew that already, obviously you couldn’t just waltz your way back, you didn’t have the strength for that. “i know” you spoke very softly, the anxiety you had just felt honestly wore you out. “you need to eat” san said putting you back down on the floor and proceeding to standing up. “i think you’ll feel better after and we can talk about your friends while you eat.”

after you had eaten, and spent time talking about your friends, the two of you were sitting at the edge of the cave. you hadn't realized how high up you two were. the entrance of the cave was basically just at the edge of a cliff. “its so pretty” you thought. the trees below were beautiful, moss was scatered around the edge of the cliff. “why did you go camping again?” san asked. you looked at him and smiled. “well, the three of us don’t go out much because of university so we decided to go camping, we like autumn a lot and it was the only week we could all go.” san was looking at you with just as much interest as he had during lunch. he smiled “that sounds so sweet. i wish i could go out camping with friends.” san then turned to look out the cave entrance and sighed. “you should come with us next time!” excitement evident on your face. he looked back at you smiling sadly. that look was upsetting, he looked tired somehow. as if he read your mind he finally spoke again. “i would love to but i can’t.” that was confusing, why couldn’t he? he's still somewhat human right? “when i turn, it’s hard to control myself.” san looked even more sad than before. “what does that mean.” you were now looking at him, “well im an animal when i turn, like a regular wolf, i'm dangerous.”

you thought for a second. “but you didn't hurt me when you found me.” the proceeding silence was tense. the only thing that was audible was the sound of running water, possibly from a waterfall, off in the distance. minutes passed, san didn’t say anything at all. you felt awkward, had you said something wrong? rude? offensive? “i'm… i'm sorry” you stuttered “i didn’t mean to..” san cut you off, turning to you quickly. “no, it’s ok.” he spoke softly his face mere inches from yours. you could feel his breath brush your face. you could tell you were getting red. this was totally the wrong time but you couldn’t help but look down at his lips. “you’re different” san whispered, matching your dropping gaze. “how?” “you’re the first person that i’ve been able to control myself against. i didn’t hurt you.” somehow that sentence made your already aching heart flutter. san put his hand on your face slowly moving it from your cheek to your chin, lifting your face up to meet his gaze. his lips snatched away from your view. not fair! you felt sans thumb graze your lips. the sensation of his soft finger made you shiver. “you’re so beautiful” san whispered. the phrase was like music. “i want to protect you, keep you safe. i’ve never been able to keep my instincts from taking over, but for you, your presence keeps me human.”

you could melt at that very moment. you felt drunk, his words were intoxicating. before you could react or respond san kissed you, his lips connecting with yours, it was like a pillow. you breathed in sharply before reciprocating his kiss, you wanted to be his. just this kiss was enough to make you pass out. san pulled you onto his lap continuing to kiss you. he broke away for just a second. “if you want me to stop please tell me and i will.” you nodded, showing you understood. the safety net was reassuring but you wanted him, all of him. your lips connected with his once again. san stood up still kissing you. he wrapped your legs around his waist and held onto your butt to keep you from falling down. something about this swift motion reminded you just how large he was compared to you, he could easily overpower you, and do what he wanted to you, something about that was right though, that's exactly what you wanted to happen.

sannirio©

#choi san #san #san smut #san x amab reader #san x reader #san x male reader #ateez smutt fic #ateez smut #choi san x reader

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aduckwithears · 1 year ago

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Let's Talk Laudanum - a GO meta

Hey all - I'm gonna preface this one with a tw/cw for opioids, death, suicide, and substance abuse ok? It shouldn't be too heavy (just canon typical), but I don't want anyone surprised.

Ok! I've been watching some of the Good Omens s2 behind the scenes specials, and in the "Grave Danger" clip it mentions that Laudanum is "...a very intense kind of alcohol, or like ethanol, that would kill somebody…" which is not actually true. In the show itself we see the bottle:

Which confirms that laudanum is a combo of Opium (45 and 1/2 grains per ounce) and Alcohol (40%).

It also says Poison and CMOT Dibbler... The poison angle (is it poison? well yes... if you take enough) has been covered in another post by @queerfables who talked about the make up of laudanum as well. CMOT Dibbler is a great nod to Sir Terry of course :)

What do I want to add? That yes, laudanum is in fact an opioid, and was actually an incredibly popular and over-used drug in the 18th and 19th centuries, both in real life and maybe more importantly in novels of the time. Proceed under the cut!

In my non-duck life I work in a field with some familiarity with opioids, so I also want to add that while yes, opioids can make you loopy, they are ultimately a soporific (meaning a sleep aid, a downer, a relaxant), a pain reducer, cough suppressant, and a respiratory depressant. That last bit is why they can be deadly in the case of an overdose.

So let's get back to laudanum. Yes, it was used post-surgically, but quite often would also be prescribed to (predominantly) women with various aches or pains that their doctors couldn't (or wouldn't bother) investigating. Subsequently women would become addicted to the opioid, needing more and more to achieve the desired effect, leading to eventual death or any of the other mental, emotional, or socioeconomic ills of addition.

Given the above and the era's fascination with the "sexiness" of wasting diseases such as consumption (hmmm, cough plus pain, perfect for treatment with laudanum!) laudanum was also a little bit of a romantic drug. It was also popular in novels of the era such as those in the Gothic Romance genre. (A quick peek at Wikipedia turns up lots of examples... though I'm sure a literature expert of the era would have lots more to add.)

All of which to say! The Resurrectionists as a minisode is channeling some pure Gothic Romance (think Mary Shelley's Frankenstein - pub 1818, etc) so laudanum is the PERFECT poison for Elspeth to pick. It dulls pain and at sufficient doses suppresses the respiratory system to the point of death. Without the modern miracle of Narcan or naloxone, death is all but assured. Of course, then, enter Crowley.

You know what laudanum doesn't do? Give you an Alice in Wonderland experience and make you specifically shouty about people not killing themselves. Now, this could be how opioids affect demons (it's possible), or the more entertaining option is that Crowley has no clue what laudanum is or isn't supposed to do, saw the poison and alcohol label, and decided to have a bit of fun while doing some deniable (the laudanum made me do it! honest!) good. It's also handy that he doesn't need to do mundane human things like breathing. So he gets to sing about Scotland, save the human, and get hugged by Aziraphale - pretty good day... until he gets Lightning Sanded to Hell.

I'll just add here that the laudanum plot line works well if we are taking the minisodes at face value... OR if we are reading them as Aziraphale's version of events of the past, especially with the literary aspect.

Bonus: If you've made it this far, maybe you'll come along with me on a little cross-fandom jaunt.

I'm also a massive fan of the Aubrey/Maturin series - Patrick O'Brian's books set in the early 1800s and starring Captain Jack Aubrey and Doctor Stephen Maturin. If you've read the series or even watched the Master and Commander movie you may know... those two characters have their own odd couple thing going on and quite a collection on AO3 :) . Anyhow. In the books Stephen is hooked on laudanum for a good while, mostly to dull the pain of a love that cannot be acted on. That's actually what got me started thinking about this post since there are certainly some parallels there.

Thanks for sticking with me on this ramble!

#good omens meta #the resurrectionists #laudanum #tw opioids #tw substance abuse #tw death #1827 #good omens s2 #good omens 2 #the resurrectionists minisode #a duck talks #gos2 #good omens #aziraphale #crowley #tw suicide

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iguessigotta · 2 years ago

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Eddie gluskin with a pregnant darling maybe

you know what's funny about Eddie Gluskin being one of my faves? i am terrified of pregnancy just headcanons for now - this ended up being more an exploration of the inherent horror of this situation than anything shippy, whoops. also kind of an au where Waylon does not survive his encounter with Eddie 18+ just in case CW: injuries, noncon, hostage, pregnancy, suicide mention cannibalism(?) probably more i missed. (no r*** - it is alluded to tho) i mean it's Eddie. the man is a walking billboard for "dead dove do not eat" ok lmao

being Eddie’s darling wife was a living nightmare

you’d been one of the few employees allowed near Eddie, and he’d developed a….thing…for you. well, not you, really, more the idea of you

and when the Mount Massive asylum fell into chaos, you were one of the unlucky people trapped inside

when Eddie found you he was quick to make his image of you your new reality

whether you wanted it or not

you’d initially fought him at every turn. unfortunately, Eddie had a temper, and was prone to snapping with no warning

you’d learned that lesson the hard way - your forearm was still in a makeshift splint, a dull ache where he’d fractured the bone in a fit of anger. or had he broken it? you weren’t sure. all you knew is it hurt like hell and made it nearly impossible for you to fight back

after that incident, you thought keeping your head down and quietly obeying him was the smart choice. that you’d be safe enough to ride out this mess until someone arrived to help

you had to believe that someone was coming. you told yourself you’d be rescued within the week, that there was no way a facility as large as Mount Massive could go down in flames like this without someone noticing

days turned into weeks, weeks into months (how many had it been? 3? 4?)

every night you sat, ankles bound to your chair at the end of some wobbly, bloodstained table, Eddie at the opposite end, a makeshift dinner spread between the two of you

occasionally there would be some sort of meat among the sawdust-flavored rations - Eddie was always vague when you asked him what kind of meat it was

you resisted for the first month, but your resolve broke a week into the second, the hunger pains driving you to tears and forcing you to make a choice

so you ate. and you tried not to think about where he got it from

it was like the two of you playing some sick game of house

Eddie kept a close eye on you when he was around, restraining you when he wasn’t

you’d be tied to a chair. strapped down on your back atop some bloodstained hospital mattress. arms bound behind you, tied to a support beam and forced to sit on the cold concrete floor

all of it was miserable

Eddie said it was for your safety, but you knew better. especially after he’d found you with a knife you’d managed to get your hands on. he’d stopped you from trying to slash your own throat, spewing some bullshit about his darling preferring death over a blissful life as the proud mother of his many, many children

he wasn’t going to let you leave him in any way

some part of you thought about pleading with Eddie to “think of the baby” and untie you - but that only reminded you that you were, in fact, pregnant

and it was starting to show

whatever mental energy you could spare went to trying (and failing) to block that fact out of your mind

you felt like you were trapped in two horror stories simultaneously - one, enduring whatever Eddie decided to do to you on a daily basis, and two, the unwanted life growing inside you against your will

not to mention the mental anguish of what to do after the…birth. would you even survive that? would you want to?

should you try to raise and protect it? or would it be more merciful if you…

it was a horrifying decision to make, one that you flinched away from whenever you found yourself thinking about it

every day you wondered if it would be better to piss him off, have him kill you in a fit of rage. it wouldn't be hard to do, but for some reason the knowledge that you were pregnant stopped you

well, you told yourself, at least you got to skip Eddie’s “operation table”. all the men who came before you weren’t so lucky, if the video on that camera you found was to be believed….

#dead dove do not eat #reader beware #eddie gluskin x reader #yandere eddie gluskin x reader #this is straight up horror reader is having a bad time #in so many ways!#eddie gluskin headcanons #outlast x reader #kinda sorta tempted to write a short fic exploring this absolute nightmare but idk #we'll see idk #no beta we die like men #no kids allowed #sorry if this isn't what you were looking for anon i just had ✨ideas✨ and ✨thoughts✨ in my little head #anyway Eddie Gluskin is horrible and I love him everyone look at my nasty blorbo he's awful <3 #requests #inbox is open and I'm in the mood for horror so #eyes emoji

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callsign-relic · 1 month ago

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(Not a request dw) (Blood, gore, murder, sadistic/dark 'humor' ((Courtesy of Rumble/Frenzy being sadistic jerks)), and death cw) (Dead Dove Do Not Eat)

The night shifts at the supermarket you worked for were supposed to be rather simple. It's a pretty massive store, and it stays open until rather late. Though, not many people show up after ten pm. The overtime pays… Ok, at least. More than anything, the late-at-night shifts were used for unpacking boxes, decorating for holidays, and restocking the shelves.

Aaaand dealing with the odd customer. The people that come in close to closing hours tend to be a rather... Strange bunch, but not tooooo rowdy. If they do get rowdy, Jason tends to be the one that deals with them. Though he'd prefer that they stopped causing trouble of their own volition before he has to step in, and deal with it himself.

It was just supposed to be the four of you tonight though. Micheal's out with a cold, and you're covering Carrie's shift. She said she might show up later to help, but that her mom is giving her a hard time about staying out so late. That she's inviting trouble that way. Right. Carrie's nice though, all in all. Tends to be the one covering other people shifts if need be, so she more than makes up for it.

And sure, the occasional shift can go sideways with the odd horde of Karens, but. Tonight? Everything that could go wrong, had gone wrong.

You weren't sure who they were, or why they were here. But they were definitely looking for something, or someone. What with the way they'd already murdered two of the people on shift already.

Earlier…

It'd been around 10:30pm when the two cosplayers had barged in with these massive, strange, and futuristic costumes that didn't seem to hinder them in the slightest. Not to mention their weird props. Glowing props made to be waved around is one thing, but those cattle prod staff things seem to be actively throwing sparks, too. You'd seen them on the security monitors out of the corner of your eye whilst you were stacking empty boxes into the "Security Room" to get them out of the way for now. You assumed that they had to have been Super God Masterforce cosplayers, goofing off in public in odd hours as some are wont to do these days.

At least. Until they killed the first person.

They strode up to your coworker, Laurie, in unison and the blue cosplayer grabbed hold of her. Laurie struggled valiantly in the grip of the blue cosplayer regardless, as the red cosplayer jabbed a finger in her face, and asked her something…

Borderline inaudible.

Now, the camera systems were old, and their ability to pick up audio isn't the best. But it sounded almost like an accusing string of machine noises interspersed with the odd shrill beep. The blue cosplayer joined in on the interrogation as well, but seemed preoccupied with complaining(?) about how much your coworker squirmed in his grasp.

After a few more minutes of increasingly irritable questioning, the red cosplayer shook his boxy head and gestured for the blue cosplayer to let Laurie go. You thought that would be the end of their tomfuckery. That they'd leave after failing to find what they were looking for. But shortly after the blue one released Laurie, the red one stabbed his cattle prod staff into Laurie's chest. Laurie's body is wracked with convulsions as the red intruder lifts her off of the ground with the end of his staff. Her agonized screams echoed through the store, and monitor speakers so loudly that you couldn't hear Ashton jog over to stare dumbfounded at the carnage as well.

The screaming continued for a couple of minutes before Laurie stopped moving. Having gone limp, but continuing to twitch thanks to the electricity that coursed through her body. The blue intruder frowns at how short-lived Laurie's attempt to fight back was, but seems to come up with something a moment later as he adjusted his grip on the staff in his hands. He swung his staff back, and forth a few times as if lining up a bat's swing. Before he slammed the side of the bifurcated, staff-head into Laurie's skull.

You look away before it hits, but the sound of bone crunching, and a body hitting the floor carries through the old speakers regardless.

Ashton turns off the monitors connected to the camera system, and turns to you with a somber expression. "Those creeps on the cameras looked up at us after… A-After ditching Laurie's… -ahem- A-And they started heading towards camera 20. They're likely coming for the folks on the cameras, and we… We can't be seen in here. Or at all, preferably." They look towards the entrance of the storage room, sigh, and take your shoulders in their hands to make you look at them. Focus on them, and not on the horrors you had just witnessed.

"I'm gonna be honest. I don't think we've got the time to book it anymore so we've gotta find somewhere to hide in here, ok? Now you're pretty small, Pumpkin, sooooooooooo….- Here. Squeeze into the hidey-hole Micheal disappears into when he needs a break from the noise, yeah? If you pile the empty boxes up like so, they aren't ever gonna see you in there."

They release you, and straighten up to go find their own hiding spot with their hands clenched into nervous fists. It was only there for a moment, but you saw the look they had on their face before they'd turned away completely. Their jaw was set with a quiet determination, like they were planning on doing something risky. You can hear them shut, and lock the storage room door as they make their way to their own hiding spot. Their hiding spot seems to be the dense pile of unopened boxes by the entrance to the Storage Room. Certain, it seems, that they could at least make it out of the room, if given the chance.

You stand up on weak knees, and shuffle over to the hiding nook. Grateful to Ashton for pointing it out to you. You're certain that if they hadn't snapped you out of it, you would've just sat there in that creaky, metal chair until those intruders busted in here to look for the two of you. And while you initially had some difficulty wedging yourself in there, covering the entrance with a few boxes. You managed to seal off your hiding spot rather quickly, given how hard your hands were shaking.

Once you were settled in, however, you curled up into a little ball. Terrified.

You don't understand how one person could lift a whole 150-ish pound person into the air that easily, let alone why they would kill one of your coworkers to begin with. None of this makes any sense! Unless... Unless they weren't human-

Your train of thought is interrupted by two pairs of incredibly heavy footsteps approaching the locked door to the Storage Room. The assholes that just murdered Laurie are on the other side of that door right now. They aren't that far from your hiding spots, and you can hear a strange scraping sound emanating from the other side of the door.

At least it's locked. It'll take a good amount of force to break that down. Hopefully Jason at least heard what happened with Laurie, and is calling the cops by now. He doesn't like having them around, but surely now woul- BANG!!!

The door hits the opposite wall, and you can hear metal-on-metal shifting again as the intruders breach the Storage Room. They hum, and buzz irritably in that mechanical language of theirs as they go. Looking for somebody they knew would be operating the cameras, no doubt. They work their way to the back of the room methodically. Checking each corner of the room, the closed garage door, between the shelves, and finally make their way to the "Security Room" where the monitors are located. Their footsteps are not only deafening now, but also shaking the ground tremendously. What are these guys if they truly aren't human?

Ashton uses the intruders' footsteps to disguise their own in order to sneak away once the massive robots rounded the corner to get into the "Security Room". But in their haste to leave the room, they knock over some of the stacked boxes they'd hidden themselves amongst. The low thuds the boxes made when hitting the ground may as well have been gunshots with how quickly the intruders turned towards the sound. Their boots shriek, metal-on-concrete, and you come to the damning realization that these murderers might have better hearing than you'd hoped they would.

There's a brief moment of stillness, silence as Ashton freezes in the doorway. You can hear the hydraulics wheeze in the legs of the intruders as they turn towards the sound, breaking the silence by taking a step or two towards the gap in the shelves that would bring them back into the Storage Room at large. Ashton inhales awkwardly as they shuffle quietly through the doorway before muttering something in an awkward attempt to excuse themselves.

"Oooohhhhhhhh- Heyy guyss, if you don't mind I'm just gonna…-!" Ashton cuts themselves off at the sight of an intruder turning the corner, and turn to bolt into the store like a startled prey animal. But the second they start running, the intruders growl animalistically, and leap into action. Taking off after their quarry like a pair of three ton lions desperate for another meal. Their footsteps deafen you once more as they tear after your coworker, and the ground shakes mightily with each step.

After a moment of cacophonous chaos, they drag Ashton back into the room kicking, and screaming. You can tell in the way that they chirp, and hum at each other that they're proud about catching Ashton so quickly. Their mocking beeping, and buzzing quiets into frustrated muttering seconds later about something you can't identify. Maybe they weren't after Ashton after all? You hear the intruders begin to interrogate Ashton in that snarling engine, and whirring machinery type language of theirs. Picking up on the pattern of noises they made when they were questioning… When they were questioning Laurie earlier.

Though this time there was a quiet two-part harmony of growling filling the gaps between their insistent questions, and Ashton's pained, confusion filled protests. In their predatorial pursuit of your coworker, their footsteps shifted the boxes on the shelves next to you so you could see a fraction of what's going on in the Storage Room. Though you dare not shift them back lest it makes a sound.

Ashton lapses into silence as they writhe in the grasp of the red intruder focusing on breaking free instead of reasoning with the ones who murdered their coworker. Their silence is met with immediate displeasure from the robots, as the red one slams their head on a wall, barks something that sounds like an order, and the blue one repeats his question with an agitated buzz.

Ashton shouts, disoriented, and tries to shake off the pain in the back of their head instead of answering the intruders' question. The red one roars in frustration, and throws Ashton to the ground instead of continuing to interrogate them. The blue intruder readies his space-age cattle prod, and stabs the business end down into Ashton's spine with a sadistically gleeful expression.

Horrible, blood-curdling screams rip through the air, and drown out all other sounds. You can't see Ashton on the floor thanks to the shelves obscuring it, but you know they're in agony right now. And there's nothing you can do to stop it. There's a point where the screaming just stops, and you see the blue one remove his staff from Ashton's back with a contemptible sniff. Like he was upset Ashton didn't last longer.

The intruders step over Ashton's… Body. And return to the "Security Room" where you're hidden. They're halfway through the room when the both of them just stop. Stock-still, and silent a few feet in front of your hiding spot. The only thing you could hear from your hiding spot was the quiet wheeze of hydraulics, the buzz of electricity coming from their bloodied cattle prods, and the occasional squeak of metal-on-metal as they shift a little where they stand.

The smell of burning flesh invades your nostrils when you strain for any other sign of what's going on with the robots, and it takes all of your willpower not to vomit on the spot.

Back to the present..

You startle as the intruders begin to argue loudly with each other, evidently done with listening to… Something you couldn't hear. And even though their mechanical language was just as unintelligible now as it was before, something about what they were saying makes your heart drop into your stomach. You listen, eyes blown wide in fear as the intruders argue for a solid five minutes. Unable to really focus on the dubious, mechanical contents of their argument beyond the one thing you could understand that'd come out of their mouths.

They definitely, definitely just said your name.

Pt 1 end

-Not a Request Anon

five nights at rumble and frenzy’s……….

This was really good 👀 it’s not my favorite genre personally but I’m a wimp when it comes to gore so that’s purely my own preference. Take the fact that it grossed me out as a compliment, HAHA

I genuinely think it was written very well though :) the narration was very clear and I spotted the horror references in the coworkers’ names HEHE. And honestly breaking into a grocery store just for the fun of it sounds like something the casettes would totally do

We’ll see if the reader survives 👀

#relic answers

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thesandsofelsweyr · 11 months ago

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When your AK! Jason adopt the doggo?

After Jay moves into his own place in Venezuela! Here's a little excerpt from my Max the Mutt origin story 🐶

⚠️ cw: mention of previous animal cruelty (not by Jay ofc)

Running was a luxury Jason had taken for granted until a death-worshiping garbage Clown decided to break his ankle seven times for shits and giggles. Almost a year had passed since Wilson dragged his ass out of that psycho’s dungeon, and he was only now able to run again. He’d rehabbed his ankle himself—proper medical care was hard to come by living as an unpaid (ok fine, underpaid), undocumented, indentured servant to a pair of drug lords and a mercenary—but he’d be damned if he let the Clown rob him of yet another piece of his life.

He’d noticed the mutt when he was about a mile out from his shack. It was scrounging for scraps in a trash heap when those black eyes fixed on him. Strays were a common sight on his run—the slums were overflowing with the beasts—but this monster was perhaps the ugliest dog he’d ever laid eyes on. It was massive despite being starved. A cross between a mastiff and pit bull, a mangey brindled beast, but that’s not what made it stand out since most of the mutts around here had the mange. No, this dog looked like someone had set half of its face on fire. The left side of its face was burned away down to the bone.

Max eventually follows Jason home after a run one day, and takes up residence on the stoop. Jay mostly ignores him for the most part—he isn't interested in another mouth to feed—but the damn thing seems hellbent on getting his attention by repeatedly knocking over his trash can and ripping into his trash bags.

One night Jay comes home during a thunderstorm and finds his front door with a mutt sized hole in it. Jay storms in, pissed as hell until he finds Max cowering in a corner whimpering like Jay had done so many times. All he wanted was for someone to be nice to him, to tell him everything was gonna be ok. So Jay lays a blanket over the dog and sits down beside it in the corner, scratching it. Max becomes a roommate after that night 😉

#my wips #my arkhamverse #jason todd #max the mutt #arkham knight #arkhamverse #jason todd fluff #dcu #sands replies #artzysyam

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gtbutterfly · 6 months ago

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Quincy and the forest giant part 8

this is the big one folks! this is the one where we finally see some of Ellas' employers! Will parts of Ella's background be revealed? will Quincy finally go home? maybe. uh, I hope you enjoy this chapter, and as always, criticism is appreciated

previous part:

CW: mentions death(no actual death), guns(dart guns?), Ella says f*ck but is censored, implyed animal murder at the end.

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I woke up that morning to the sound of breathing over me. I slowly open my eyes only to be startled by the giant face staring down at me. I let out a shocked gasp and my eyes widened. Ella noticed.

“Oh, sorry kid,” the giant said, “didn’t mean to give you a heart attack,” she helped me sit up with her fingers.

“Um, it's fine. Good morning, Ella,” I said. The giant sighed.

“Today’s the day, huh?” she said, “you’re finally…going home,”

“Um…yeah…” I said, trying to play dumb about what I overheard the night before.

“....you excited?” Ella asked,

“um…I guess so,” I said, looking down, “uh, what time are they getting here?”

“Pretty soon. I don’t know if I should give you breakfast since they might arrive while you're still eating.” Ella said. “You want to…um….wait outside for them?”

“Uhhh…yeah, sure…” I said, hesitantly. Ella held out her hand for me and I let her pick me up and start walking outside. I looked up at her, she had a look of almost nervousness on her face. There were bags under her eyes like she didn’t sleep at all the night before. She seemed like she was wearing the same clothes as yesterday, but she could’ve been wearing a different pair that just looked similar to the clothes she wore yesterday. She didn’t really smell too peculiar, in fact, she didn’t really smell like anything at all. She had a mild morning breath, but that was about it. Her skin had bug bites and scratches that she didn’t even seem to notice, and there was some dirt under her fingertips and in the crevices of the grooves of her fingerprints, but other than that her hand was soft and dry, there was no oil or sweat from her skin.

We got outside and Ella sat down in front of the massive door to her house. She kept holding me in her palm, not letting me onto the ground like she did last time. I looked at her.

“So….um…how’d you sleep?” I asked.

“Oh, um,” Ella said, “not much, but well.”

“Ok…” I said, “so when those people get here….are they just gonna….bring me home, or….”

“Hmm…” Ella thought to herself for a moment, “I’m actually gonna have to talk for them for a moment. Don’t worry, you won’t be waiting long,”

“O-ok…” I looked down, “so…um….can I ask…one more thing before I go?”

“Hmm…sure, shoot.” Ella said.

“Um…do you…like this?” I asked.

“What do you mean?” Ella asked.

“Do you like….um, being out here alone…as a giant…” I said,

“Well, it's fairly quiet…and peaceful, being out here alone,” Ella said, “but..I dunno, I guess I miss being around people, having someone to talk to.” she sighed, “you're the first person I’ve spoken to in months, kid.”

“Oh….um, I guess…that explains things….” I said. “Um….you were probably mean to me because…you never really interact with people….” Ella scoffed.

“That might be part of it, sure,” she said, “but really, I think…I’m just like that in a way,”

“...what were you like before you were a giant?” I asked, looking down with my eyes closed.

“What are you talking about?” Ella asked, “how do…how would you know I wasn’t always like this?”

“Um…” I thought for a moment, “you said you miss being around people…you can’t miss something you’ve never had….”

Ella was silent for a moment.

“Heh…right,” she let out a weak laugh, and sighed, looking down. Then she looked up at the sky. “Nice day, isn’t it?” she said, trying to change the subject. I played along.

“...yeah, you’ll probably be able to stargaze a lot better tonight.” I said, looking at the cloudless sky. “Too bad I won’t be here to show you all the consolations and stuff…”

“Yeah…” Ella looked to her side, avoiding eye contact with me. Suddenly, her eyes widened. She looked off in the distance, into the woods. I looked in the same direction as her.

“Wh-what is it?” I asked.

“They’re here.” Ella said, readjusting her grip around me and standing up. She held me tightly while standing to her full height. There was some rustling in the trees and grass before a dark green truck came into the open. It had tinted windows and gray lines across the sides. There was a logo on the door, I just barely recognized it from so far away. It was the logo of the logging company that started the town. The truck stopped some distance away from Ella and the doors opened. The people that came out were humans wearing some kind of armor, similar to riot gear in a way. They had boots and gray pants and jackets with vests of some sort over them, and helmets with some opaque glass covering their faces. They had these sorts of weapons that seemed similar to rifles but looked more tubeish. I think there were tranquilizer guns of some kind. There were two people that came out of the truck dressed like this, a third person, with a gray coat and a brown ponytail with silver at the tips. They had a clipboard and purple glasses. They stepped towards Ella.

“Ella,” they said. Ella sighed and got on her knee, still holding me.

“Amber….” Ella said, looking down at her.

“Would you be…so kind as to put the child down,” Amber said,

“...aren’t we going to talk?” Ella asked. She sounded stern again.

“You will put the child down, they will wait in the vehicle, and we will talk then.” Amber said.

“Shouldn’t the kid be part of this conversation?” Ella asked, “we’re going to be talking about them, are we not?”

“Put. them. Down.” Amber said sternly. I felt Ellas hand tense up around me. She noticed that her grip was getting tighter, and she sighed.

“Why don’t I put them down, and you can introduce yourself to them, and then they can join us in our…talk,” Ellas suggested, still stern and emotionless, like she was when I first met her. Amber was silent for a moment.

“Fine.” She said, finally. Ella sighed slightly and lowered me to the grass gently. She placed my feet onto the ground and let me go. Amber approached me.

“Hello child. You’re Quincy Mora, correct?” she asked.

“Um…y-yes….” I said, “your name was…Amber, right?”

“My name is Doctor Amber Laurier, you may refer to me as Dr. Laurier.” she said, sternly.

“...oh….um….ok…” I said. “Um…your…you're with the…um…lumber company?”

“You’ll have your questions answered soon.” Dr. Laurier said. “Guards, watch the child for the time being.”

The two people with the helmets grabbed my arms and pulled me back behind them. Dr. Laurier approached Ella.

“You said Quincey would be part of our talk,” the giant said,

“You said you were stable enough to be around people after being turned,” Dr. Laurier said.

“I was.” Ella said.

“All those people would beg to differ,” Dr Laurier said with a blank expression.

“We’re not doing this right now, Amber.” Ella said. “We’re here to talk about the kid.”

“right , right, Quincy.” Amber looked down at the clipboard. “Age thirteen, no parents, few peers back in the town, no permanent living situation as they are in foster care.”

“That town is the place they've lived their whole life, Amber.” Ella said.

“And were they very happy there?” Amber asked, “they didn’t simply wander into the woods and get caught by you, they saw you and started following you. They wanted to be taken away.”

“They were just curious.” Ella said. “Ask them,”

“Even if they were just following you out of curiosity, we can’t just let them go back, Ella.” the Doctor said, “if we send them back to the town, they’ll tell them about you, and it would be cruel to send them to the foster system of some other place,”

“So you're leaving them here? With me?” Ella asked.

“It's the most beneficial option for all of us.” Amber said.

“You know what I almost did yesterday,” Ella said,

“If he was in any danger of you, you wouldn’t be standing here right now, Ella.” Amber said, almost smug sounding.

“You just want some else too….” Ella stopped mid sentence, “...to do this to,”

“We haven’t scheduled plans for that yet. The child is assumed to be not of the right age for trials to begin on them” Amber said.

“Trials?” I asked from behind the guards. They pulled me back. Amber looked back at me.

“I wouldn’t worry about it, Quincy. Not for the time being, anyways.”

“Don’t worry about my ……” Ella murmured under her breath. Amber looked up at her.

“Excuse me?”

“Tell them what your plans are, Amber.” Ella said.

“There are no plans, Ella. we’re still planning it now.” Amber said.

“Tell them.” Ella said, her voice vibrating in the air. The guards tensed up around the tranquilizers. Amber stepped back.

“They’ll know soon enough.” she said. “Now, why don’t we tell both of you about what we have planned.” She turned towards me. “Quincy,”

“...” I gulped as I stepped toward Amber, “...Doctor Laurier?”

“What are your thoughts on being adopted?” Amber asked.

“A…adopted?” I asked.

“Amber, no.” Ella said, angrily. Amber looked up at her.

“Ella, remember Derrick,” Amber said

“Don’t you ***king dare bring up his name,” Ella said, her voice salivating in anger. The guards pulled me back again. Amber flinched, I did too.

“Ella, calm down!” Amber exclaimed. Ella took a deep breath.

“Don’t bring up Derrick again.” Ella said.

“Just let me make my point,” Amber said, “the two of you…you wanted to have a child together, right?”

“We wanted to both be alive together,” Ella said, her voice rumbling.

“Quincy here could be like the child you never had,”

“You know that's a bad idea, Amber. You know I can’t be around people.” Ella said.

“Well maybe it's about time you prove that you can, “Amber said. Ella paused for a moment.

“...what are you saying?” she asked.

“I’m not promising anything, Ella. I’m just saying, depending on how you take care of this child..” Amber said,

“Stop messing with me, I know you’d never do that.” Ella said.

“Think about what Derrick wouldv’e wanted, Ella,” Amber said.

“Stop saying…” Ella took another deep breath, “...stop saying his name. You have no idea what he would've wanted.”

“Wouldn’t he want this child to have a home?” Amber asked.

“He would've wanted this child to be safe,” Ella said.

“So keep them safe, Ella.” Amber said. “We already told the town that Quincy went away to possibly be adopted. Just take care of them for a few more days, and we’ll be back to do some health checks on them, and then a permanent decision will be made.”

“You can’t…” Ella started,

“You're not being given the opportunity to refuse,” Amber said, walking away from her. She turned to me. “You understand this situation, correct?”

“Y-you want me to stay with her?” I asked, “but..”

“It won’t be for any more than three days. You aren’t afraid of Ella here, are you?”

“Um…not….not that much…” I said, looking to my side.

“Hmm,” Amber checked something on the clipboard she was holding. “Do you have any attachment with your town?”

“well…I’ve never left it before….” I said,

“Right…right…” She put the clipboard down to her side and looked at me. “Well, we’ll leave you here now. I’d suggest getting used to your situation here…”

“Wait…your…you're actually…” I started to say,

“Nothing has been decided yet. You will stay here with Ella for the next few days. We will come back, and you will report your experience back to us, understood, Quincy?”

“But…but…” I gulped, “What about school? What about…the town…and everyone there…don’t they….”

“They’re not worried about you, Quincy.” She said, “They’re not.”

I was silent for a moment.

“Do you understand?” Amber said, in the same tone as before. I nodded.

“...yes….”

“Good.:” Amber turned around, walking back to the vehicle, before stepping onto the first step to the door and looking up at Ella. “We'll contact you each day to get an idea of how things are going. Expect to hear from us tonight.” Ella glared down at her, her eyebrows furrowing. I could hear air coming from out her nose as she exhaled sharply in anger. She sighed.

“...ok, amber.”

With that, Amber and the guards got back into the truck and drove away, off into the forest out of sight. We stared in their direction for a minute. Everything was just silent, and I was still there. Soon, Ella laid her hand out in front of me without saying a word. I hesitantly climbed on to it, and we went inside. She took me to the main living area of her cabin, where she placed me onto the same table I was on before. They looked right over me, out the window outside. Something was bothering her. Her eye was twitching, and she kept breathing heavily out of her nose. Soon she sighed, and went back towards the door.

“Where….wh-where are you going?” I asked.

“I’m going to kill a deer.” she said, before walking outside, and closing the door behind her, leaving me alone in the house.

#gt community #g/t #giant/tiny #g/t community #giant tiny #sfw g/t #g/t writing #gt writing #constructive critism welcome #giant and tiny #gianttiny #giant #sfw gt #giantess sfw #sfw giant/tiny #sfw giantess #giant tiny angst #giant tiny writing

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devil-doll13 · 1 year ago

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Bark At The Moon.

(Prologue)

Cw: Swearing, Mentions of Death, Mentions of Weed and Alcohol

Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: Mid-way through their first tour of the US, the band find themselves stalled by a busted van. Unbeknownst to them, this would be the start of a catastrophic streak of misfortune.

I have been planning on Max’s backstory fic for a while and here it finally is! Or the beginning of it, at least. Hope you enjoy!

Dividers by silkholland

The sky is painted yellow, and a circling flock of birds is flying so close that he can hit them with his chubby fist. Tall white bars imprison him, but he is softly cushioned by sponge-like pillows. A fuzzy brown bear, lined with stitches, is his sole bedfellow.

“Hey, little man,” booms a tired, hearty voice. Above him, a friendly giant is looming over. His moony face is cracked and dimpled in a grin.

Max flails with joy. To his delight, the giant stretches out his massive hands and lifts him into his arms. He smells familiar… He smells of dirt and sweat and cement. He smells of cheap coffee and even cheaper hot dogs. Maybe that’s what love smells like.

Yes. Sense of smell is the first thing he remembers being aware of. The next is colour; the man’s eyes are cornflower blue, just like Max’s.

“Uhf. You’re getting heavier, kid,” he grunts.

“Daddy, when’s Max gonna be big enough to play with us?” Another, higher-pitched voice pipes up.

Standing in the doorway is a smaller version of the giant, his own blue eyes blown wide and curious.

“He’s just a baby, Roger. It’ll take a bit longer for him to start walking around.” He explains, patting Max’s back as he gently jostles him.

“Oh.” Roger blinks.

“Where do babies come from?” He asks.

The giant’s whisker twitches. Max swats at it.

“Dada!” He squeals, mimicking Roger.

Dad stares at him in shock. His eyes are twinkling. The boy’s mouth forms a circular ‘o’ shape.

“Mommy, Max said ‘Dada!’” He yells.

“Linda, Max is talking to me!” Dad shouts.

There’s a rush of footsteps and the other giant bursts in. Her hair is yellow just like the sky. Max babbles happily as a chorus of voices echo around him. Now he realises he can speak and hear, and suddenly the world doesn’t feel so lonely anymore.

It strikes him only several months after the fact that this was the first time he’d dreamt of his father; a man he’d only known through mangled second-hand stories and grainy photographs. Maybe it was an omen of some kind, because several months after the fact, Max would be dead.

But not yet. Just asleep. Or, well, he’s awake now.

“Max! Max!” A familiar voice is shouting for him. It’s drowning out his memory, smothering it in thick fog… What was… Who was that…?

But by the time he’s clambering out of the backseat of the Audi, he’s already forgotten. More pressing matters are at hand, like food and stretching; his body aches from the bumpy upholstery, probably only worsened by the fact that he was lying curled up around their merch box.

“What’s going on?” He calls out groggily.

Now the whole band is gathered in a sweaty quartet, with their bassist, Austin, at the outskirts, swatting at flies buzzing around in the Florida humidity. Then, Max notices his friend Dwayne standing with his hands on his hips by the roadside. He looks agitated.

“She’s making a fuss again,” Dwayne tells him.

And Max knows immediately that it’s their van: a black Ford Transit Custom with LOCKJAW splashed onto the side in big, bold letters. A sour, sulfuric stench is curling out of her painted bonnet. Equally as sour is the expression on their lead guitarist Jett’s twisted face. His ever-present red bandana is askew, and he’s pacing like a caged animal, the way he always does when something isn’t going their way.

“I swear to fuck, if this shitty rust bucket kicks it on us this close to Miami, I’m gonna riot,” he’s fuming. “I’m gonna riot, Max, I’m gonna lose it.”

“Jett, don’t blow your gasket just yet, ok?” Comes a softer and more reasonable voice. It’s Cyndi. Her curly brown hair is so permed up today that she looks rather like a fluffy cocker spaniel.

She casts Max a pleading glance.

“Ok. Let me take a look at her,” he says, and twitches his mouth in what he hopes is a reassuring smile. It’s not the first time he’s played handyman.

Max heaves up the van’s hood and immediately recoils away from the awful smell.

“Ugh,” Cyndi gags. “Smells like rotten eggs.”

“Or one of Austin’s socks,” Dwayne agrees.

“Hey!”

Max grins wryly. He leans over to inspect the damage further, but it’s as he suspected:

“Battery’s dead,” he reports, looking over his shoulder warily at Jett. “But, uh, don’t worry. This problem is definitely and easily fixable!”

Jett swears furiously under his breath.

“…How much will it cost us to get it replaced?” Cyndi asks, carefully eyeing their van.

“Well, I don’t have a replacement on hand, so whatever the nearest mechanic charges us.” He scratches his chin nervously, still glancing at Jett.

“Right. Alright. Cyndi, you’ll…” He straightens his crooked bandana. “Sort the funds out?”

“Yeah.”

Max shakes his head and slams the bonnet down, stifling the odour. The truth was, old girl was a retired workhorse pushed too far past her prime; there were only so many times he could smack her rear into action before she fell fatally ill.

But he understands Jett’s concern well enough. She was screaming out in agony under the weight of all their equipment, and probably the worst of it was Max’s drum kit. It wasn’t as if they could lug it around in their rusted up little Audi, though.

“Hey,” he starts. “We’ll take the car over to buy a new one. Maybe some brunch too, yeah? I saw a sign back there, it can’t be far from here.”

“I’ll stay and watch her,” Dwayne says blandly.

“You sure?”

“Uh-huh.”

Austin gives Dwayne a toothy grin. He seems to have forgiven the slight from earlier.

“Don’t worry, Big D. We’ll bring you back a big sandwich wrap or something,” he says.

“Yup. Thanks, Austin.”

Jett breathes out a puff of air. There’s still an angry blood vessel pulsating on his forehead, but it seems he’s no longer threatening to explode on them.

“Come on, let’s go,” he orders.

They all bustle into the Audi. Jett sits in the driver’s seat - It’s an unspoken rule that he always takes the wheel in situations like these - with Cyndi riding shotgun and Max once again stuffed into the backseat with the merch box and Austin. He stinks of sweat and weed, the same way Jett always has the thick aroma of hairspray clinging to him. But it’s a familiar stink, like the mucky fur of a childhood dog. Max beams at him.

“Hey, man. D’ya think we’ll get to sell more t-shirts in Miami?” Austin slurs out. He’s squinting at Max like he’s still drunk from last night.

“Oh yeah, absolutely,” he reaches into the box and pulls out a scratchy strip of fabric. Their lupine mascot snarls back at him, jagged maw open wide and dripping thickly with saliva.

“If we get there,” Jett mumbles.

“Dwayne did a bang-on job,” Max continues. “Hopefully the new album art can lure in some buyers too.”

“Yeah. Wolves are cool,” Austin says. “I wonder if he’ll do me a tat for free… Y'know, since we’re buds.”

Max feels old ink itch underneath his shirt, and instinctively airs out the collar. The rottweiler Dwayne did for his birthday hurt, but it turned out gorgeous.

“By the way… My socks don’t smell that bad, do they?” Austin gazes longingly at him. This must’ve been what he wanted to ask all along.

“Uh. Only sometimes,” Max says kindly.

They’re abruptly jostled by a bump in the road. Max presses his face against the window and sees a big red billboard with ‘Spoons’ plastered on it.

“Who the hell names a town after cutlery?” Cyndi wrinkles her nose; a habit Max has always found adorable. “Jett, pull in, I think I see a garage.”

Jett grunts and jerks their car over the sidewalk. Sure enough, there’s an auto repair shop squashed between a block of flats and a donut shop, labelled plainly as ‘Mandy’s Motors.’ Max feels Austin writhe beside him as he unbuckles his seatbelt, and shuffles out the cramped backseat with as much grace as he can manage. The shrill screech of metalwork assaults him the second he’s out, and he winces.

“I’ll go in. You guys clear off,” Jett says curtly.

Max figures he needs a little time away from the rest of the band; or maybe he just wants someone to yell at who won’t cause a fuss on the trip to Miami. Cyndi apparently senses this too, because she swiftly corrals Max and Austin away towards a nearby phone booth. The passing pedestrians are dressed as if they’ve never left the last decade - all headbands and bell-bottoms and florals - and they reel away from Max as if they’re nauseous; a reaction he has gotten quite used to over the years.

Austin pats his shoulder with urgency.

“Hey, man. Look.” He points to a bright, eye-catching diner on the outskirts of town. “Brunchtime.”

And that’s exactly what’s flashing them from across the road in large, curly font. Max glances over to Cyndi in a way he hopes doesn’t seem too desperate.

“You don’t have to look at me anytime you wanna spend money, you know,” she giggles. “Go on, boys. I’m hungry too.”

Max feels a sudden rush of affection for his girlfriend, and he slings an arm around her shoulder to kiss her temple, his nose twitching at the smell of her perfume. She quirks a smile and leans into his touch, not caring how Austin pitches a retch at the sight. The doorbell chimes as they step in, leather boots and high-top sneakers clacking on the shiny tile floor.

“Oh, wow. It smells just like my grandma’s angel cake in here.” Cyndi says, shrugging off a cuddly Max. They all slide neatly into an empty booth.

“I always thought angel cake stank like a wet dog.” Austin offers up unprompted, and Max can’t help but crack a silly grin.

“Austin!” She slaps his arm half-heartedly. “I’ll have you know, our late and great Ellen Richardson would’ve beaten you with a spoon for that!”

“I’d sit up on the countertop while she whipped up the batter…” Her eyes dim like they have shutters on. “Jesus, that was so long ago.”

Cyndi lays back in a daze, as if the memory had threaded a ghostly hand through her hair.

“Not that long ago,” Max comments.

“Well, ok, I guess not. But still, it tasted way better when I was nine,” she says breezily.

“Oh,” Austin smirks. “Y’know, I read in a magazine before that our senses of smell and our memories are like, super connected and stuff.”

“Uh-huh?” Cyndi humours him.

“Yeah. Yeah, so basically it has to do with the brain and… Like, the parts in it.” He fumbles slightly.

“What kinda magazine are you talking about, anyway?” Max asks him, curiosity piqued.

Austin brightens up again.

“Dude, it’s called ‘Strange US.’ I have a subscription, and it’s cheap, too! I’ll lend you a copy. There’s so much that the government is hiding from us, you don’t even know the half of it, man.”

“You mean UFOs? extraterrestrials?” Max quickly starts filling in the blanks.

“Max, don’t you start with the aliens!”

“But there’s gotta be something out there, Cyndi! I mean there’s nothing to disprove it, right?”

“Yeah, sure, but that doesn’t mean…”

Cyndi narrows her eyes dubiously.

“Where did you find out about this, Austin?”

“Guy about a year ago from our old campaign,” he scratches his nose. “Like, tabletop.”

Max nods eagerly. He remembers him, even more so since he was DMing at the time.

“Yeah. His name was Trey, right? He used to go on about how our system wasn’t like ‘real magic…’”

“There’s a whole bunch of these secret organisations, too,” Austin continues. “Working behind the scenes, y’know, making sure we don’t find out…” He waves his hands around, almost bowling over a nearby bottle of ketchup. “Like, men in black, in disguise.”

Max leans forward, lowering his voice:

“Austin, it’s totally a thing… There used to be this super tall bald dude that always hung around our local playground. He’d just sit and watch us.”

“Woah. For real?”

“I never found out what he wanted from us, though. He was creepy, but not in your usual way, more like in a… I don’t know, he was like a hall monitor. I could never make out his face, y’know?”

Then, Austin pales into a papery white.

“Oh. Max… There’s an entry in one of the issues…”

“It’s a load of bologna,” Cyndi interrupts. “Come on, you two don’t really accept this crap, do you?”

But their awkward faces seem to imply that they do.

“Unbelievable…”

“Have ya’ll decided what you want yet?”

Max turns to see a young, blonde-ish waitress who’s chewing bubblegum. He quickly fiddles with a menu, only realising now he’d been too distracted to look.

“Oh. How about… Um, eggs and bacon?”

Cyndi sheepishly blurts out a request for syrupy pancakes and Austin orders a cheeseburger. The waitress jots it all down with a smack of gum and roller-skates away. Max is rendered dully aware of children in other booths craning their heads to stare at their patched jackets and band shirts, tightly-laced parents urging them away with disgust. He guesses their small town world just isn’t ready for this much rock n’ roll yet.

“Hey,” he says, already feeling uncomfortable. “Keep it for me, will ya? I’m gonna go check on Jett.”

“Ok, Max. But don’t take too long.” Cyndi warns him.

The oppressive atmosphere lessens somewhat as he steps outside. Damn, at least city folk are better at hiding their contempt for you... It was a bit stuffy in there, too, all boxed in and clouded heavily with tobacco smoke. He wonders when they’ll ban it.

Max cuts past a throng of people and hurries over the road, hands stuffed casually in his jacket pockets. On an empty block near the outskirts of town, there’s a construction site. It’s developing a mould of apartments that are about half-way formed, manned by sweaty, red-faced workers chewing on sandwiches and leaning idly against the scaffolding. While passing by, Max catches a whiff of cement, and for some reason it smells painfully nostalgic.

(Taglist: @rottent33th, @slaasherslut, @the-pinstriped-hood, @goldrose-star, @soupbabe, @bluecoolr-main, @flower-crowned-lady, @solmints-messyocdiary, @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better, @probably-a-plant-thing, @myers-meadow)

#our car battery died so guess who’s taking revenge by putting it in my fic #this is more of an introduction to the characters and situation than anything else #don’t expect regular entries because I’m not sure if I can deliver that regularly lol #but I am determined to see this through and finish it eventuay #Maxwell Holt #Max #slasher oc #horror oc #fic #my writing #Spotify

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fallenasleepyetagain · 1 year ago

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Sew - Dream/Nightmare Fanfic

NOTE: I do not write Dream and Nightmare as brothers, and they are not related in this story.

Media: UTMV/UTAU

Genre: Apple incident, human AU, pre established relationship (kinda?), general domestic living (I guess) until Nightmare FUCKS EVERYTHING UP, not canon compliant, my own DreamTale lore hehe <3, angst

Characters: Dream, King Nightmare, Opal-Ann (OC), & general unnamed villagers

Pairing: Dream/Nightmare

CW/TW: Minor transphobia, implied sexism, death, idk Nightmare going insane and destroying everything I guess, mentions of gore

Other Notes: I call this one the “Nightmare doesn’t fuck everything up” timeline <3

Word Count: ~6296 Words

Dream paced around the Tree of Feelings, arms crossed his chest. Nightmare was never late, to anything! Especially not when the moon was setting! Dream had woken up extra early to make sure he wouldn't miss Nightmare coming up to rest.

So...where was he?

He bit down on his lip, anxious. He...hoped that the villagers didn't do anything to Nightmare. If anything happened to Nightmare, anything bad at all, he didn't know what he would do! Nightmare was too important to him.

Gentle footsteps crunched the autumn leaves and Dream perked up almost immediately. Nightmare was okay!

Huzzah!!!

"NIGHTMARE!" Dream shrieked, and barreled down the hill.

Unfortunately, Dream didn't have much foresight and therefore did not anticipate that Nightmare wasn't ready for a tackle hug. Upon seeing the look of surprise on his face, Dream knew what was going to happen.

And it was going to happen fast. There was no time to anticipate it, only to take it.

The massive grimoire that Nightmare was holding collided with his head, sending him face-first into the dirt.

Nightmare stared at him for a couple of seconds before bursting into laughter. He hunched over, laughing harder than he ever had before, going so far as to drop his book on the ground.

After taking a second to recover, Dream stood up, spitting out some grass and dirt. Nightmare was still wheezing as he did this, but managed to pick up his book anyway.

"Ahahaha! Ah, ha, ahem. You okay there Dreamy?"

"Eyeah! I'm good."

"Fantastic."

Nightmare walked up the hill and using the pulley system Dream had installed, lowered their chest full of stuff and set the book down inside. He stayed standing for a moment, just looking at it.

Dream plopped up the hill after him, placing his head on Nightmare's shoulder. He looked down at the book Nightmare had put into the chest and spoke, "That's a new book."

"It's a grimoire. It has a bunch of myths and cryptic stuff in it."

"Cool."

"It is cool. Cooler than anything you can wrap your tiny brain around." Nightmare scoffed, flicking Dream's nose.

"Hey!"

Despite the chuckle that left him, Nightmare sat down at the base of the tree with a heavy sigh. He curled up, putting his head in between his knees. His purple eyes stayed focused on the rising sun, his eye bags becoming prevalent.

Dream sat down next to him and got real close. Their shoulders were touching and Nightmare turned his head to look at Dream.

"Nightmare."

"Dream."

"Are...you ok?"

"I'm fine."

Dream nudged Nightmare with his foot, "I know you think I'm an idiot, but I'm not."

"Debatable."

"Nightmare!" Nightmare snorted as Dream retaliated. "I'm serious! I know you better than anyone, and I can tell that something is up with you."

"Talk to me," Dream said softly, practically begging as Nightmare turned his head away, breaking eye contact.

It took him a moment, and it took Dream giving him a soft kiss on his cheek, but Nightmare folded. He always did when it came to Dream. He smoothed out his skirt that had gathered some grass, "I don't like it when the villagers call me a girl."

"Do you not feel like a girl?"

Nightmare shook his head, "...No? At least I don't think so? I think I'd feel better if I was a boy, like you."

"I could call you a boy if it would help. I never really saw you as a girl if it helps, gender is weird."

"Hah. But, yes, it would." Nightmare leaned into Dream, his eyes closing. "Dream, would you mind doing something for me?"

"Never! Whatever you want Nighty."

"Will you take one of my skirts today, and make it a pair of pants? I don't own a pair, unfortunately."

"Of course, I can do that! I haven't sewn a pair of pants in ages..."

"You can do it then?"

"Nightmare!" Dream gasped before grabbing Nightmare's face, squeezing his cheeks, "Of course I can do it! I'd do anything for you.

"You know that. Right?"

"I...do. I do know that." Nightmare put his hands on Dream's, pulling them off his face. He looked down at them, intertwining their fingers.

"One more thing."

"Yeah?"

"If I were to do something mortally abhorrent, something so terrible, that I would be compared to Satan himself, would you forgive me?"

"Haha, what."

"If I did something so dreadful, so horrendous, that it would confirm all those lies and rumors people spread about me, would you still care for me? Would you still love me?" Nightmare's tone shifted, his face in a dark scowl.

"Night I don't-"

"Answer the question Dream. Now."

"I-I mean, of course I would?" Dream sputtered, tucking back some of Nightmare's long black hair behind his ear.

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"Cool. See? That wasn't so hard." Nightmare hummed, suddenly completely calm. "I'm heading off to bed, g'night."

Despite Dream's protests for an explanation, Nightmare kissed him on the forehead before standing up and leaping into the tree. For someone who wore skirts all the time and had hair constantly in his face, Nightmare was very skilled when it came to climbing trees.

That was that. Dream had no chance of getting Nightmare now, not when he was in the tree. He huffed, what was that all about? Was Nightmare planning on doing something bad?

It was entirely possible that he was. Nightmare had hidden things from Dream in the past. But he had gotten so serious and extremely eloquent...it made Dream worry.

Regardless, Dream figured he should get to work on the pants. It wouldn't be that hard, he was surprisingly good at sewing! It was just built into him. The villagers hated when he did it though. They believed that since he was a boy, he shouldn't be doing the sewing.

There were many things wrong with that line of thinking, of course. One of the things about it that bothered Dream was that it implied that he was a boy. And he guessed he was? Although the way that the other villagers were boys felt different than how Dream felt like a boy. He wasn't even sure if "boy" was the right word.

In the chest that Nightmare had lowered stored everything they owned. Which, to be fair, wasn't much. It was mostly books that Nightmare had been given by the local librarian (she was a lovely lady) and extra sets of clothing. Most of the clothes in there were Dream's, since he tended to get messier than Nightmare.

The longest skirt that Nightmare owned sat neatly on the other side of his books. Worst case scenario, he'd have to make Nightmare a new skirt, which he could do easily. He made himself a skirt once to match Nightmare, but tensions had begun to rise between them and the villagers, so he never had the chance to wear it out.

The last thing he wanted was to give more reason for the villagers to harass Nightmare.

Yes, he knew about it! He wasn't stupid! And Nightmare wasn't the only one who was suffering because of them. They weren't exactly saints to Dream either. For being the villagers' Guardians, they seemed to hate them a lot.

Either way, he was going to make Nightmare those pants! Nightmare would look good in pants, although he could pull off anything if he wanted to. He bundled the skirt up into his arms and trotted into town.

Most of the townsmen were already up and doing work, but many of the stores didn't officially open until Nightmare was gone.

Which was, wow, harsh.

Regardless, by the time he got into town, people were out and about. He kept his head down, just looking at the skirt in his arms. Occasionally people said good morning to him, and he replied quickly, not wanting to get up into a conversation with anyone.

Since the last summer, every single conversation he had with anyone except Nightmare had something to do with him "getting away from the witch."

It upset him. Nightmare was the furthest thing from a witch or a demon or whatever they were calling him! Dream adored Nightmare, and he just wanted him to be happy and safe.

The dread he felt when he approached the store that he needed to go was insurmountable. The lady who worked inside was one of the worst when it came to being cruel toward Nightmare and harassing Dream. If he could avoid talking with her, then he would.

Maybe he'd get lucky and her daughter would be at the counter instead. All he needed was some dark purple thread, that was it. He had lilac and a very desaturated purple, but he wanted this to be perfect.

Going from skirt to pants would be difficult, and he wasn't sure how many seams he'd be able to hide. It'd be a new process, but he'd figure it out. He always did.

A soft bell rang as he entered and his face fell as he saw who it was behind the counter. It wasn't the daughter, that was for sure. The woman was working on her project and Dream braced himself.

"Oh, good morning Dream."

"Mornin. Can I..." his eyes scanned the array of threat colors behind her, "have that dark purple right there?"

"Dream, look. I respect that you are a guardian and all, but that purple is incredibly expensive. I can't just give you it without you giving me money."

Ah, right. This was a business. Dream forgot about that.

"Plus, I see that skirt. You should make Nightmare mend her own clothing instead of going to those frivolous poetry readings."

For a moment, Dream's mind went dark and his vision red. Those readings were one of the only things Nightmare loved about the village. It was the only place that Nightmare could show off his literary prowess.

The people who went were all unmarried men, and Nightmare fit right in. He commanded the room whenever he spoke. While Dream didn't understand most poetry (Nightmare often wrote his poems in Latin or Greek; languages Dream didn't understand) he knew how important it was to him.

Dream had actually gone to one of the poetry readings and watched in awe as Nightmare's words painted a picture in the air where they hung. His voice captivated Dream, it took him by his collar and pulled him close.

Maybe Nightmare was a witch. Dream didn't mind being under his spell.

Thoughts of Nightmare swarmed his mind as he looked into the pale eyes of the lady across the counter. Nightmare wanted pants and Dream was going to give it to him, no matter what!

Even if it meant lying in the worst way possible.

"I know. Nightmare was actually wanting to learn how to mend clothing. So I figured I'd get some thread to show how it's done!"

"You clever boy," Dream internally scowled. I'm older than your entire bloodline. "Here, I can't give you much, but I hope it teaches that girl to do something productive."

The dark purple thread was put onto the counter and Dream swiped it without a second thought. He didn't care what the lady was saying to him after that and he left the store in a fit of rage.

What did Nightmare do to deserve that kind of treatment?! What did Dream do to get the harsh criticisms from people?! What did either of them ever do?!?

All they ever did was be forced into the position of guardian and protect the apples!

There was never a day that went by that he wasn't grateful for the placement of the tree that they lived under. It was on a high hill, overlooking the village. Dream and Nightmare could look down on the villagers, but they couldn't get a clear look up. It was awfully steep, but Dream didn't care.

Once he got to the top of the hill, he threw himself down, anger still commanding his every move. He took in a deep breath, feeling Nightmare's skirt in his hands. He looked up, and seeing Nightmare resting away in the tree made him feel better.

Nightmare's long black hair was draped over his face, and Dream's heart couldn't stop racing. Nightmare was so...so handsome and perfect! Dream couldn't take it!

Suddenly his vigor returned, and he began working on the pants. He used his own pants as reference, since they were the same height. He had pulled out his sewing stuff from the chest, it resting next to him in the grass as he worked. As the day passed, the boys of the village ran up the hill, begging Dream to hang out with them.

They huffed and poured and whined when he shook his head and told them no. It was mid-afternoon when they finally gave up and went to play by themselves. Dream didn't mind hanging out or playing with them, it made him feel young. But sometimes work came first, and he had to do it.

Although he wasn't working the whole day. He somehow managed to take a nap in the middle of the afternoon, hands mid-stitch when he lost consciousness. It was a miracle he didn't end up stabbing himself with the needle.

It was the evening when he woke up, and he felt like dying. Those afternoon naps killed him!

Dream rubbed his eyes and looked down at his lap. In his hands was the skirt that he was working on and, oh! He was almost done, surprisingly. There were a few seams he needed to clean up and hide, but it was looking like pants now. To his left, was a small bag full of grapes and blueberries.

On the bag were the initials of the local librarian, an old lady named Opal-Ann. She also cared about Nightmare, and always pushed him to read and write. Dream liked her. She was one of the only good people in the entire village.

Old people were just like that, he supposed.

The fruit was fresh and he placed a few pieces in his mouth. He didn't need food, being immortal and all. But he liked the full feeling in his stomach when he did eat. He'd eat just about anything, including things considered inedible.

Nightmare fed him a skull once.

That was fun.

Just as the sun went down, Dream had finished. He stood up and looked at his fine-crafted work. It was perfect and he grinned. It would go perfectly with Nightmare's shirts and he was sure Nightmare would love it.

Oh jeez, Dream didn't want to wait! He opened the chest and threw the pants into it before beginning his ascent into the tree. He had been climbing trees his whole life, but it was always a struggle for him. He would often slip and fall and give Nightmare heart attacks.

Nightmare, of course, was graceful and quick whenever he scaled up a tree. He was efficient and did just about anything. Dream's excitement shot him up the tree and he perched himself a few feet away from where Nightmare was sleeping.

It was pretty impressive how Nightmare was able to sleep in the tree. Dream just slept on the ground. Nightmare was draped over a branch and his limbs seemed like they were clamped around it.

"Nightmare..." Dream whispered. No movement.

"Nightmare."

Nothing.

Dream tore a dead stick from the tree and poked Nightmare with it. He stirred for a moment and Dream huffed impatiently.

With incredible accuracy, Dream nailed the stick right onto Nightmare's face, "Nightmare!"

"AAUGAH!?"

Then he slammed against the ground. Dream hummed in satisfaction and hopped down himself. Nightmare was not pleased with him. The moment Dream was on his feet Nightmare yanked him close by the collar and seethed.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"I finished your pants!" Dream chirped, taking Nightmare's hands off of his collar and holding them.

All of Nightmare's crankiness dissipated almost immediately. He took his hands from Dream's and rubbed his eyes, trying to fully wake up. Dream walked over to the chest and pulled out the pants before showing them to Nightmare. His stunning purple eyes lit up as he took them from Dream.

Without saying a word, Nightmare grabbed Dream's hand and pulled him down the hill. The sun was still setting in the sky but the light it gave was fading. The moon would be new that night as well, meaning that there would be little light to guide them.

Getting to the library before dark would be easy though, since it wasn't far from the Tree. It was actually on the opposite side of the village from the Tree, meaning that you could see it from the top of the hill.

Most people were inside by now, but the occasional person was closing up shop. One of the people, of course, was the lady who sold him the thread for Nightmare's pants. He avoided making eye contact with her.

There was an aura of tension that radiated from everyone outside, Nightmare included. He was holding Dream's hand so tight that it hurt. As if he was worried Dream would run away the moment he had the chance.

Nightmare walked with power, as if he had reserved himself to something. Dream didn't know what it was. His eyes darted around at the villagers and their glares pierced his soul.

Is this what Nightmare had to deal with every night? Dream squeezed Nightmare's hand and sped up so he was closer to him.

Much to Dream's relief, they reached the library sooner than he expected.

Before Nightmare could grab the door's knob, it opened. Dream saw the person slowly reveal herself from the other side of the door. She was around the same size as them, and was very old. She had to be the littlest, oldest lady Dream had ever seen. She had a shawl wrapped around her shoulders and a long skirt. It has been ages since he actually went to the library and she looked much older.

"Greetings Opal-Ann," Nightmare stated flatly, entering the library without even taking a glance at her. He finally dropped Dream's hand and beelined it to the room in the back.

"Good evening young man." Then she turned her attention to Dream. "Hello. It's been quite a while, Guardian of Positivity."

Dream shifted uncomfortably as she closed the door behind him. "...Hi."

"Dream, dear." She put a hand on his shoulder, and her eyes fell. Dream raised an eyebrow at her. "Please, protect him. I worry about what they'll do to him when I'm gone. Don't let them do anything to him."

"What...do you mean?"

Opal-Ann just patted his shoulder before turning away and slowly trotting off. Dream thought that he should say something but he couldn't find it in him to even speak.

He turned his attention to Nightmare who had stepped out of the back room. His black hair had been pulled back and neatly settled into a ponytail. Dream couldn't control himself as he gasped and ran over to Nightmare, picking him up.

There was very little room in the library, but Dream twirled Nightmare anyway. The two were quiet, but Dream squealed silently anyway. Nightmare didn't attempt to break free like he usually did. He gripped onto Dream's back, shoving his face into his neck like a lifeline.

"You look so handsome." Dream whispered, setting Nightmare down. He stayed there for a moment, keeping Dream close, before pulling away. His hands came up to Dream's cheeks and he scoffed.

"And you look absolutely exhausted."

Per usual, Nightmare was right. His hand ran over Dream's eye bags and he yawned. "Here." Near the entrance of the library, was a bench with cushioning. The bench, which was more adjacent to a cabinet, was pushed up against a wall of books.

"Lay down on it." Nightmare instructed, "I have a book I've been wanting to read, so you can use my lap as a pillow."

Dream did just that. He slipped his boots off before climbing onto the cushion, of course, since he didn't want to get it dirty. The moment his head hit Nightmare's lap, a wave of fatigue hit him. His eyes shut before he could figure out what was happening.

The last thing he remembered before prompting passing out was the feeling of Nightmare running his hand through his fire-red coils.

Then, there was screaming.

It was startling and Dream rolled off the cushion, landing hard onto the floor. His eyes darted around, but Nightmare wasn't anyone in his vision.

Shit!

What had happened?

On the opposite side of the library was a large group of people, shouting and arguing. He stumbled to his feet and slipped his boots back on.

The other side of the library was Opal-Ann's room. Panic surged through Dream as he rushed to the other side, shoving his way through the people in front of the door.

Opal-Ann was in her bed. Dead. Her face was peaceful, and she looked like she was asleep. But the feelings of those around him told him otherwise.

"What...happened?"

"That witch killed her!"

"WHAT?!" Dream was in shock. He was angry too. Nightmare adored Opal-Ann and her library, there was no way that he would hurt her! He couldn't, wouldn't, believe that Nightmare would do such a thing. "Nightmare wouldn't do that!"

"You're under her spell, of course you think she wouldn't."

"Opal-Ann was under a spell too, that's why she was unable to see her death coming."

"Poor woman..."

Dream couldn't stand being there anymore. He ran out of the room, out of the library. The situation outside was even worse than the one inside.

All of the villagers were crowded, shouting and talking amongst themselves. They had torches and pitchforks and oh shit.

They were going to kill Nightmare.

Where was Nightmare?!

After forcing his way through the crowd, Dream got a glimpse of Nightmare's black hair from the top of the hill. He ran up at a speed he didn't know that he could go. Before he reached the top, he stumbled and slammed down into the ground.

"Nighty..." Nightmare looked down at him, a determined look in his eyes. Dream inhaled sharply as he saw one of the black apples in his hands.

What was he planning?

"Nightmare, what's going on? They want to kill you, tell them you didn't-"

"Shh." Nightmare crouched down, putting a finger against Dream's lips. Dream looked up at him helplessly, blushing at the sight of him, despite the circumstances. God, he looked good in pants. "There's nothing either of us can do now. Do you remember the promise you made me?"

With the finger against his lips, he couldn't respond properly. But Dream nodded anyway.

"Good." Nightmare took a deep breath and helped Dream to his feet. He gently pushed back one of Dream's coils behind his ear, before sighing deeply. "I hope you find it in your heart to forgive me for this?"

"For whaAHG-?!" Dream rolled down the hill, still in shock as Nightmare pushed him. He tumbled down the hill, getting grass and dirt in his mouth. He looked up, the sun barely peaking over the hill and the tree. He couldn't see Nightmare's face.

But he could hear him.

This moment seared itself into his mind. It would never leave him, even years after.

The world stood still, and the wind began to howl. It wasn't cold, but goosebumps rose on Dream's arms and he shivered.

Bile shoved its way through his esophagus as Nightmare bit into the apple in his hands. The negativity was overwhelming. How was that even possible? Nightmare had only eaten the one!

Nightmare was clever though. Always was.

Especially good with magic too. There was a reason he was called a witch after all. Dream's only guess was that Nightmare had, somehow, allowed one apple to hold the power of multiple?

No, that was stupid.

How did he...?

There wasn't any time to ask as screams rang out and the mob of people trampled over him.

The valley erupted into chaos.

Dream struggled to get to his feet, and almost immediately regretted it when he did. Hot, red blood splattered against his face and he felt dizzy as he saw it on his hands.

With his heart beating heavy in his chest, he began his ascent up to the tree, and to Nightmare. He kept his head down, using his right arm to block his face. He could hear the screams, the squelching of blood and guts splatting against the ground.

A scream of his own came as the tree came crashing down, a large branch being flung at him. Dirt and muck came flying up and he dove to the ground.

Once his eyes opened, the golden shimmer of an apple greeted him. As his world crumbled around him, it called to him. He cradled the apple in his hands, feeling its warmth.

The sound of screams and buildings being torn down echoed in the background. Dream didn't want to look. He didn't want to associate those sounds with Nightmare.

A tear slipped from his eye as he glanced up the hill, the decimated remains of the tree being the only thing up there. The apples that once glowed in shimmering blacks and yellows were now on the ground, rotting.

Dream brought the apple to his mouth, and with a crunch all too familiar, he bit into it.

It tasted positively delicious.

The juices from it split down his chin, and he almost forgot where he was and what was happening. Sheer power surged through him, and suddenly he felt more reckless than he ever had before. He got to his feet, the gravity of the situation hitting him once more.

It was worse than he thought. Nightmare, who was barely recognizable due to being nothing but a purple and black blur in the air, had killed and destroyed everything.

How was he supposed to react? Was he supposed to be angry? Scared? Proud? He felt like he should be angry. He felt like he should be enraged at Nightmare, or paralyzed as he watched his unfold.

Unfortunately for Dream, he was neither of those things. He felt nothing but the adrenaline pumping in his veins and the need to stop Nightmare at all costs.

Violence wasn't necessary, at least Dream didn't think so. If he could just talk to Nightmare, maybe everything would be okay. Maybe they would have to leave town forever, considering the damage. But he would figure it out.

He always did. He had no other choice.

Nightmare was in the center of town, horrible black tentacles thrashing behind his back. Blood was splattered on his pants and arms, but none of it appeared to be his own.

Bodies were torn apart and the final survivors were trying to stand their own. It didn't do them much good though, Nightmare was powerful. Too powerful. He had to stop this before Nightmare got rid of everything!

The steepness of the hill didn't stop him from running down it, keeping his balance the entire time. Power ran through his veins, and the suffocating negativity radiating from Nightmare became easier to manage.

"Nightmare!" He called.

No response. Nightmare didn't even turn to look at him.

"Stop it! Let's talk about this, please!" There was desperation in his voice that he didn't realize he was feeling. As he approached, the feeling of adrenaline was replaced with fear.

Never had Nightmare made him feel like that. The person who had lived with him for century after century was making him afraid.

Dream was terrified.

Terrified of Nightmare.

"Nightmare...!" Despite his fear, he kept running down the hill.

"NIGHTM-!"

The last thing he saw was Nightmare whipping around and glaring at him with bright, teal eyes.

It was safe to say that the Guardian of Positivity died that day.

Becoming stone isn't what most mortals think it is. It's not a state of unconsciousness that most think it is. Dream will tell you that.

It wasn't a sensation like sleep or being in a coma. It was nothing. No thoughts, no movement.

Perhaps death was too harsh. Perhaps Dream and Nightmare didn't want to word it that way. Being turned to stone, in Dream's own words, was like being trapped in time.

And when he woke up?

"-MARE!!!"

It was like no time had changed at all.

Dream crashed and collapsed into someone. This was a surprise. Especially considering that he should've been running down toward Nightmare. Nightmare, who was destroying their world.

Sweat trickled down his back. Why? He knew that people were cruel, that they hated Nightmare. But why didn't he talk to Dream about it all? He could've done something, anything!

There was a new scent in the air, on the body his face was smooshed up against. He couldn't describe it. It was unfamiliar and strange.

The stranger's hands were gentle with him, lifting him by his forearms. Dream craned his neck upwards, and stepped back, yanking his arms away from the stranger.

Stranger? No no, this man wasn't a stranger.

Those teal eyes, how he parted his hair. He could recognize it from a mile away.

The man's eyes, Nightmare's eyes, were soft. To Dream, the change was instantaneous.

From a glare to a soft look. It was jarring.

"What-?" Dream took another step back. The village was no longer in ruins. But it wasn't back. It was destroyed, and nature had taken it over once more.

Nightmare, at least Dream assumed this was Nightmare, was vastly different. First and foremost, he was tall. Too tall, Dream thought. How dare he? His hair was short, and he looked handsome as ever.

The crown he always wore was missing. Replaced with silver accents on his black and teal suit.

"Who...?" Dream didn't back up as Nightmare took a step forward. He was treating him like a frightened animal. "...Nightmare."

It wasn't a question.

Of course he recognized him.

How could he not?

"God I've missed you." Nightmare, whose voice was significantly deeper, used the back of his fingers to caress his cheek.

"Nightmare what- what is going on?"

There was a beat of silence, and Nightmare took Dream by his hand and led him up the hill. He sat down on the stump of the Tree, and gestured for Dream to sit down next to him.

The stump was covered in moss and bugs, nature climbing over it as it did on everything else. Dream plopped down, looking around at all the damage.

"I have something for you."

"Hm?" Dream perked up.

Much to his surprise, Nightmare draped half of the flag that sat around the Tree around his shoulders.

It must've been destroyed when Nightmare attacked the Tree since only half of it was here. But that didn't explain anything! One moment, the village smelled like blood and guts, and another it was dead quiet.

"What do you know?"

"About what?"

With a small scoff, Nightmare rubbed his forehead, "About what happened that day."

"You mean what happened just now? Or, what should've been just now..."

Nightmare put a hand on the bottom of his mouth, thinking. "Shit, you probably wouldn't..."

After a moment of thinking, Nightmare decided to just tell it straight. "I turned you to stone Dream. Around," he waved his hand around, "Eighty or so years ago?"

"EIGHTY YEARS?! What were you DOING??" Dream shouted, grabbing onto Nightmare's shoulders. He shook his head, rattling together his thoughts. "What happened? One moment you're, you've got long hair and are my sized and now you're tall as shit!"

As Dream spoke, Nightmare nodded along. "How fascinating...You don't have any memory of your time in stone?"

"Not at all."

Dream watched as Nightmare thought (something he often found himself doing), leaning in as Nightmare gently ran his hands through his fire-red coils.

"Nightmare?"

"Yes?"

Averting his eyes, Dream shifted on the stump. "Why did you do...this?" He gestures towards the town.

"I was angry." He sat back, "They called me a monster. So I figured I'd give them one."

"You could've talked to me. You didn't have to do it so suddenly! We could've, I could've done something."

"Oh, Dream." Nightmare tilted his chin upwards, "Always so hopelessly optimistic."

"Hey!"

"That wasn't an insult! It's cute."

Blood rushed through Dream's body, his cheeks flushing as it did so.

This wasn't the first time Nightmare had called him cute. In fact, Nightmare called him that all the time! This time though? This time felt different. Maybe it was the confidence and the power exulting off of him, or maybe it was the height difference?

Whatever it was, it made Dream's heart race.

"I had been planning this for a long time. You remember my grimoire, yes? In that book," Nightmare didn't even give him the chance to answer! "It tells the story of someone from before our time, don't look at me like that, who gained power from the negativity apples.

"He, of course, was killed by the power, due to his body being unable to handle it. I knew that I could, of course. I figured that the results would be the same, and if they wanted a scapegoat. Might as well give them one."

Dream huffed, leaning into his legs. As much as he wanted to say to Nightmare that doing that was an awful idea, what else could they have done? Nightmare was blamed for the death of Opal-Ann.

The worst part about it all was the fact that it was something Nightmare had been planning something and he didn't know about it!

It was all too much.

Wordlessly, Dream scooted closer to Nightmare and put his head on his shoulder. It had been a long day. Or, he supposed, a long eighty years! He was exhausted.

"Here. Let's get you home." Nightmare scooped Dream up with ease, carrying him bridal style.

"I am home...?"

"No, you're not."

And he refused to elaborate.

That wasn't new to Dream. Nightmare was always the type to say shit and then never explain it.

It was one of his least favorite things about Nightmare. It made him insufferable sometimes.

"I'll explain everything later, alright?" Nightmare spoke, gently poking Dream in the cheek with a tentacle. For a moment, Dream was startled by it, but he didn't shove it away. "Rest now. I've got you."

Dream didn't need telling twice.

While Dream might've been a light sleeper, which made sleeping during storms difficult, he was quick at falling asleep. It was...incredibly impressive actually.

Without any time at all, Dream was snoring softly in Nightmare's arms. He couldn't help but bask in it. He never thought that he would hear that sound again.

As he walked down the hill in great strides, he contemplated how to tell Dream about all that he had learned in the past one hundred years.

Yes, he had lied, you'll have to forgive him for that.

It was unlikely that Dream would've been so forgiving towards him if he said that he was left in stone for a whole century. He knew that Dream could handle knowing that he was trapped away for eighty years.

Anything higher would send him into a tantrum.

And honestly? Nightmare was not in the mood to deal with that nonsense.

The discovery of the Multiverse and all of the universes inside of it was something he found incredible. There was more knowledge to gain than he had ever known! It would have blown his mind at four-hundred years old!

However, the issue was Dream.

How would he who cared too much about everything and anything handle the knowledge that there were billions upon billions of universes with an infinite amount of people in them?

Nightmare was afraid that it might kill him!

He supposed that the answer was to take it one step at a time. Slowly introduce him to his surroundings, new technology, and whatnot.

It shouldn't take long. Dream picked up on things quicker.

A golden hair caught his attention and he stopped at the base of the hill. In the middle of Dream's bright red hair was a shimmering blonde hair.

That isn't right.

Nightmare squinted, as he looked closer he could see the forming of more blonde hairs. If he was right, and he always was, Dream should be exactly as he left him.

No weird, stray golden hairs.

Unless...

With a quick pivot, he turned on one foot, glaring at where the tree used to be. Despite his many years of planning, when he followed through with his goal, he was very out of it. It took his body many years to fully adjust to the sheer amount of negative energy power in him.

The majority of that century was spent dealing with the high that the apples gave him.

It was entirely possible that Dream managed to get his hands on a positivity apple.

At the moment, there were too many factors to tell it precisely.

It could've been an apple, or the stone he was trapped in, or Nightmare leaving the universe. Only time would tell, and Nightmare had plenty of it.

If was an apple, it was likely that Dream would get taller and would gain more powers of some kind. Nightmare would keep an eye on it all.

He pressed his lips against Dream's forehead.

God, how good it felt to be back together once more.

#fallen’s writing #utmv #dream (utmv)#king nightmare #dream/nightmare #dreammare #dream sans #nightmare sans #dream x nightmare #nightdream #fanfiction #dreamtale

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devilfic · 2 years ago

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ok but Edward when he was still in the orphanage falling in love with a kid he constantly sees when he goes to church, like a childish and innocent love (I just want edward kid to receive a little affection) 😔

❝first snow❞

plot: life wasn’t all pain, there was you. there was you. pairing: child!edward nashton x child!gn!reader. cw: fluff, light angst, choir boy eddie, mentions of bullying, childhood trauma. words: 1.9k.

a/n: ever since I received this request I’ve just fawned over how sweet it is. here you go, anon

Edward is aware of how timid his voice sounds. It was a reflex, the wobbly authority of it, because he’d learned early on that he wasn’t much of an authority on anything except dodging the older kids’ punches. He could pretend he hadn’t said anything if you turned around and gave him that look he was so used to getting. Meant for squirmy vermin like him.

But you don’t snap at him or look at him like he’s used to. Your eyes are shock-wide and frantic when his words finally settle in: “You shouldn’t be here.” But your eyes shoot up at first, taller than himself (were you expecting someone else?), and when they land on him shivering in his choir boy robe they all but melt. He’d never been looked at like that. Your little hands grip the massive church door a little less tightly and then you smile, “It’s snowing.”

Edward blinks. Of course it’s snowing. It’s December in Gotham. It always snows in December.

But by the look on your face, Edward could‘be been convinced it had never snowed before. That snow had been a construct of childhood, like Santa for the kids who got to be lied to about Santa, and that all kids your age knew by now that snow wasn’t real. And then you’d opened that church door and suddenly it was.

The breeze coming in would be enough to make the orphanage’s scary wardens shiver and complain about wanting to go home early while Edward’s fingers go numb for the night, but he finds himself moving closer to you.

You pull the door a little wider and suddenly you’re waving him over, beckoning him beside you. He can see the snow past your head. “You’ll catch a cold.” He tries, a little louder, a warning with experience. “They’ll notice we’re not in service.”

Still, he comes closer.

When Edward is right beside you, he can hear the chatter of your teeth and see your breaths clouding the space between you both. For a moment, he thinks that this might be a trick and turns quickly to catch some burly monster of a teenager before they could shove him out into the cold to freeze to death, but no such thing happens. It’s just you two in the foyer, and the echo of the priest in the main hall.

“Does it always snow like this?” You bypass his warning.

Edward looks out at the white coating the Gotham streets, adults rushing through the light snowfall knowing what would await if they stayed in it too long. Even beautiful things in Gotham were deadly. “Yeah, it’s winter. It always snows in winter.”

Your eyes narrow a little indignantly, “Not where I’m from.”

Edward remembers. Your father, the imposing figure he was, had mentioned a place warm and very far away from Gotham. He also remembered wondering why anyone from such a nice place would move here. Your pristine clothing had told Edward you were from a much, much better place, but he hadn’t had it in him to be as upset about that as he usually would be.

In fact, he finds himself a little nervous standing right next to you. “What’s it like where you’re from?” He asks, as if he hadn’t gone to the Gotham Public Library weeks ago and asked one of the librarians about it after you’d first arrived. The other kids would only ever tell him it was somewhere he’d “never get to go”.

“It only ever gets cold really late in winter, and it never lasts long. Mom had to get me new clothes for Gotham because it gets too cold here and it never snows back home.” Then you make a face and correct yourself, “Back there.”

You hadn’t looked too fond of your new situation upon moving here. Your father had said your family was joyous at joining the church, and yet your face had been filled with grief. As if it had only settled in on that Sunday that you would never be leaving Gotham.

Your eyes start to fog over with the same grief again, and… it’s strange. Edward doesn’t like seeing you like that. He finds himself fumbling for something to talk about that other kids his age would like, something he wasn’t very good at, and settles on a memory, “When the wardens feel generous, they sometimes take us to Gotham Square. They put a really big Christmas tree up and give out free hot chocolate with extra marshmallows. If you sing,” his body had long since accustomed to the Gotham winter, but only now does he feel his cheeks warm under your curious gaze, “they always make us sing.”

“Why do you call them wardens?”

“Huh?”

“You’re from the orphanage, right? Why do you call them wardens? It sounds kind of mean.”

Edward blinks, having never had to think about it. That was one thing the other kids could agree on, “Because they’re mean.”

He should hate it, the flash of sympathy on your face. He doesn’t need sympathy from people like you or Bruce Wayne or anyone. What he needs is a jacket. It’s getting really cold standing by the open door with you.

“You’re a pretty singer.”

Edward actually makes a noise. It’s strained, like the cats that loiter outside the orphanage for scraps that’ll never come, “What?”

“You’re a pretty singer, you have a pretty voice,” you clarify, using the word pretty, pretty, pretty, you’re pretty, pretty, “my mom thinks so too. She said I should sound more like you.”

“Can you not sing?” His voice stutters as does his little, gentle heart. Not used to the kindness.

You shake your head and push the door closed a little, the cold getting too much for you, he thinks, “Apparently, I sound like I’m in pain.” And then, to Edward’s surprise, you demonstrate with a little shriek you call holding a note.

And he doesn’t mean to because it’s impolite to laugh at others (as if it ever stopped anyone from laughing at him), but he bursts into such an uncontrollable fit of giggles that his glasses fog up and he can only just see your mouth turn from an “o” into a smile. He grabs at his stomach to stop the shaking of his laughter but it barely helps.

He should be more worried that someone will hear. But you don’t look bothered. He feels safe right now. Something else he’s not used to.

“See! That’s unfair. You have a pretty laugh too.” You complain, though your tone is playfully annoyed.

“No, I- I don’t,” he wheezes through heavy breaths, “you’re crazy.”

“Am not!”

Edward wipes under his glasses at the small tear forming in his eye, coming down from his fit to see you proudly smiling with your hands now behind your back. It comes out of his mouth before he has a chance to stop himself, “You must have hypothermia.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, confused, “Hippo- what?”

“Hypothermia… it happens when you get too cold. You can get confused.” Edward winces explaining, wondering if you’d catch on that you actually didn’t like talking to him soon, “Delirious.” He tries instead, as if the word would be any more familiar to you if you didn’t pore over books and word puzzles like he did all hours of the day.

“Oh.” You blink, your silence a tiny trigger on a shotgun pointed at his self-esteem. He shouldn’t have confused you, brought you out of the fun. You’d think he was dull now. Like the other kids do. “Is that why I feel this way?”

“What?” It’s Edward’s turn to be confused now. You don’t clarify this time, jaw clenching like you’d said the wrong thing. He worries suddenly that he’d been right on the money.

He steps closer and presses his hand to your forehead on instinct like he would the babies at the orphanage, checking warmth through the night and hoping for sunrise. Out from your mouth escapes a little peep at the contact and he pulls his hand back very quickly, now worried he’d overstepped the boundary. Crossed over too quickly into familiarity, into fondness. Your skin was burning warm. What had you meant by “this way”?

Your mouth opens to form a word when the door you’re leaning on suddenly shuts under a heavier weight. The two of you hadn’t even noticed your mother now standing there, furiously concerned and wrapping her coat around your shoulders, “What are you thinking? It’s freezing outside! I’ve been looking all over for you.”

Edward feels a pang in his heart when your mother cups your cheek, feeling for what he’d felt for moments ago. He gets that nasty little feeling twisting in his heart again. Remembering who you are and who he is.

You have a mother to keep you warm. Why should he worry?

He’s halfway in a turn when your mother suddenly looks at him, and then touches him on the cheek too and he jolts away from the unfamiliar (soft) contact. Her hand retracts with quiet concern, “Are you alright, dear? You look flushed. You both really shouldn’t be out here.”

Edward presses the back of his hand to his own face and notes that she’s right.

You look up at your mother and then back at Edward, “Sorry. It’s my fault. I wanted to watch the snow with Eddie.”

Eddie? You knew his name?

The kids in the home called him that with condescension, because “Edward” was too dignified and full of itself and there was nothing Edward needed more than to be knocked down a few pegs. Of course.

You, on the other hand, said it like a friend. Like you two had known each other forever. Like you knew him too well to just keep calling him “Edward”.

“Well, service is almost over. Shall I escort you both back to your pews?” Your mother’s sweetness is so strange to hear. When she holds out her hand to him, he is too shocked to jump away this time, “You can sit with us if you’d like, Eddie.” She has a glint of out-of-place warmth in her eyes just like you.

Edward wants nothing more than to accept, but the other kids would notice and the warden would drag him by the scruff into the old, rickety orphanage bus and tell him that he’d get no dinner tonight for embarrassing them. His stomach turns at the thought. “No thank you, ma’am.”

“At least come get warm.” She beckons, ushering you both back to the main hall.

Edward follows you, a step behind, until he simply can’t and must return to the pews with the other church boys who watch him with wide eyes. One of the wardens looks furious when she finally spots him off with you. He feels her eyes burn into the back of his head even when he sits down, rigid with his hands shoved between his thighs to warm them up again. He stares ahead, unmoving, not even answering the boys nearest him and their questions about where he’d been.

Edward stares ahead until he just can’t anymore. You’re staring right at him from across the aisle, hands cupped around your mouth as he watches you make out a word: Hippo-term-ia.

It’s hard to pass off his laugh as a cough.

taglist: @yikes-buddy @alexxavicry

#edward nashton x reader #edward nashton scenarios #edward nashton imagine #edward nashton fluff #childhood friends #riddler x reader #riddler scenarios #riddler imagine #paul dano riddler #the batman #mjwrites

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handhelld · 2 years ago

Text

OK SO MY PAYDAY HYBRID AU RIGHT

So essentially the jist is i want these men to have animal traits but only some of them. So. Animal Hybrid AU. I don’t have MUCH fleshed out for it, mainly just stuff revolving around Jacket and Sokol because im me and im predictable.

CW for some brief cannibalism mentions

In the AU, sometimes people are just animal hybrids. It runs in the family, its fantasy it doesnt matter why. And theres a lot of stigmas around certain animals especially since non-hybrids are the majority. Rodent hybrids are weak and timid, Wolf bear bigcat hybrids are dangerous and unpredictable, Avian hybrids are fragile and delicate with their brittle bones.

Hybrids have traits of their animal as well as certain instincts related to them. Jacket is a Turkey Vulture hybrid. He has really large wings, feathery ears and little feathered parts of his body, and talons on his hands. He is VERY gaunt in the face, reminiscent of a turkey vulture’s just... skin face,,

Jacket has always been ostracised for it, hes a creepy little bird kid quiet and weird looking. What he did have though was intimidation. He has a massive wingspan and cold eyes, so because hes a vulture he leaned more into the dangerous predator steriotype rather than the fragile avian.

One of Jacket’s primary instincts is to scavenge. Vultures feed on things that are already dead and it is one of the worst instincts to have. Scavenger hybrids like vultures and hyenas are like trademarked for this, but its very present in Jacket’s life due to how surrounded by death he is. ///cw cannibalism/// He has felt and even on occasion succumbed to his instinct to eat the dead. Its something he chooses not to think about afterwards, the red staining his hands and face.

Sokol is a peregrine falcon hybrid! In the Au he was never a professional hockey player. He couldn't be. He had the skill the guts the mentality to be a fantastic grinder, but he could never be a professional athlete as an avian hybrid. He may have been a bird of prey, but all people saw was his wings and thought of hollow bones and a liability on the ice. He did play hockey, but never at a professional level. Mainly on the ice with tiny teams of hybrid kids and outcasts he grew up with. Sokol loved hockey but he didn't get the same adrenaline rush from it. No roar of a crowd, the intensity wasn't enough.

He gets into the criminal world a lot sooner. He binds his wings on his solo heists, huge and distinctive as they are. It hurts and hurts but with them tied down he's free. Hybrid au sokol is definitely rougher than canon sokol. The world was much less kind to him, and hes taken what he's wanted more often that before. He gives into his instincts and embraces his nature. Hes a bird of prey, something to be feared. Not some fragile little bird He is a falcon.

#PD2 Hybrid AU #Payday 2 #Jacket Payday 2 #sokol payday 2 #cw cannibalism #Crush.txt

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whump-a-la-mode · 3 years ago

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Ok so I had a prompt idea? We’re all familiar with the “villain is sent to a ‘rehabilitation center’ that turns out to be secretly torturing the villains there” trope, but consider this: scared villain is captured by a kind hero and sent to a villain rehabilitation center, and villain has never experienced such warmth and kindness! Not to mention frequent visits from hero to check up/see how they’re doing. Maybe it’s no good but just a thought I had; I love your writing so much!! 💛🌼

(No pressure though, I know you’re probably busy!)

Oh, I absolutely love this prompt! Evil rehab centers are all well and good, but I’d never thought of one as being a source of comfort. I hope you like this! I was going to do some more with it, but it was already running a little long ^^

Thanks so much for the prompt!

CW//Arson, burning buildings, smoke inhalation, fear of death, gross food, mentions of torture, animal disease

As though singed by smoke, Villain’s lungs burned.

Even as they gasped, they felt as though they could not inhale a single breath. Yet, somehow, they had enough air to keep going.

It wasn’t as though they had a choice.

They were unsure, at that point, if their legs were truly moving at all. They had lost feeling in them far too long ago to be able to verify such a thing. Somehow, though, they were moving forward. Even if they wanted to, they didn’t know if they could stop, with momentum pushing them as it was.

Everything was riding on this. Days of keeping ahead, of leading the chase. If they stopped moving for just a moment, it would all be wasted.

And their life would be over. If they stopped running now, there would be no Villain left.

In that instant, they understood what it was to be a rabbit. When there was a fox on your tail, there were no do overs. No second chances. It was run or die.

As long as they could, they were going to run.

Villain couldn’t remember the name of the building in which they had managed to find the briefest of respites. Despite its sprawling size, there was nothing truly remarkable about it. Perhaps it did not have a name in the first place. At some point, it had been some sort of industrial complex-- the home of half a dozen separate companies, each clashing and butting up against one another.

Yet, the structure had long since been left to rot. They had a feeling that mold clinging to every corner had something to do with that.

Just a week ago, they would never have dreamed of so much as going someplace like this. The air smelled rotten, and breathing it left a sour taste sticking to their tongue. Not to mention the fact that several animals of varying size and danger had already claimed the rotten complex as their home.

But, they weren’t the same Villain they had been a week ago. Stumbling upon the building had felt like a gift from above, and, the night prior, they’d managed to get some honest-to-god rest among its sodden carpeting.

It was the most rest they’d gotten in days, despite the fact that, halfway through it, they’d awoken to a diseased rat with its teeth buried in their forearm. They’d had worse awakenings.

After shooing away the animal, they’d managed to sleep an hour or so more. Then came the worse of their two awakenings, that night.

The shouting voices of heroes.

Villain didn’t know how they’d found them. There was no trace, no trail. They had no vehicle-- instead moving through the woods on foot. ‘On foot’ was quite literal in that instance, considering the fact that they’d lost their shoes three days ago to a patch of quickmud.

But, still, they’d been found.

They didn’t no how long ago it was, that they’d been awakened by those voices. With the darkened building’s clocks hanging stubbornly on the wrong minute and hour, there was no way to tell how long it had been.

How long they’d been running...

Villain skidded around a corner, hissing as their foot caught on an uprooted carpet tack. Had they been this way before? It was impossible to tell-- all the halls looked the same.

The halls repeated, just as the heroes’ footsteps did.

How were they not tired?

Maybe because they’d eaten. And slept. And had water.

Villain had found that stream the other day, though...

Everything about them seemed to be repeating. The walls. The footsteps.

The lies of the heroes.

“Just stop running! We don’t want to hurt you!”

They couldn’t count just how many times they’d heard those words. Lies. Of course they were lies! Or, perhaps, it was their own sick attempt at a joke. We don’t want to hurt you, we just want to kill you!

Villain wasn’t ready to die. Not just yet.

Another corner was taken with haste, and their nostrils were overwhelmed with the scents of rust and oil.

The garage was massive-- reaching further upwards than the shreds of sunlight filtering through dusty windows could reach with their furthest rays. Its concrete floor stretched out, seemingly, all the way to the horizon-- dotted only by support beams, and whatever scattered machinery and supplies the company had not deemed valuable enough to bring along.

The source of the scent of gasoline was quite rapidly made apart. Stacked haphazardly in the corner, red gas containers stood. Their reek alone made it well known that they were far from empty.

But the gas was far from Villain’s main concern regarding the garage.

In the past few days, they had become awfully good at finding exits. It was with a ruthless instinct that they scanned the room for one.

But, in the end, they reached a terrifying conclusion.

There was one exit. It was the same door as the entrance. The garage doors on the other side of the chamber had long since been chained shut, and there was no time for lockpicking.

The heroes flooded in.

It was with an exhausted hopelessness and steadfast stubbornness that they kept running forth. Of course, with their terrible luck, they did not make it very far. A rebar pipe caught their toes, sending them sprawling onto the concrete, pain shrieking from a thousand different, tiny wounds.

For a few seconds, Villain let themself breathe. They figured that, at the very least, they should let themself enjoy their last moments alive.

Their relaxation did not last long. They refused to die laying down. Trembling from exhaustion, pain, starvation, dehydration, and terror, all at once, they staggered to their feet. For a moment, their vision blurred, before solidifying once more.

Half a dozen heroes fanned out before the entrance, guarding it ruthlessly. Faux looks of concern painted their countenances.

From the array of aches and pains swarming Villain, a single one, all at once, made itself known. Something pressing up against their leg.

Their lighter.

Their trembling gaze flicked to the pile of glimmering red gas cans. It was behind them-- only a few steps back. If they could just...

“Villain!” The person in the front of the group called out-- Hero. “There’s nowhere else to go. It’s okay. Everything’s okay. You just need to come with us. You can’t survive like this much longer, you know that!”

No. What they couldn’t survive was the heroes.

But, they didn’t have to.

Villain took a step back, inching towards the pile.

“Come on, buddy!” Another hero called. “What are you so afraid of?”

It was the heroes who should be afraid. Another step back.

“There’s nowhere to run, Villain.” Hero spoke once more. “Just come with us. No harm will come to you, I swear to it.”

No.

Villain wasn’t ready to die. Not today.

They took the final step, until they were mere inches from the pile. With a well-placed kick, and a horrible clattering, the cans toppled from their precarious pyramid. The reek of gas grew tenfold as brown liquid spilled out, onto the concrete below.

Stepping back from the gasoline-- they were ready to go, not just yet-- they reached into their pocket. The heroes had no time to identify the object they pulled out. By the time they realized what had happened, the lighter had already been thrown.

The flame leapt into the air with such force that Villain was thrown back, tossed to the concrete like a ragdoll.

The faux compassion on the heroes faces turned to an emotion that was very, very real.

Fear.

Spreading so fast that its growth could be heard, the inferno pounced, grabbing onto the base of a wooden support beam and licking its way upwards.

“Everyone!” Hero shouted-- terror in their voice overpowered by sheer determination. “Get out! This building’s not stable.”

“W-what about you?”

“If I’m not out within five minutes, send someone in after me.”

“Are you certain?”

“We’re heroes. And, sometimes, that means saving villains, too.”

Despite their clear reluctance, the other heroes, one by one, nodded, allowing their terror to spur them to flee.

When the last of them was gone, only two remained in the garage. The villain and the hero.

Villain looked upwards, watching as the flame reached the top of the support beam and rippled onto the ceiling.

There were only two ways this could end. They knew that.

Either Hero lost their nerve and fled, allowing their prey to escape, or they both perished in the flames.

No matter which came to pass, there was only one thing that mattered:

They would not die by the hands of a hero.

“You’re scared.” Hero began. Another stupid speech. “I know. I know you’re scared. This last week has been hell for you, I know that. But it doesn’t have to go down like this. You can still make the right choice.

Please. Come with me. I don’t want to hurt you. Believe it or not, I don’t want you to die!”

“You’re a bad liar, you know.” They croaked.

Villain’s lungs were already torn from gasping. The slowly-rising smoke only served to salt their wounds.

Before them, a flaming ceiling tile fell, spraying them with embers.

“You don’t want this! I know you don’t! You don’t want to die!”

“Why do you think I’m doing this?! Of course I don’t want to die, you fucking idiot!”

“Then come with me!”

“It’s like you don’t even hear yourself.”

The building shuddered as a support beam splintered and collapsed. The force of it sent Villain, once again, to the concrete, bathing their face in smoke. As they scrambled to their hands and knees, they could not help but let out a shuddering cough.

“Villain! Watch out!”

“Wh-”

The ceiling tile struck their head, burying them under its accompanying rubble.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Warmth... and music.

They awoke to warmth, and music.

The first of the two came in the form of something soft, heavy, enveloping them, making them feel as though they were buried within a cloud. The music, too, seemed to surround them-- there were no words to it, just the soft, lulling tone of a piano, accompanied by the occasional splash of waves.

It was confusion that first whispered to Villain, when their leaden eyelids at last agreed to open. Above them sat an off-white sky, stretching out to meet with a light blue wall. They blinked once more.

Where...

The chase the heroes the running the building the gas the fire the rubble the-

Villain jolted upright, tossing off of themself a heavy, fleece blanket. Trembling fingers gripped the mattress below them as they scanned the world around, instincts kicking in, searching frantically for an exit.

The room was small, walls colored a soft, baby blue, and lit by a pair of lamps with warm, orange bulbs. The few items of furniture were made of a light brown wood-- three small nightstands, two in corners, and one next to the bed in which Villain lay.

Next to one of the stands was placed a small writing desk and chair, while the other was accompanied by a potted plant, petals just starting to emerge from its buds. Embedded in one wall, a window stood, a small radio perched upon its sill.

The door was at the room’s far end, next to their bed. A wooden door with brass handle-- easy to break down.

But guarded.

Before the door, a figure stood-- a person dressed in a bright flannel, from the breast pocket of which stuck an overabundance of pens.

They did not look particularly strong, but, then again, neither did Villain. At the sound of their movement, the figure turned to face them, a smile growing upon their round face.

“I didn’t even notice you waking up.” They hummed. “Good morning.”

There were two options for escape: The door or the window. Neither was particularly desirable, but they had to choose one...

“Hey, buddy.” The stranger’s voice felt almost as warm as the fleece blanket. “You’re looking a bit like a deer in the headlights, there. I’m sure this is all a bit overwhelming, and I’m sure you’re pretty confused. I’d be confused too, trust me.”

No. There was no confusion in Villain’s mind. They were focused on one thing, the only thing that mattered: Getting out of here!

The flannel-wearing figure took a few steps towards the bed. In instinctual panic, the villain scrambled to their hands and knees, shuffling backwards until their spine was flush with the headboard.

“Hey, hey, shhh.” They hushed. “I’m sorry I scared you. I’ll stay right back here, okay?”

“L-Let me out of here!”

The figure frowned.

“Bud, I’m not sure that you’d last another day out there. Not in the state Hero found you in.”

Hero. Of course they were working for Hero.

“I’ll explain everything, alright bud? But let’s just start here. My name’s Doctor. What’s yours?”

Villain only then noticed that they were shaking like a leaf. Whatever this method of torture or interrogation or whatever it is was, they wanted no part in it. They just wanted to go home! To get out! Warm bed or not, this was a prison. They were sure of it.

But, the bed was comfortable, and there wasn’t a single rat in sight...

“How about this...” Doctor coaxed. “You tell me your name, and I’ll tell you what’s going on, okay?”

A trade. Information for information.

Was it worth it? They supposed there was little use in lying.

“V-Villain. My name’s Villain.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Villain.”

“Now, wh-what is this p-place?”

Doctor nodded.

“This is the Supervillain Memorial Villainous Recovery Center. We’re in the city, right by the river. Next to the botanical gardens, if you know where that is.”

They were really telling them the location of their prison? Surely it would have been better to keep such a thing secret. That is, assuming they were telling the truth.

“I believe you’ve been asleep for about... seventeen hours.” Doctor glanced to their watch. “Yep, just about. You’ve been here for maybe half that time. After you got caught in the fire, Hero brought you to the hospital. They bandaged your wounds and brought you here. I hope you slept well.”

Villain almost laughed at that, before a realization struck them. They had slept well. Sure, remnants of the specter of fatigue still haunted them, but for the first time in days, they felt awake enough to think clearly.

But, this was still a prison.

Right?

Prisons didn’t usually have soft beds and fleece blankets, but...

No. It was a trick. This was a prison, and they were a prisoner.

“Let me go.” Villain insisted, though it was halfhearted. “Y-You can’t keep me here! I’m leaving. I need to leave!”

Doctor frowned again, biting their lower lip.

“I’m sorry, Villain, but for now, you’re going to have to stay here. But, I promise, you’ll like it here.” They sighed. “I know you’re scared, and confused, and a thousand other things. But, here, you’re safe. There’s other people here-- quite a few of them, in fact. And, at one point, they were all like you. But ask any one of them. This is the best place for you to be.”

Other people?

“Where are they? W-What are you doing to them?!”

Doctor smiled.

“They’re in our main wing, right now. I believe everyone is eating lunch right about now. I don’t know about you, but where I come from, lunch isn’t a form of torture.”

Villain pursed their lips.

“Then, where am I?”

“This is our arrivals wing. You’re going to stay here, for a few days. Until you’re comfortable, and we can make sure all that smoke is out of your lungs. Then you can join in with everyone else. I’m gonna move over to the side of the bed now, okay? I won’t touch you.”

Even with the warning, Villain couldn’t help but flinch as Doctor approached. They moved to the nightstand at the bed’s side, plucking a small, red box from its surface.

“Hero told me to give this to you, when you got up. It’s not exactly the most nutritious thing to start your day off with, but I think you deserve something tasty.”

They offered the box. After a moment of hesitance, Villain snapped it from their hands, drawing it close to their chest. Was it a threat? Some kind of warning? Morbid curiosity took hold of them, prompting them to open the box’s lid.

Chocolates.

A dozen chocolates, laid out in the design of a star.

“I can eat these?”

“Go ahead.”

Without hesitance, this time, they popped one of the candy pieces into their mouth. Its flavor overwhelmed them, strong enough to nearly knock them over. It’d been days since they’d eaten anything that didn’t come off a bush or from the dumpster.

“Um...” Villain looked back up, closing the box. “So, when are you going to kill me?”

Doctor laughed.

“Hero will be visiting tomorrow. With how long they can talk for, I think you’re only in danger of dying of boredom.”

This was a prison. Of course it was.

Yet, as they glanced down at the box of chocolates, they could not help but forget all thought of panic and escape.

#villain whumpee #whump #hero caretaker #scared whumpee #whumpblr #whump community #ask

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bodyinthebog · 3 years ago

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ok here’s something for @blaseballwipamnesty - have ~1k of angst about margarito nava, captain for the boston flowers. i wrote this around four seasons ago, so it’s pretty out-of-date for the canon.

cw: death mention, some body horror, swearing.

/////

There’s so few of them left, the originals.

Both across the league and on the Flowers, players traded, transferred, incinerated until entire teams are replaced.

It’s been hard for Margarito not to become numb, if xe is honest. Only three Flowers have been in play since the Return, and they’ve all lost so much.

Ace watched his child be incinerated. Of all the times Margo had to be late.

(Margo never told him this: before the fire connected, Moses had turned to Margo, a hand outstretched. Her mouth was a grimace of pain and terror, muscles clenched and nails tearing into her palms. But her eyes - her eyes were pure static. They were cold even before the flame reached them.)

Margo occasionally tries to talk to fans about the early players - Isaac, Hurley, even Cali - and the response is noncommittal at best. Other times, their faces show confusion, skepticism, maybe humming in feigned curiosity.

“Oh, yes, Pacheco - wait, don’t you mean the player for the Pies? Poor soul, a massive shame what happened to them.”

Xe wants to grip their shoulders, to shake them until they remember. It’s not yet been twenty years - xe still remembers training with Beck, or working behind the bar whilst Hurley arranged flowers for a celebration.

On the worst nights, when Margo is yet again behind the bar at Margaritoville (always, always, never changing), xe watches the footsteps of Silvaire, or Zesty, and thinks about the ash they are tracking in; remnants from too many games played under an unnatural sun. Ash embedded into sneakers and souls. Shit, xe’s getting poetic in xir old age.

The Flowers hold the record for the most number of incinerations. Is it luck? Divine hatred? Hell, Margo had even heard of a ‘curse’ on the team back in the early seasons - when Cali and Beck were incinerated and feedbacked within a few months of each other; when three players got incinerated in the same season.

The newer players have mentioned the curse as well - Scores, Salih, Zesty, the others. Even Nagomi Mcdaniel had groused about the “fuckin’ Flowers curse”. Scores had created spreadsheets - spreadsheets - about incineration rates and feedback chances and who knows what else. She had been so proud, and so enthusiastic, when she showed them to Margo, wheelchair skidding around with her computer close to falling off her lap.

It took all Margo had not to snap at her. Her friends were not just numbers.

They can’t be cursed. Who pays enough attention to Boston to care?

/////

The Moss Woman was no help, as usual.

She came to Margo on a summer’s evening, when the air was just beginning to bite with cold and the sky was just barely light. The Flowers had been kicked out of the playoffs yet again, so the team was back in Boston.

(Over in Charleston, a shelled god is descending on a terrified crowd, unexpected and unpracticed opponents standing alone. But that’s another story.)

Xe sat at the edge of a lake in the Garden, xir legs crossed and xir hand dipped in the water - the left one, the one beginning to tinge with green. There was a small flower-bud on the palm of that hand; Margo wondered often what it will become. Xe doesn’t mind these changes, necessarily - the Flowers have always been tied to their namesake, and what’s another step further. Everything returns to the ground, to ash, eventually. At least the Garden is not a possessive god - who knows, they could be the Crabs.

“Margarito.” Her voice came from behind, and above. It emanated from the lake, and the grass xe sat on, and the bud in xir hand. The night air seemed to still suddenly, what little wind there was falling silent.

“Be nice.” Margo muttered in response, head slumped against xir chest.

A gentle laugh. “Darling, I say what I must.”

The next moment, there was a presence on the grass next to xir. Margo didn’t turn xir head, instead looking up, as if trying to find the oncoming stars.

“What do you seek, Margarito?”

Margo paused for a moment, drawing xir hand up from the lake. “Something’s coming, isn’t it.” There’s a defeated tone in xir voice.

Xe can hear the shrug in the Moss Woman’s voice. “It always is. Always has been.”

A pause. Somewhere in the undergrowth, a bird cawed a final goodnight to the day.

“Why do you let them go?” Margo’s voice cracked involuntarily.

She replied immediately. “I don’t have a choice.”

“But Cali still lives. I understand why you favour her, yet -”

The Moss Woman laughed, yet again. This time it was bitter, tinged with resignation and resentment. “Margarito, I do not favour her. Our dear lotus is destined for something beyond this garden, I am afraid. Her fate is quite out of my hands.”

As if on cue, a lotus bloomed next to them, pink leaves vibrant in the setting sun. Margo snorted. Trust Cali to be listening.

“The Flowers have never gone this long without an incineration.” Xe said.

“It’s only been three seasons, Margarito.” Her tone was almost mournful.

Margo placed her hands behind xir, leaning back to face the sky. “That’s just it. Three fucking seasons. We shouldn’t have to live in fear.”

/////

They make it longer without any incinerations, surprisingly. The Flowers pass the Grand Siesta in Boston and in peace, players returning to their families. Years pass with the occasional meet-up; the occasional training session. Beck returns for a while - she disappears into the Garden, a vine wrapped around her wrist. When she talks to Margo, their conversations are stilted. Uncertain.

Beck led a team constantly facing incineration. Margarito runs one haunted by it.

Margo remains at the bar, as xe has done for the past decade.

The Coffee Cup comes as a welcome break, all things considered. Xir team, Macchiato City do moderately well, and it was good to play opposite Jacob for once.

It’s when xe is attempting to call Castillo that something interesting happens. The phone rings for longer than Castillo usually lets it - even if he is not the most engaging speaker, Margo needs to hear a familiar voice. The Garden feels empty.

“Hello? Turner is unavailable at the moment, can I take a message?” A posh, slightly accented voice speaks from the other end of the line.

“Oh - no, it’s alright. Just tell him to call me back.”

“Will do. This is Thomas Dracena speaking, from the Millenials - you’re Margarito Nava, right? From the Flowers?”

Margo laughs. “Yeah, that’s me. Thanks, Thomas.”

“Of course, Margarito. I’ll tell Castillo you called.”

#margarito nava #boston flowers #blaseball #err this was going to be like. [bit about fire eater] [bit about moses + hiro] [bit about the championship run] [bit with gloria w reference #to i think its waveridden's work on gloria + the crabs #blaseball wip amnesty #and the bit with thomas dracena is a reference to the twitter rp because some of that makes me flip out #because mmmm i have emotions about margo + fire eater + captain + the common characterisation of xir as the 'team parent'

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elfdyke · 4 years ago

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HAHA OK UM. ivy exposition time hehe… come read my thoughts i put down in text for you all to read about what i perceive this fictional woman’s backstory to be (this is a lil more cohesive than my harley one but. YEA)

smal cw for VERY brief mentions of abuse (ivys dad + the joker r mentioned)

Ivy grew up in an emotionally vacant house. Her father was very emotionally abusive + occasionally physically. Her mother was hardly around. This caused her to have to take on a lot of responsibility for herself and basically grow up way sooner than she should have

She put a lot of effort into her schoolwork. She had a very caring and helpful science (either biology or environmental science) teacher, she nurtured Ivy’s love of botany

She got a scholarship to acclaimed college and essentially got a free ride? she worked on the side to pay for any spare expenses.

Woodrue was one of her teachers, he was academically lauded for his work in botany but hadn’t been very relevant in the recent scientific discoveries, essentially he was a big shot who got kind of washed up, but Ivy had studied his research extensively and found him incredibly inspiring.

They end up fostering a very intense relationship STRICTLY focused on their scientific research. (SHES LESBIAN.) They’re trying to prove a hypothesis Ivy’s presented about idfk.. accelerating plant growth. Harnessing toxins certain plants create for their healing properties…IDK I DON’T KNOW SCIENCE <3</p>

Their entire work relationship and all the shit they do feels like going 120 mph down a road the wrong way and she loves it. This is truly the first time she’s had full control over her own life and has someone who actually (as she believes) sees her as an equal and recognizes her intellect.

They end up escalating things because they’re both so desperate to prove Ivy’s hypothesis, and Ivy volunteers her own body for them to test their work on. She refuses Woodrue’s offer because its her theory, so she should be the one to suffer if things go wrong…

WHICH THEY DO. Shit goes sideways and Ivy experiences adverse reactions which cause her to become bed stricken (she refuses to go to the hospital because she’s afraid that the toxins could be extremely dangerous, and doesn’t want anyone to suffer because of her science).

She also tells Woodrue to keep his distance, because she wants him to be safe from it too, and he essentially just ghosts her. She’s upset about it but first blames herself because she feels like she’s done nothing but prove everyone right about what a failure she is.

She starts noticing changes affecting her, and its all kinds of fucked up. I can elaborate on this later <3. But essentially her physiology starts warping due to the green encompassing her, growing up from her hands and feet. I think the green parts of her body are cool to the touch, have a plant like texture, and MAYBE? Have plant cell structure ingrained in them vs animal cells.</p>

Also, the green initially starts slowly spreading up her body but she’s able to halt its progression, in order to lose herself completely (think of the kinda deal in annihilation, instead of sexy green plant lady ivy).

She catches wind that Woodrue had HER research published and is taking full credit for her hypothesis, without naming her whatsoever, and it essentially breaks any semblance of humanity she had left.

At this point she’s kind of crazy powerful and can control plantlife as we all know and love <3 She figures out that Woodrue is having a conference where he’s holding some kind of really important lecture on ‘his’ hypothesis, and plans to unmask his deceit in front of the entire scientific community. </p>

She also discovers that he’s warped her discovery from something she wanted to benefit humanity and the environment, to something to gain profit from, essentially going against everything she believed in.

She bursts into the conference and when she sees Woodrue, she essentially blacks out and next thing she knows she’s essentially pulled a Carrie…. NOT EVERYONE DIES!!!! But its brutal and fucked up and she 100% absolutely slaughters Woodrue and makes an example out of him. This is the point in her story where she officially loses any chance she had of her past life as Doctor Pamela Isley.

She uses his desecrated corpse to warn everyone in Gotham, in the world, that the green has woken and will no longer stand by and be desecrated by humanity.

Ivy does a lot of work trying to collapse industries that harm the environment across the world for a while but it’s also hard for her to much alone, and she almost gets bested a few times @_@ She’s absolutely a formidable threat, but she’s also one person with a massive weakness to fire

She ends up slinking back to Gotham to recover after a particularly nasty encounter

Something abhorrent happening in Gotham catches her eye and she can’t stop herself from making an appearance and attempts to wreak havoc before ultimately getting caught and shipped to Arkham for her “extremist beliefs”

Dr Harleen Quinzel is paired with her for weekly meetings.

Harley realizes very quickly Ivy is most certainly Not insane and repeatedly tries to get it appealed, but no one will listen to her. (Ivy was locked up in Arkham specifically bc of her environmental activism/terrorism)

Ivy’s very snide at Harley at first, looking down on her for being so bright eyed and bushy tailed about everything. She’s very much bitter about how she’s repeatedly been wronged, and always cast as a villain despite her believing she’s doing what she can to save the earth.

Ivy and Harley argue about if women can ever achieve anything in this world, the way its built. Harley says she’s sad ivy feels that way but knows she’s going to make a difference. She’s different and she’ll change things.

Ivy doesn’t entirely believe her but seeing someone so downright full of life and hope really does spark something in Ivy that never really dies down.

Eventually Harley gets reassigned and taken off Ivy’s case. They didn’t have a lot of time together but I think that Harley makes a worthy impact on Ivy. This is also before Harley has interacted much, if at all with the Joker

Time passes, Joker’s manipulation ensues, Harleen becomes Harley.

Ivy sees Harley Quinn during a run in with the Joker but doesn’t recognize her at first.

Until she speaks.

Ivy gets hit with a wave of nausea upon realizing how Harley’s fallen from the proud and bright girl who was sitting across from her in Arkham.

After that she uses the green to try and keep tabs on Harley and one night after a particularly bad beating, Joker kicks Harley out and Ivy manages to swoop in and rescue her from near death.

ALSO, IMPORTANT! Ivy struggles a lot with her disgust toward humanity vs her desire to protect Harley. It’s the reason it takes her a while to actively seek a hurt and broken Harley out and rescue her. (she resents herself a lot for not acting sooner, when she realizes how extensive Harley’s injuries are)

TOSSING THIS HERE . about Ivy’s sexuality. I can’t see her ever really opening herself up to any romantic relationships any time during her school life. She’s very driven and focused on her studies and her research. She never really gave her attraction to anyone much thought, so I think that she just expected she would never feel attracted to anyone? Until she meets Harley. I think that meeting Harley kind of opens her eyes like. Wait I can feel this? I deserve this kind of love? With a woman?… she has to work through some shit but she is a big lesbian in love with her weird little clown girlfriend

um i think thats all hehe…. i have more but i kinda wana write a fic about harls and ivy getting together from my interpretation so…… TUNE IN NEXT TIME <3</p>

#poison ivy #harley quinn #harlivy #dc #text #IM FEELING A LITTLE.. cwazy over them <3 #IF ANYONE HAS ANY QUESTIONS ABOUT WHAT I SAID.. or what im thinking. please engage with me..#talking about this stuff is.. EXCITING AND NICE #UM IF I MADE ANY MISTAKES OR ANYTHING.......cringe.. i am tired and i can only do so much #writing

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yoitscro · 5 years ago

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First thought: Homestuck^2 should've just been called Beyond Canon, and more people should call it that.

The 2 was put on for chuckles; HS trending the day it was announced with it being a sequel spoke enough about how such a thing shant be underestimated, and why Homestuck is ABSOLUTELY more than just our small twitter crowd (and the scrap of us still on tumblr). I say that because remembering the Beyond Canon part slightly reassures me about the fact that this is a fanwork that will do some weird shit, and things I don't agree with, but isn't something that I have to subscribe to enjoying all the way with how I engage with Homestuck.

Homestuck 2 is not the canon continuation. Homestuck 2: Beyond Canon, is an OFFICIAL continuation.

Not having it on such an important stool and as the only content we all are only allowed to digest should come from both people who obsessively dislike it, and people who defensively support it. If a character says they kick babies then I can say, hey that's weird, maybe not great writing, but I can pretend they don't in my content, and i dont have to send threats or call people cishet white men for it! and, it's an absolutely great thing that we were all encouraged to create our own ideas without anyone who's influenced us to do so squinting their eyes when we actually go through with it. Glad I don't have to put this story up to the expectations of being a sequel to a 11 year, worldwide IP that's shooketh the internet landscape since it's merely optional, Death of the Author persists, and ideas aren't just dominated and revolved around the perspective of a 1% in this entire fanbase.

That said.

As an OFFICIAL continuation versus a canon one, HS2 is ok. It certainly has that fanfiction vibe, and a story it wants to tell. I can't really tell what that story is since we have like, 10 sub plots rn though. There's not a real a clear indicator on where the focus of main conflict is that connects all these stories together.

I thought that the prose in replacement of Vriska's battle was jarring, but not teeerribly surprising for the format HS2 is going for. It's more so using drawings to compliment text versus Homestuck's usual of panels being side by side with visual importance, or even itself being the one compliment. It sorta feels weird tho that it brought old fans back in with art just for them to get sneered at when they get a bit upset that there won't be main staples of art known to progress the story forward.

Also people who mock people for “having to read homestuck” knowing there’s language barriers and struggling focus from those who’ve been use to something that was never so dense, are ridiculous.

Personally this could be solved by knowing how old flashes worked, having way more artists on the team, maybe even an art director if not already, and noting that we're not asking for the next Cascade. Rome wasn't built in a day, but Rose Ride sure was, and Homestuck’s animation is absolutely not the same as a 12-24 framed 12 minute cartoon. That, or just snuff the illustrative art as a whole since it's very clear on where the focus is.

I’m sure you’re not here trying to see my opinions on how the outer workings are though, versus plot.

Uuuuh, let's see. Yiffy's still a name I don't care to use until I eventually get tired of any of my art that do not show up in tags. This is fine and not as offensive as people are saying it is. Minors who want to cosplay this character don't have to call themselves this character. Not wanting to be one letter away from accidentally entering a very NSFW space of twitter is fine. Also the lot of people call Tavros, Tavvy.

I hope Kanaya's anger at being cucked is actually seen versus being implied through fan guesses and another character having to say she was.

Roxy needs to be more of an involved character. Where are they during all this?

Jane should have a mention of her relations to HIC being a main/bad influence on her current parallels to Alternian dictatorship.

The PRE-RETCON GROUP should have a fun one-shot update for fans who like them, since they oughta be around if they fell through the ghost hole. Most of them. The sprites that aren't Jasprosesprite should also show up too, since they're around.

Aaaaaand I think we should be extra careful going into the future when it comes to the alien rebellion. It's weird that a lot of the writers are white and toy around with concepts that can be a not so great parallel to racism. Currently not great timing rn! If the characters are going to remain aracial, but with them still doing not much to reference other non-white earth cultures or getting new hair cuts that have different textures (looking at you, Rose), we shant make the species with actual biological benefits a racism commentary. the xeno joke at least had a play on words. If any writer has happened upon this then a, please don't get mad at me again haha, and b, consider having more black writers or directional assistance on your squad. You know who they are.

In the future. I casually want the ghost from the Dream Bubbles to be shown since it's a big elephant in the room to not have a single one of them in the bg despite a load of them appearing from the ghost whole. Don't gotta give them speaking lines, especially the dancestors. I personally don't know if I want that right now.

I also hope in the future that we don't get HS content that is only going to revolve around HS2, if it's optional enough to engage with without being the only option. That's why PQ could ended a bit better for me, and why I hope it's not the main thing that's keeping Hiveswap on the backburner. I don't think it's farfetched to consider that multiple HS content could come from more than just one team; to relieve work load, but to also strengthen the idea that Homestuck can be a various amount of perspectives when it comes to the ideas fans have. The most dedicated fans leading the direction of the story is not just a handful of them. If anything, at least acknowledge the massive ass fan projects going on once in awhile to showcase the different avenues.

"Hey Cro, you sure have bitched about this alot. Do you have anything good to say? Why don't you stop reading if you hate it so much!"

Not every comment needs to be golden, love. Again, some of these decisions I eck at, but ultimately they're just words on a computer that I'm not holding anyone at gun point to do, and I'm curious to see how the story handles itself going forward, since again, it's just a fanwork. Sometimes I wish to not only see where the plot goes, but to see a writer's craft in action.

Good Things:

The Art. Again, please have more artists. It'd help so much, especially since the main one is also double timing for VE. That said, HS2 sticks out to me because of the way the color composition is used. Aside from hair and other tiny things, I haven't seen black used a lot, which makes colors pop. It's really nice to look at. I hope we get more sharper styles of character in the future, since it builds on nostalgia and makes the trolls feel much less like they're from Repiton, but I can deal with it for the most part. I also like that one panel where the omega kids and vriska are talking in the dark room, and based on where they're standing, the text aligns. Tasty as hell.

Meat and Candy still do hold neat logic in the direction the stories go. Candy, while it could be more tasteless in some areas, is chaotic and too much of a good thing. Meat is having something a little more straightforward, though I'm not sure quite yet where it's going. I always found Candy to be the part of the epilogue that actually entertained me the most, from how much of a surreal Robot Chicken skit at 3am it felt. Sometimes the jokes slapped real nice and made me wonder, going in, how is this monkeys paw gonna play out and, hopefully, make people laugh or smirk like they got a good roast at themself?

The slightly episodic feel of each update is what I wanted from the Epilogues, so it's interesting to see that play out when it comes to switching different perspectives.

The bonus updates get points for featuring characters that a lot of us have been wanting to see for ages.

Hopefully this isn't unpopular, but I think the tension of Yiffy's introduction was nicely composed and written (ignoring some of the things I wish for Jane). It leaves you with enough want to see what'll happen next time. You could also say that despite her growling and making a lot of noise, it's not actually bad writing: I see it as the audience being forced to see her in the same perspective that Jane see's her; a dog. Upon no context we're seeing the same thing while knowing things are obviously off, and once we see this character in a new environment where their personality shines, it'll have a bigger impact her own character being humanized. So I like that.

Okay, I think that's all I got. I improv wrote most of this; hopefully I won't be taken out of context since I don’t think that HS2′s writing should ultimately be a judgement of the writers as people, nor treated as if they should hold the same unhealthy work environment that Andrew forced himself to do when writing the og comic. And I'm still like, donating to the patreon and everything, lol.

[runs away]

edit: i was going to put the cw as another positive thing for the comic...but...yeaaaah.

#hs2 #beyond canon #homestuck 2 //#i ran out of room so i posted this here lol.

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