#they should at least let you pick up the spray paint

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

128 of the angst prompts for the pAInter?

128) '"I need you, why do you always leave me?"

......

"Heyyyy."

"......."

"Suddenly you don't wanna talk? That's rude."

"Well so is turning my body into swiss cheese when you promised you wouldn't do that anymore." You huffed, sending a pointed glare at the sentient computer that sat behind a locked cage, before going back to checking the nearby drawers for data.

"Oh right.." Painter muttered awkwardly. "I was actually aiming for the Wall Dweller behind you, but the turrets like to pick and choose their targets sometimes...heheh."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"Well..do ya feel better?"

"Hm..I guess it beats being eaten alive by one of those things. So...sure." You glanced back at him, giving him a tiny smile. "Thanks for trying."

"You're welcome."

Of course, you still had your..issues with the computer, considering that ever since he gained access to the Internal Defense System, your runs to the crystal have become more treacherous than ever before.

It was bad enough that you had to worry about wandering towards the wrong door, with him using HQ's voice to misguide you.

But now at any given moment, you could walking into a room with turrets sweeping the area, red lasers waiting to catch you in their line of sight before spraying you with bullets--while he taunted you over the speakers and whined whenever you managed to find the lever to shut them down.

You hated him at first, but after coming across his containment room, where his main body was hosted on an old computer, he swore that none of it was personal. He blamed Sebastian for hooking him up to the Navi-Path system and asking him to delay your mission for as long as possible, convinced that he could find another way out of this place.

Of course, you were still upset, and believed his actions were very much personal, especially when you've come so close to escaping with the crystal....only for music, of all things, to cause your gear to detonate.

Maybe he was a reluctant accomplice of his, but why should you care?

Why waste time talking to someone who stopped at nothing to kill you? He wasn't a mindless animal like Pandemonium or the Wall Dwellers, but had total awareness that you could come back after death.

And he knew how to take advantage of that.

You used to roll your eyes at the news channels declaring that AI would be the death of humanity.

Now? This AI sure as hell was going to be the death of you.

But sometime ago, you acquired his document and had Sebastian show it to you, and you learned some rather...tragic things about him.

He was built and programmed with love, by his human creator who taught him how to paint and appreciate the beauty of the natural world. All he wanted to do was create things, and now he was being used as a tool for destruction.

It was all because of Urbanshade.

They killed the only person he ever cared about, tore him apart and put him back together to see how he "worked", and when they couldn't figure it out, they forced him into crypto mining, only giving him the promise of letting him paint every once in a while.

He might be a machine, but the pain he felt was real--so real that he'd rather die than continue existing.

Of course, it doesn't justify him killing you over and over, and making your runs through the blacksite a living hell, but you could understand why he's so bitter towards humans now.

If you were him, you'd definitely have a lot of resentment and built-up anger.

After reading that document, you had a little more sympathy for Painter, and eventually you two managed to work out a deal: if you found his room, you'd stop by to draw a small landscape for him, and he was free to replicate it on his program. In exchange, he promised to keep all turrets in further rooms disabled and not lock you in a "gauntlet" with Eyefestation anymore.

He still works together with Z-96, but at this point you've learned how to avoid the flesh creature at all costs. So that was the least of your worries.

"Anyways, what have you drawn for me today, hm?" He spoke up, growing a little impatient.

You took a few moments to open the notepad you had, grateful that the security cameras in this room were under his control, so HQ won't detonate your gear for talking to him.

You've overheard the higher ups mention something about Painter becoming a pain in the ass for expendables and operatives, losing a lot of them to the IDS and Z-96 attacks, and he was to be marked for destruction before he could take 100% control of the blacksite.

Whether they were going to declare that as an order in the near future or not remains to be seen, but...you didn't want to do that.

Did Sebastian know?

Does he know-?

"Welllll?"

"Oh. Right. I have this here." You showed him the sketch of a mountain range, trying to get as close as the chain-linked wall would allow you to. "This is the Himalayas, where Earth's highest mountains are located."

"Oooooh, yes I recognize it."

"You do?"

"Of course. Over a hundred bodies are still up there, most unrecoverable due to the conditions." Painter sneered. "It should have been left untouched. Why do you humans always wanna ruin nature with you stupid hikes and big egos?"

"...well if you don't want this one-"

"Never said I didn't. Show it to me again. And hold it steady."

You blinked in surprise, before turning the notepad back over so he could see the landscape, and you saw the MS Paint program on his screen going right to work.

While you could only draw it from memory and with the pencils you found in a random drawer, he managed to bring it to life--using vivid colors and beautiful shading to really capture the scenery. Almost as though a professional artist went to those mountains and studied them for hours.

With Painter's AI, it didn't take hours, but mere minutes for him to create a masterpiece.

And it was beautiful.

As soon as he finished, you put the notepad down and grinned. "It's amazing, Painter. It's like..I could walk into it and be there."

"Thanks. I also wish I could walk into it and just...escape all of this." He saved the artwork to his files, before his usual scribbled face appeared once again, but this time it looked rather...sad. "I'll..make sure the turrets don't turn you into swiss cheese."

"I appreciate it, buddy." Smiling, you grabbed the keycard that you needed to exit the room, but right as you walked over to it...he spoke again.

"Do you have to leave right now?"

"...pardon?" Turning back around, you could see him staring at you, looking utterly despondent. "You..want me to stay?"

"You're..the first positive human interaction I've had in a long time. I feel bad for all the deaths and inconveniences I've caused you. Seriously, I do. But...if you reach the crystal, you won't ever see me again.." He muttered.

"Painter." You walked over to him, frowning. "That's the point. I'm only here to get that crystal. We agreed that you'd turn off the turrets so that-"

"I didn't do it to make your life easier." He snapped, growing hostile. "I did it because I don't wanna be the one who causes your death. I'll leave that to somebody else...eventually they'll get you. And you'll come back-"

"No."

He went dead silent for a moment. "..no?"

"This time, I'm getting that crystal. I can't stay here with you forever, Painter. I'm sorry about everything you've been through, but in the end..you're still a threat in Urbanshade's eyes. They could kill me just for talking to you. I need to leave now before-"

As if right on cue, the lights in the room began to flicker, and somewhere in the far distance...you could hear the familiar shrieking and howling of Pandemonium hunting for its next prey.

"You better go to that door over on the right." Painter advised, his voice uncharacteristically monotone.

You failed to pay attention to that and rushed to the door, quickly inserting the keycard-

Only to come face to face with Z-96, whose long claws reached out to slash you across the face. You fell backwards as the door slammed shut, the creature barely managing to drag its arm back inside, with a message in red appearing on the screen beside it.

I need you. Why do you always leave me?

'Bastard. He tricked me-'

Then you heard one final loud scream, and turned around..

Seeing nothing but a gaping maw with crooked rotting teeth and dozens of eyes closing in on you.

You should have known better. You should have just focused on the mission and ignored him from the start.

Now he'll never let you leave, and he'll find other ways to make sure of that.

[drabbles-mc]

You Have Friends?

Richie Jerimovich x F!Reader Richie Jerimovich & Carmy Berzatto & Neil Fak

For @the-slumberparty's Bingo Challenge! Bingo Square: friends with benefits

Warnings: 18+, language, canon-typical chaos

Word Count: 2.1k

A/N: I love them. I love them all so much. I can and would kill a man for Neil Fak.

The Bear Taglist: @garbinge @withmyteeth @justreblogginfics @narcolini (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

You had your phone out, ready to call or text him to come and meet you outside. You weren’t expecting the door to be unlocked, but it pulled open with no resistance. Your eyebrows lifted, and for a moment you still contemplated just calling him anyway. But then you heard the crashing sounds, the subsequent yelling after the fact, and you knew that even if you called him repeatedly he wasn’t going to pick up the phone. Especially not when he was one of the people doing the yelling.

Taking a deep breath, you stepped inside and let the door fall shut behind you. The metallic clanging of the door hitting the frame was a sound you were certain no one else heard other than you. You took careful steps through the restaurant, or what used to be a restaurant, what was going to be a restaurant again in a couple months, apparently. There was debris everywhere, and the deeper you walked, the more the yelling made sense. Although, knowing Richie, yelling would happen even when it didn’t make sense. Italian aesthetic for the least Italian man you know.

Passing by a tarp, the one spray painted by someone who was clearly angry when they got the can of paint in their hand, you finally landed yourself where everyone was gathered. Carmy and Richie were chest-to-chest, or their approximation of that as Richie towered over him. Fak was on standby, and based off of what Richie had told you, you were certain that Fak was ready to jump in on Carmy’s behalf and not Richie’s.

There were a few other people there too. You recognized Natalie, worry and frustration all over her face as she watched Carmy and Richie yell and duke it out with each other. Your eyes widened as you took in the entire scene playing out in front of you. It clicked for you why Richie never told you to stop by.

Finally, she snapped. “Will you two shut the fuck up, please?! This isn’t solving anything!”

Richie shook his head, stepping back from Carmy only to aggressively gesture at him instead. “Nothing this dickhead is doing is solving anything! That’s the whole fuckin’—”

“I’m sorry,” Carmy interrupted Richie’s tirade, no longer looking at the man who had just been about to throw him through the crumbling sheetrock walls around them, “um who, who are you?”

Your eyes widened further not just at the fact that he was looking at you, talking to you, but at the drastic shift in his voice. He was quiet now, tone almost gentle, but clearly very confused. You cleared your throat, the nerves you’d felt standing in front of the restaurant were back in full-swing now that the yelling had stopped.

“Hi, sorry. I just—” you stopped short and held up the leather jacket in your hand as your only explanation.

Richie’s originally surprised expression had shifted to confusion. But once he saw the jacket in your hand, it changed into something else entirely. Almost soft. As soft as he would allow himself to be in the middle of the warzone.

“Shit,” his shoulders dropped and he stepped away from Carmy. “Thank you. Completely fuckin’,” he didn’t finish the sentence throwing out a vague hand gesture instead.

You chuckled quietly, still feeling awkward in the midst of it all but not quite as much now. Richie was, strangely enough, your tether in the midst of whatever storm you’d stumbled into. “I know.”

You handed it over to him, looking around at everyone who was looking at you. Maybe you should introduce yourself to the room. You knew most of them, or knew of them at least. Richie talked about them enough to make you feel like you knew them—you saw the pictures in his apartment, on his phone. Judging by the various looks of shock and confusion on everyone else’s faces, he was not as talkative about you as he was about all of them. That was about what you expected. You waited to see if Richie was gonna introduce you instead of making you do it, but he looked just about as lost as anyone else.

Clearing his throat, he nodded back the way you’d come in. “I’ll walk you out.”

You nodded, looking around at everyone. “It’s was nice to…you know…” you waved awkwardly. “Bye.”

The variety of goodbye’s that you got from everyone in the room was humorous. Or it was to you, at least. Judging by the look on Richie’s face you had the feeling that he was never going to be hearing the end of everything that just transpired over the last sixty seconds. You knew that whatever that was wasn’t their best behavior, but it was the best they could conjure up given your unexpected arrival and the fact that they had no idea who the fuck you were. It was a little impressive, honestly, especially if any of them were anything like Richie.

“I was gonna call,” you said as you and Richie made your way back through the minefield, trying to take all the same steps you had on the way in but in reverse lest you cause something else to collapse, “but then the door was open so I sorta just let myself in.”

He shook his head. “It’s fine. You’re fine.” He paused as he reached to open the door for you. “How much of that did you catch?”

You laughed. “Um, caught just about everything after you told one of them that you are ‘perfectly fucking capable’ of tearing the wall down safely.”

Richie shook his head. “Fuckin’ Fak.”

 You continued, not acknowledging his statement with anything but a smile. “Which, no offense,” you looked over at him, “I heard the crashing when I walked in. Not sure how true that is.”

“Not you too,” he shook his head as you both stood in the doorway. You were standing just out on the sidewalk, Richie just barely inside the hollowed-out restaurant.

“Just keepin’ it real,” you said, holding your hands up in surrender.

Richie was still shaking his head as he looked up at the sky for a moment, like he was visibly trying to talk himself out of saying something shitty. Finally looking back at you, he said, “Thanks for the jacket.” He shook it in his hand to emphasize his point.

“I know you guys are,” you made a general circling motion with your hand in the direction of the restaurant, “but call me when you’re done if you want.”

“Alright, yea.” He ran his hand across his brow-line. “I’ll let you know.”

You nodded. “Sounds good.” You leaned in, stealing a chaste kiss before stepping back away again. “Oh, and Richie?”

He looked at you, eyebrows raised. “Yea?”

“Take it easy on Carmy.” You laughed. “It’s fucked up to bully children.”

Richie laughed, tension dropping from his shoulders a little bit. “He makes it too easy, though. Candy from a fuckin’ baby, I swear.��

You laughed a little harder at that, shaking your head. “That’s exactly my point.” You watched him roll his eyes at you and all you could do was smile. “Talk to you later.”

“Yea, yea, I’ll see you.”

Richie stood there in the doorway and watched as you walked back down the sidewalk. You got a few strides away and realized that you hadn’t heard the clattering of the door shutting. When you turned around and saw him standing there still looking at you, you laughed and shook your head at him. He smiled, but rather than saying anything else, he just gave you the finger before pulling out a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his track pants.

When he walked back into the construction area, everyone stopped what they were doing to look at him. By that point, everyone only consisted of Fak and Carmy. Natalie must’ve handed out tasks to just about everyone else, things they could do that didn’t involve trying to work through the mess that Richie had just inadvertently created with the disintegrating wall.

“Who was that?” Carmy immediately asked when Richie stepped back in the room.

“Don’t fuckin’ worry about it.”

Fak piped up. “Is she your girlfriend? Do you have a girlfriend?”

“Shut the fuck up, Neil,” Richie snapped with a shake of his head.

“Is she, though?” Fak didn’t let up.

“No—what—what are we, fuckin’ twelve? She’s not my girlfriend.”

“She’s stopping by!” Fak countered. “With your jacket!” He gasped dramatically. “Do you sleep over?”

“I’m gonna put you through that fuckin’ wall, I swear to god.”

Carmy was half-covering his mouth with his hand watching the two of them going back and forth. He tried not to smile. “She’s not your girlfriend, then. So, so what is she?”

Richie threw his hands up, jacket flapping as he did. “Why are we even talkin’ about this right now? Don’t you have a restaurant to open?”

“Can’t open shit when you’re knocking all the walls down,” Carmy shot back with a small smirk pulling at his lips. He paused. “What’s, what’s the deal?”

Richie shook his head, knowing that he wasn’t going to get out of the conversation without giving some kind of answer. For as annoyed as he was, he also had a sliver of awareness in the back of his mind that when the shoe is on the other foot he was just as relentless, if not more.

“I met her on, fuckin’, you know,” he patted at his pants pocket where his phone was. “And she’s cool.”

“But not your girlfriend,” Carmy clarified.

“No. We’re like, friends with benefits or whatever you fuckin’ lizards call it.”

“You have friends?” Carmy asked with a laugh.

“She gives you benefits?” Fak piped up, his voice that same shocked almost-whisper he used so often.

Richie was shaking his head at both of them. He pointed at Carmy, using the hand that was still clutching his jacket. “Fuck you—yes, I have friends.” He turned to Fak and pointed at him next. “And fuck you, yes I get benefits!” He punctuated the sentence by giving him a good shove.

“Think she’s still gonna give you benefits after seeing you act like a fucking maniac in here today?” Carmy asked, eyebrows slightly raised as he tried and failed miserably at not looking amused.

“Pfft,” Richie shrugged like he was so unbothered by it, like he was far cooler than he really is, “bet I’ll get even more benefits now.”

“Gross,” Carmy responded with a laugh.

“So gross,” Fak agreed.

“You fuckin’ asked,” Richie argued, pointing back and forth between the two of them.

Before they could descend further into the madness, Natalie’s voice came ringing in front the office. “Neil! Sweetheart! Come here for a second, please.”

“Coming!” he called back, charming as ever. He looked at Richie, pointing at him accusingly. “You’re gross.”

“And you don’t fuck, Neil Fak,” Richie replied without missing a beat.

Once he walked out of the room, Richie and Carmy both instantly broke down laughing. They were both shaking their heads, at each other, at Fak, at all of it. The entire morning had been a mess, just like most of the other mornings preceding it. It was so easy to get lost in it sometimes that giving each other shit over things like that was a breath of fresh air in the strangest way. Bullying each other just for the sake of it not because it felt like the restaurant was imploding and they were each trying to cope with it the only way that they really knew how.

“Hey, cousin,” Carmy spoke up after things had quieted between them again. It looked at Richie who was looking down at the jacket in his hand.

“Yea?” Richie pulled his eyes back up.

He nodded in the direction of the door. “That all good?”

Richie shrugged, nodded. “It’s all good.”

The ends of Carmy’s mouth lifted into a tiny grin. It was genuine, still just a touch of humor to it because they were still the exact men that they were. “Alright.” He clapped Richie on the back. “C’mon, let’s clean up this fuckin’ wall you knocked down.”

“I didn’t knock—”

“You fuckin’ did!” Carmy said with a laugh.

“You know what? Whatever,” Richie shook his head. Turning on his heel, he went to put his jacket away, somewhere out of the danger zone. “Grab a fuckin’ broom, then.”

Carmy was shaking his head, already making his way to get supplies to start containing the mess. He grabbed a garbage can and a broom, chuckling to himself when he heard Fak and Richie pick up their arguing all over again just a few yards away.

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

Yandere Brother Pt 3

Tw: suffocating unbearable love, violence, general yandere, female reader shenanigans, infantilization, and of course incest. also christmas

minors and ageless blogs dni please <3

click here for part 1 and part 2

Click here for my new oc Yves (PLEASE READ IT I LOVE YVES)

plotholes and emglish errors everywhere and i could not be bothered :100emoji: please dont point it out thanks xoxo

Caught the Covid fuk now i cant leave my bed im so damn sick and pukey all the time, i dont fuckin know where my roommate is but at least they're not here to get infected, feeling like a busted up rustbucket rn

So this was originally written last year, couldnt find what else to write but this christmas time is perfect, so like dont mind the shoehorning of Christmas somewhere in this fic

You're having your summer break and you plan to pick up on a new hobby. Crocheting, perhaps.

Fuck, your brother picked up your search history from his spyware. Now you're left to deal with $1000 worth of wonderful quality crocheting materials and your big brother being your personal crocheting mentor.

This is where it gets frustrating. Yes, if you have the resources, you would enjoy your hobbies more. But, just like... What if you didn't like crocheting in the end? You're stuck with all these.

It happens to every single potential hobby. Stamp collecting? Your big brother will bid to the death for an extremely rare stamp from the 1900. You're not even fucking collecting the stamps, the stamp book already comes arranged with all the stamps ever produced. A collection that would only give a hardcore stamp collector an instant orgasm upon sniffing it.

Nail art? Where the hell should you keep all the acrylic powders, fake nails, drills and drill bits? Not to mention the dizzying numbers of nail polishes, nail brushes, nail stickers and cuticle sticks. Of course, your big brother is going to hire a professional nail artist to make sure you're practicing your hobby safely while he's learning how to do it himself, so he could replace your mentor too. He would become so skilled that he could qualify to open up a 5 star nail salon. But he's not interested unless you are.

Painting? you absolutely do NOT need all of those tubes of paint. The difference in shades for some of them are so small that you mistook it for the same colour. You would have a headache choosing the right type of paper, right type of primer and right type of fixative to use.

Are you having troubles on painting? Let big brother teach you. You would sit on his lap as he guide your hands across the canvas. Don't you think his warm hand enveloping yours feel nice? Doesn't his free hand feels nice sensually rubbing your thigh? Don't you just feel protected in his hold?

Makeup? Same situation with your nail hobby. You're essentially being babied by him and experienced celebrity makeup artists, you would drown in a mountain of eyeshadow palettes, primers, setting sprays, skin care products, anything and everything related to makeup.

Every instrument ever? Big brother would insist lovingly providing all the music lessons you need. He is a musical prodigy after all. If it's something ridiculously obscure like a Glass Armonica or the Theremin, big brother would master it in a couple of weeks, earn a fucking pHD in it and THEN teach you. No instrument is too expensive or hard for him. Your big brother is crossing his fingers HARD for you to have this hobby.

Chess? Oh, he is also a prodigy in it. He could teach you. Your chess pieces would be custom made to your liking, by the way. It would be the perfect density, perfect size, perfect texture for you. He knows what you like and you hate that.

Sports? Take a look at his "achievement room". It's filled to the brim with golden medals and trophies of every sport competition ever. He's not leaving you alone for this one.

Pottery? Welcome to your very own personal pottery studio, furnished with all types of drying racks, ovens, kilns, turntables and equipments you have never heard of. Big brother is always there to supervise you, making sure there won't be any accidents.

Cooking and baking? You get to have an industrial sized kitchen all for yourself. Everything is decorated such that it looks like you would be on television, starring in a cooking show. You don't need to clean anything, or prep anything, or actually do anything, really. There's a team of professional chefs and assistants to do everything for you. They're paid to cheer and clap and celebrate when you pour cake batter into a pan.

Gardening? Well, there's a massive plot of fertile land for you to garden to your heart's content at the house he bought as your 18th birthday gift. If you want a big project, it will be done overnight. You wouldn't hear the gigantic machineries and vehicles tumbling about due to the soundproof walls he installed. No one would be able to hear you both either, doing god-knows-what inside.

Video games? Your big brother personally do not encourage you to pursue this. But... Nonetheless, he would spoil you rotten with all the latest gaming consoles, limited edition merchandises, pre release copies of your favorite game franchises and whatever your gamer heart desires. All at a hefty price of... Daily cuddles and kisses. And you also have to move in with him. And he gets to decide what game you're playing, if he deems it a "bad influence"? It is not staying in his house.

You rather not.

Nothing is fun because the fun parts are already done for you. You don't get to experience the highs and lows of picking up a hobby, you don't get to explore and experiment. You're literally cursed with luxury.

So imagine your boredom, stress and paranoia during summer break. All your friends are spies for your brother, your hobbies aren't even "yours", leaving your house would inevitably lead you to your brother and all digital footprints are heavily scrutinized by him too. No privacy, no autonomy, all monotony.

You juggled three smartphones at once. Throwing one up in the air, catching the other one with your dominant hand, throwing the last to your other hand. Who gives a damn if one, or all of them breaks? It's riddled with spyware and your big brother would buy you every time a new model is released anyways. Which is... A new phone, a month?

You stopped caring where he gets the money. Obviously he has an assload and can afford to wipe his ass with thousand dollar bills regularly.

It's summer break. One last resort to try and spend your time like a regular ol teenager is taking up a part time summer job. There is a wide variety of jobs to choose from with your qualification. Granted, it's minimum wage and mostly customer service.

If you work as a barista, the cafe or juice bar you'll be working at will LOVE the crap out of you.

Your older brother will visit daily and increase their sales tenfold. Of course, he would pick the drinks that you like doing. It's okay if you fucked up, its only your beloved big brother's order, you can add as much sugar, salt, pepper, cyanide as you want. He will never yell at you, never tell you that you made anything wrong or never even die.

The management will suddenly see a surge in daily customer count. Thanks to big brother's networking. And like him, they also will accept anything you make with no complaint... As per his instructions. You could go full on ridiculous and give them a cup of ice drizzled with strawberry scented dish soap and call it Tutti Frutti, they would still pay for it and take it with them. Though, you're not sure if they ever consumed anything from you.

Without fail, your brother would visit you during every break and hand you your meal along with a kiss on the forehead or the cheek. He would bring you out to eat but you would refuse everytime. You also didn't want his company, which made him pout and whine without fail. But it's nice that he would actually back off after the sixth "no".

However, you know that fucker is watching you from a hidden camera somewhere in the nooks and crannies of whatever breakroom you're resting in.

He would engulf you in a big hug when you get off work, telling you how proud he is of you for getting through another workday like a champ. Praising you for all the hard work and excellent performance, making sure to soothe and comfort you if you happen to come across a rude customer earlier in the day.

You try not to think too much about their fate.

You will be fed, bathed and loved after every shift.

Hell, he would even build up a company from scratch just to hire you. Any position you want, barista, manager, cashier, back office work, janitor- you name it, you get the "job" and get paid a pretty penny. All your other coworkers and customers are probably paid actors and actresses to simulate a "real life working experience" safely. He controls it all, making sure you have just the right amount of drama, the right amount of diplomacy and the right amount of gossiping. You're rarely pushed out of your comfort zone, though. Big brother always has your safety and best interests at heart.

Of course, he will never tell you all of this, to keep the immersion going. You're going to feel sad that you're not exactly experiencing reality. But a bastardization of it. Might as well star in a trashy reality TV show instead, at least, it's much more authentic than whatever your big brother has going on for you.

He doesn't need to even tell you though. You would pick it up easily and quickly especially if you already watched the Truman Show. Don't tell him you did, god help you if he ever gets an inkling that you knew about the existence of the Truman Show. He deemed that movie as demonic propaganda and he needs to lecture some sense into you. If you want out, just say that you're 'bored' and want to do something else. Your big brother will gladly drop everything and do anything in his power to help you "achieve" what you want.

But for the sake of "plot" in this latest installment, you agreed to work in a quaint little bubble tea stall. Where you're the only employee, making drinks for whoever is ordering in front of the shop's decorated window.

Of course, your big brother miraculously happens to work in a nearby skyscraper as one does. It's not that you didn't do your research, you were a hundred percent certain he didn't work in that building, because that fucker never goes to work... At least, physically. Perhaps he does his job, whatever that may be, through online means.

You were planning to use your bicycle to get there that you got yourself with "your" money. He never bought you a car or a bike or anything that would get you around, he saw it as something unnecessary. Why would you need it when big brother is available 24/7 to bring you anywhere?

Actually, you could have gotten yourself a car with the allowance he gives you every day for being cute and adorable, and being patient with his incessant kisses and hugs and cuddles and love and touches and his fucking insanity in general.

But you know that he's going to kick up a massive fuss about driving alone. It was hell to even get your license with him actively trying to sabotage you at every exam- which includes him stooping so low to bribe the examiner to fail you. However, you persevered, and you got that stupid license. All the while, he was lamenting about how you're going to leave him all alone, how you don't need big brother anymore, how society pressured you to grow up too fast and recklessly drive off wherever.

You knew better than to fall for that. Or even entertain it either. Eventually, he gave up trying to guilt trip you into crying, apologizing to him and sobbing in his arms, promising that you won't leave him.

It's not like he DIDN'T kick up a fuss when you said you're using a bicycle either. He began freaking out about your safety, fearing that you might get run over.

Well. You admitted defeat. He's driving you to fucking work and back. It's not worth it to fight this battle.

So you began working in the stall. You had someone train you for your first 2 weeks. Then you were on your own.

The owner, who is also the person who showed you the ropes around there, said business isn't good, but it isn't bad either. So you didn't need to worry about rush hour where hoards of thirsty, sleep deprived office workers trample over each other to get their daily boba fix. It's pretty peaceful working there.

But what you do need to worry about, is your fucking big brother.

He would come and buy a drink, whichever you like to make. It can be the most expensive one, or the cheapest one, the most elaborate one or the simplest one. It's up to you, he will pay for it and happily drink what you made.

You could make him pay for the most expensive drink there is but serve him a cup of lukewarm water, and he would still drink it with glee and fork over his money, telling you to keep the change (which is usually a hundred bucks extra).

Let's say you want to be decent and make him drink that you know he would actually like. Which is anything that tastes generally fruity. And insist that you like making it even though it actually sucks.

He knows. He can tell that you're specially making his favourite drink. And that makes him happy and more obsessed with you if that's even possible at this point.

He would leave a massive tip and a kiss on your forehead.

Although your brother is fucking gross and weird like that, you still love him. Probably a bad idea but you're working so hard, trying your best to earn money honestly just to get him a Christmas gift.

Despite the restraining order between your parents and him, your brother is still invited back home each year to be jolly together. Preparations start a few days before Christmas, where you would see an unusual sight.

All of your immediate family members in the same room, or at least in the same house together without fighting to the death. Your dad's bones are intact, your mom didn't have her insecurities jabbed on for once. They're not exactly on speaking terms, per se.

You woke up one morning to see an... appropriate sized tree for your parent's house, erected in the middle of the living room. Adorned with beautiful ornaments and... are those pictures of you on the ornaments?

Wrapped presents were patiently sitting under the tree. There was a small box with your father's name on its tag, another small one with your mother's name on it. A decent sized box was addressed to your brother, must be a combined present from your parents.

Your shoulders sagged in defeat when you saw your presents took up the perimeter of the tree and even conquered the couch, the back of the couch and under the coffee table. You lost count after gift box #27.

Since everyone is in the kitchen, you quickly place the presents you got for your parents... and your brother.

You panned to the fireplace. Your Christmas stocking is filled so much to the brim that your brother must have added 5 more next to your original one. Your parents' and your brother's stockings are relatively empty. You stuffed them with candies and nuts to make them look less embarrassing.

You straightened your back, that should do it. Your ears perked up when you heard some clamoring in the kitchen. It must be your brother.

You let out a surprised yelp when you're yanked back by a pair of arms that snuck around your waist. "Merry Christmas, my little wittle precious baby!" You squeezed your eyes shut and scrunched your face as he attacked you with a barrage of kisses.

He giggled and squealed as he held you in his arms and twirled you around in glee. You let out a scream of horror as your feet dangle off the ground. He does this every Christmas morning when you were a child to wake you up further and get you excited for the holiday. But you're not a kid anymore, and this is horrifying.

Finally, he stopped and put you down. Your hair is frazzled and the world around you is gyrating. He squeezed you in another hug and gently rocked you side to side.

He immediately unlatched when you said you're hungry. Your big brother gleefully lead you to the dining table, where he fixes up a napkin around your neck like a bib. You asked him why is he tying a ribbon on your hair, he said that you are his Christmas present and he is spoiling himself this year.

Before you could respond, he gave you a brief peck on the head before frolicking away into the kitchen.

Your parents came out of the kitchen, greeting you. They're holding a tray full of steaming hot breakfast foods, no doubt your brother forced them to make it for you. Every Christmas generated a metric ton of leftovers. It's because your brother wanted you to try all of the foods from all over the world. But don't worry though, the leftovers could be so intact that it was given out to neighbors and friends and extended families. Some didn't even need to cook after that, the sheer amount of leftovers was enough to fuel ten more Christmas gatherings.

Croissants, quiches, various types of bread, eggs, ham, bacon even panettone made from scratch. Looking at the spread in front of you is dizzying, your big brother sets down the last plate right between your hands. It's a breakfast plate your brother customized to fit your usual preference, everything is shaped into a heart. He patted your head as he took a seat next to you.

Everyone ate in silence. Everyone was focusing on their own meal except... your brother. Who else would rather stare at you adoringly instead?

He asked if you wanted to go make snowmen outside. Not without proper winter protection, that is. You shrugged, it's not like you could escape your family anyway. Your friends are all busy with their own families, and you don't even have friends. Everything is closed and if you lock yourself in your room, your brother will just pick the fucking lock and force his way in.

Your parents tried making small talk, this earned a feral glare from your brother because it interrupted the connection between the both of you. They paid him no mind and began asking about your life. You tiredly replied to their questions and asked some back yourself, to try to find any sense of normalcy. Your brother would be disengaged with the words coming out of your parents mouth, but highly interested in what you had to say.

The rest of the morning went by uneventfully. You offered to help clear the table and do the dishes. Your brother just 'aww'd at you and gave you an appreciative kiss on your forehead. That wasn't an explicit yes, he appreciated the gesture, but he wouldn't allow you to dirty your hands doing chores.

He told you to wait for him to clean up. In the mean time, he gave you permission to open some of the gifts he got you. Frankly, you don't even want to deal with it at all, it's just too much crap. You decided to go through the stockings instead and grab some snacks for yourself.

As expected, he filled it with the most expensive treats and the freshest oranges. These types of foods are usually served in a formal setting, like eating gold crusted caviar at a 10 star restaurant, all dressed up in fancy clothes. But he just... shoved it in a Christmas stocking as if they're mundane chocolates.

Whatever, you shoved some into your pockets.

You turned around to see your brother smiling lovingly at you. He wrapped a puffer jacket around you, his scarf with his cologne on it, a pair of thick mittens on your hands , a winter hat snuggly fitted to your head, and a pair of thick pants he made you wear in front of him.

He picked one of your numerous christmas presents and handed it to you. He clasped his hands together expectedly as he watches you.

Your brother urged you to open it, go wild. Rip the wrapping to shreds. You felt so bad seeing how well wrapped it is and the quality of the wrapping paper is... indescribably good. It doesn't even feel like paper, it feels like silk.

So your carefully dismantled it, trying not to tear anything. You look up to see that your brother is pointing his camera at you, capturing this very precious moment. He encouraged you to go on.

You managed to remove the packaging and revealed a box of expensive winter boots. These are high quality and you would have been the source of envy even though most of your "friends" are also from wealthy families. Not everyone gets to have these.

You appreciate it but... You already had a pair of winter boots, the ones from last year, and the year before that. And the year before that, and a week ago where your brother is freaking out about you potentially having frostbite on your toes.

"It's the latest model! It was released as a part of a Christmas special, it will keep you warm and protect your feet too. It was selling out fast, I'm so glad I managed to get a pair for you, I can't have my sweetiepie sad on Christmas day!" Gushed your brother. You slipped them on.

You can't tell the difference between the one you had last year and the one on your feet now. Maybe some minor difference in it's stylistic design but... they're equally as comfortable.

You thanked your brother and finally gave him what he actually wanted from all this: a hug. He put away his phone and returned the embrace, sinking so deep into your jacket that neither of you can move without stumbling. You know he expected you to show gratitude for all his gifts through his main love language; touch.

It is exhausting.

After that, he brought you out to his private plot of land which he made into a park, complete with swingsets, monkey bars and slides. But these aren't for the public, it's for you. All the equipment are well maintained and look brand new even though you know it's been there for years.

He's not fond of throwing snowballs because it could hurt you. But he allows you to throw as much as you want at him. Even after the stunt you pulled last year.

You packed snow around a rock and hurled at him with all your might, it went straight to his head and his right eye was busted for months. Your brother didn't see that as something wrong, though. Even if you tried to apologize, he said that it was an accident and it was alright, he still loves you dearly and you did 'nothing wrong'. The first thing he did after recovering from his injuries at the hospital is to take you out for hot chocolate and then give you a backrub back home because winter could make your muscles stiff; and hence you must feel strained and sore.

He was still mildly bleeding from his gauze at the time, it was covering at least 70% of his upper head. Your brother was clueless when you asked if he needs any painkiller for his recent injury. He claimed to not feel the pain, but his wincing tells you otherwise. He rewarded you for your concern nonetheless with hugs and kisses and another massage.

You laid yourself on the snowy ground and started making snow angels. Your brother had his camera out and began capturing every moment he has with you.

You felt uncomfortable. And the cold is nipping at your bones even though you're thoroughly insulated by the sophisticated winter gear your brother made you wear. You're ready to go home now.

It shocked your brother and made him a bit desperate. He stammered and stumbled over his words, asking you if you wanted to play on the swing, build a snow man, play on the slides, the merry go around and... throw snowballs at him. Are you cold? He was in the middle of removing his own jacket to layer it onto you, but you stopped him.

You said you're tired. You don't find this fun and you're too old for this.

Maybe you're thirsty? He packed a flask filed with steaming hot chocolate for you- no? You're not thirsty or hungry? Maybe you wanted to use the bathroom-- no? You don't have to go?

He tried listing out all the possible reasons you wanted to go home and all its' solutions. Desperately wanting you to stop growing up so fast.

You got sick and tired of this, you yelled at him at the top of your lungs that you wanted to go home. You then stormed away towards the car, leaving your brother to stand there in silence, his camera capturing your explosive outburst.

Your brother saw you slamming the door angrily as you got in.

He sighed, gulping and hovering his finger over the delete button. But he ultimately decided against erasing the footage, it's still a video of you after all. Your brother assured that he's coming to the car, he wipes a stray tear away as he heads to his vehicle.

The both of you stayed silent as he drove you home.

Once you arrived, you bolted out of the car and ran back in. Locking yourself in the bedroom and barricading the door with random furniture. Hugging your knees close to your chest as you pray that your brother does not go after you by climbing into your windows.

And... he didn't. He left you alone for once. For a few hours too. It gave you the much needed relief, you felt like you could breathe now.

You're starting to feel a bit hungry. And you're hungry enough to be willing to face your older brother. So you began unbarricading, placing your dressers to it's original place.

You carefully unlocked the door, fully expecting him to be waiting outside for you. To your surprise, no one was in the hallway. You could hear some noises downstairs, in the kitchen.

You cautiously went down, the tree is still intact. Nothing is broken and there doesn't seem to be signs of a fight. You released a breath that you didn't know that you were holding, happy to know that you don't need to spend another Christmas at the hospital visiting your badly battered parents.

You whipped your head to the sound of your brother calling your name softly. He's holding a baking tray and a bowl, you can't tell what is in there because he's too tall. He smiled at you as he set it down on the dining table. The tray contained freshly baked parts of a gingerbread house and the bowl contained vanilla frosting.

You scanned the rest of the table. There are numerous small glass bowls containing different types of candy and snacks; from pretzel sticks to colourful chocolate rocks, to real gold leaves. Piping bags with metal tips are present too next to a box of plastic gloves.

Your brother pulled your chair out and invited you to sit there. You did, and he called you a good girl. His good girl. As you put on a pair of plastic gloves, he kissed you on the temple.

You asked where your parents are. He said that they're preparing the food for dinner, which includes ham and a roast turkey. And 15 other dishes.

You quizzed on, asking if there will be more people coming in. He shook his head: no. It's only the four of you. In the meantime, you should enjoy yourself building this gingerbread house. He puts on his own pair of plastic gloves too and began filling the piping bag with icing.

The two of you worked in peace, you opting to decorate the house while he pipes the details on the gingerbread men.

There is only two, a large one and a smaller one. You can guess which represents who.

You noticed the odd choice of attaching the small one to the large one's torso. With strategic use of the candies and frosting, he made it look like the larger gingerbread man is carrying the smaller one on its hip. He piped your defining features onto the baby gingerbread, and piped his features on the larger one.

He noticed you staring, your brother asked if you had a hard time connecting the pieces with frosting and if you needed his help. You said no, you just need a spatula from the kitchen. He tried to get up from his seat, but you pushed him back down, saying that you can get it yourself. He pouted, telling you to be careful and not touch the knives or stoves. Your brother went back to obsessing over the details on his gingerbread men.

You went inside the kitchen and greeted your parents who are busy cooking. You go through the drawers to find a silicone spatula and decided to help pick up some stray food scraps on the floor, throwing them into the bin. But as soon as you step on the pedal and have the lid swing open, you saw two crushed, but perfectly edible, gingerbread men in the garbage bin.

You returned to the dining table to see that your big brother is proudly presenting his work. He said this represents you and him... as if you already haven't figured it out. He said he dreams of having you live with him in a perfect fantasy house, fantasy world where you never have to grow up. And he will always be there by your side, taking care of you till the end of time. You will be pampered and spoiled rotten, you don't have to do anything, you don't have to lift a finger. Your big brother will do everything for you. He would even breathe for you if he could.

You nodded in acknowledgement, too tired to engage with him. You sat back down, continued with the gingerbread house. You failed to notice the flicker of sadness in his eyes, your brother felt so neglected and unwanted these few years. He wished that you were a kid again so the both of you could play together and be happy. The more he tries to win your favour, the more distant you get from him. He is endlessly chasing and you are running non-stop.

The rest of the afternoon went by uneventfully, other than the fact that your big brother rests his head on your shoulder the whole time.

Now, it's time for dinner. You tried helping them bring out the dishes, your brother praised you for being a darling as usual. He lets you have the first bite of the turkey, tearing a small inconspicuous piece of flesh from the bird and hand feeding it to you. It's still warm, juicy and delicious. Maybe it's the feeling of being special that makes it even tastier.

You chew as you brought out the casserole, setting it down on the table.

You looked at the spread. It looks like a buffet at a high end hotel. So many varieties and extremely nutritious.

Your brother fixed your napkin bib for you again and took food for you. Slumping in your seat, you were thinking of protesting but you knew it's easier to just wait for him to carve the best parts of the turkey for you and let the food pile up neatly on your plate first. He returned it to you, all your favourite dishes are on it within sensible portions. But these are still a lot of food for a person.

He didn't care about praying. Your brother wanted you to eat as soon as possible because you must be hungry. And it is absolute sacrilege to let you go hungry.

You insisted that you join your parents in saying grace and you're not that hungry. Your brother looks uncomfortable, still believing in his sick mind that you're starving to the point of emaciation. But since you are adamant in doing such 'pointless' things In his mind, he agrees, only if he leads it.

Everyone bowed their head down and held each others' hands.

Your brother said the shortest, most insincere, laziest grace ever. Once he fulfilled your requirement, he urged you to eat.

You're upset, you felt really angry and you thought he was mocking you instead. So you opted to eat alone in your room, you made it clear that you didn't want anyone in. Especially not your big brother.

He cried out a desperate plea to get you to stay with him. You ignored him and took a couple more of your favourite finger foods. Predicting a fight between your brother and your parents.

You wrenched your arm away from his powerful grip and fled the scene, hurrying up the flight of stairs. Only slowing down when you're out of sight.

As you thought, sounds of verbal fighting started resonating throughout the house. You heard your brother screaming his head off at your parents for being bad influences and poisoning you to hate him. Your parents defended themselves and this only fuelled the fire. You didn't want to be around when your brother started hurling chairs, so you slammed the door as hard as you could. The sudden loud noise did stop the commotion downstairs briefly. But it continued soon after.

You ate alone, in your barricaded room. Wishing that you're born into a 'normal' family, with 'normal' trauma. To a lot of people, you are complaining about a blessing. But you are always feeling alone, the only person facing a problem which everyone sees as a solution.

You scraped the last bits of food with your spoon. Waiting for the sounds of the ambulance or at least for the fighting to quiet down.

You looked at the clock. It's 1 AM. It's been relatively quiet for a while now, they should be finishing up their fight or cleaning up. Time for you to return your plate.

You grunted as you pushed the furniture away from your door which felt like the umpteenth time. You left your room and head downstairs.

Hearing soft sobs from one person, your brother. He's sitting in front of the tree, hugging the present you left for him earlier. The presents addressed to your parents are both missing, presumably being taken back to their room. A blanket is loosely draped around his shoulders.

You took slow steps, unsure if you should comfort him or not. But before you can even decide to chicken out, he spotted you. However, to your surprise, he didn't approach you or tell you to come forward. He gave you a soft assuring smile, before returning his attention to the tree.

You set your plate aside and went by his side. Your brother watched you with puffy eyes full of love, yet it tells you that he has been irreparably hurt by something... or an accumulation of things.

"Thank you..." He whispered, refering to the gift you gave him. It isn't something particularly valuable to you. It's a picture of the entire family in a photo frame. Your brother is going to cherish it, because it is a gift from the person he loves most in the world. But deep down, he secretly wishes that it was a photo of you and him alone.

He still looks extremely upset and distraught. Almost like he is at the brink of a breakdown. Your brother usually verbalizes what he wanted, but he couldn't this time.

You wonder what your parents got for him. You peeked over his shoulder to see that an unopened box containing a plain T-shirt and a pair of socks is carelessly discarded to the corner of the room.

Then, it clicked. Just like you, he felt alone. Maybe you will never understand why he holds you so dear in his heart. Just like how no one will understand him either, his struggles are unique to him with no one to relate.

He destroyed the relationship between himself and your parents. His friends are all superficial. You're grown up and constantly rejecting his love.

Not a single one of you paid attention to him. Yes, it is hard to think of a present for someone who has everything. But they could have put in a bit more effort, the colour of the shirt and socks aren't even in his favourite colour or in the correct size. You could have removed your parents from the photo, your brother will never remove it himself. Because that would mean defacing your gift for him.

And growing up, your parents never saw him as... a person. As someone with feelings and a personality. They only saw his value as a trophy piece to show off to their friends and family. Same goes to his friends now, if it wasn't for his skills and possessions, he would be nothing to anyone.

He had to beg to be loved. Even that isn't reliable, he could give it his all and everyone around him will expect more. Your brother could never dream of being the receiving end of his own affection. It seems like an impossibility to him.

Perhaps he is doing all of these despite getting nothing but disgust and disdain from you is all to protect your innocence, to not put you through what he had to face. It's just that he went about it the wrong way. Or maybe he is just... wrong in the head. Or maybe he was hoping by loving you so much, you would give him the intense type of love he was yearning for his entire life.

Either way, he is alone.

The both of you are now seated in front of the fireplace. You didn't want to open presents, your brother is okay with that. He did not nag you to do it for once. Snuggling closer, the both of you shared a blanket. He still looks unhappy and crestfallen.

You remember you still had the ribbon bow on your head.

He hovered his arms around you as you squirm in his grip. You managed to crawl into his lap and rest your head on his chest. He lets out a chuckle and some sniffles, clamping his arms back down around you.

You reminded him of one last gift. Your brother is confused until he saw your ribbon.

From that moment on, he burst into tears of joy. He found you so unbearably adorable, so unbearably cute that his heart couldn't take it. An excited squeak escaped his lips as he held you even tighter. Peppering kisses all over your face, neck and head.

He started blabbering in baby talk, calling you every pet name and listing out everything he loved about his 'gift'. Repeating that this is the best gift he ever received and this is all he ever wanted. You are all he ever wanted. Praising that you remembered what he loves.

You hope that he could feel a little less lonely tonight. You can't peer into his head and know exactly what is going on inside. But you knew, he was happy.

Your breathing calmed him down and he closed his eyes, nuzzling against your neck. The collar of your shirt wet from his tears and your arms are secure around him. Your brother mumbled "I love you." as he adjusted you on his lap. Pressing your form against his, enjoying the heat that the both of you shared. Wishing that this moment will never end and you will never part from him.

You realized another thing too as he strokes your hair.

Your older brother is the only person in the world who harbors true, undying, unconditional love for you.

Even though he has his flaws, there will be no one else like him. Ever.

So you closed your eyes and melt into him. Just like before, you felt safe.

The both of you fell alseep in front of the hearth, surrounded by gifts, mostly unopened ones. Snowflakes floating down from the skies and landing delicately at the edge of the roof. Feeling unburdened and content in the living room.

Merry Christmas.

[dreamlessimp]

— blackberries

itoshi sae x gn reader | 0.6k

you run into a blackberry stand while driving, and he pulls over

the previous night, sae had gotten a call stating that he was requested to meet with the head of a soccer team he couldn’t care less about. he fully wanted to decline, but his manager had already spoken to you.

while you weren’t exactly excited, you agreed to convince sae so long as you were allowed to go as well for the duration of the trip. luckily, it was a trip taken by car rather than by flight. 

the drive had already dragged on for long enough, you’d decided. without asking, it was clear that sae agreed as well. he was driving about as fast as he could without the risk of being pulled over, though one glance at his face told you that the decent speed limit was pushing it.

“we should pull over.” you suggested thoughtfully.

sae wanted too as well, but saw no use in waiting along the side of the road and prolonging the drive even more.

“why?” he decided to ask.

“you look like you’re going to scream sae.” you replied.

he defended himself. “no i don’t.”

you retorted. “look at your knuckles. you’re gripping the wheel so hard they’re white.”

“so?” he questioned. though, his hold on the wheel loosened and he had to admit you were right.

you sighed and unpaused the song sae had turned off minutes before, and let the sound fill the car.

not long after, out of the corner of your eye, you saw a small stand along the side of the road. spray painted onto the stand’s body proclaimed the blue-colored word, ‘blackberries!’.

before you could even notify sae, though, he was already slowing down the car to pull over a bit away from the stand.

once parked, he slowly turned to you. “you like blackberries, right?”

you nodded. “yeah, let’s go.” excitedly, you hopped out of the car and walked next to sae for the stand.

the owner of the stand—an older woman—beamed as you and your boyfriend walked the distance.

without words, she pulled out an empty container.

you regarded the container’s size thoughtfully and asked for 3.

“why do we need 3?” sae asked, confused. did you like blackberries that much? he could have bought you some at any time if you’d asked.

“for the meeting. the u20, and blue lock teams are both going to be there.” you explained.

he sighed. “so?”

your response was a smile, before you turned back to watch the woman fill the containers. 

once she finished, sae pulled out his wallet and placed a hand on your arm when you tried to do the same. you rolled your eyes, but did as he unfortunately wanted.

he pulled out the paper money and set it on the board used as a table.

“thank you!” you said, sae nodding next to you as you both began to walk off, smiling.

from behind you, the woman picked up the money and didn’t even have to count it for her eyes to widen. “sir?” she called out, prompting you and sae to turn around. “this is far too much!”

you looked at sae, who looked off-put at her reaction. “keep it.”

she shook her head. “please allow me to count out the change, at least!”

sae sighed and a smile grew on your face. without moving from his spot, he answered again. “no. keep it.”

you moved your hand to intertwine with his, a grin on your face to match the bored expression on his.

the woman again beamed. “well, thank you. you are a beautiful couple.”

he unconsciously squeezed your hand, but the softening of his eyes did not go unnoticed by either of you.

[sevenpoyo]

MILES G. MORALES CURRENT STUDENT INVOLVEMENT FILE

>LOG IN CONFIRMED >LOG IN TIME RECORDED >HELLO . >GUEST STAFF!< Notes for new office staff• •OOD- out of dorm. •All updated files will appear italicized until the new information can be confirmed and encrypted properly! Let’s all work hard to have a good year! —————————————————————— Let’s work as a team to keep our files and records secure and up to date! Double encrypt ALL files not related to regulatory procedures. Thank you! —Your Visions Brooklyn branch office staff♡!

Miles G. Morales

Currently a student of Future Visions Private Academy for the preparation of the practically and speculatively advanced, or, the last light of Brooklyn as some call it.

Miles doesn’t call it that.

Miles G. Morales, is a student at Future Visions Private Academy that some teachers don’t particularly enjoy having.

In true clarity, the majority of his instructor at Visions Academy for the Technically and Practically skilled do not like Miles Morales. 

And in their very socially esteemed opinion, he doesn’t make himself easy for them to like,

not when his uncle picks him up from a class of checks him out of his dorm at least twice a week, for reasons only cited as, “bonding activities”

or when he’s ahead in his work, but distracted or even disinterested in their classes, like he has something better to do.

or when the head of the English department is convinced that he’s sneaking out and his roommate and best friend is covering for him, though, he has no conclusive proof.

Still, it’s a point to be mentioned.

or when, most offensive of all, when desperate all this he’s easily outclassing their best, their legacy students, 

These students whose families have oh so generously donated club rooms and gyms to the school.

It’s absurd really, these students have been training to be the best, training to keep people like him in their proper place in the social order. he’s supposed to be one of those people that are smart enough to use, 

but for some reason it’s as if he’s read that version of his story, carved in stone, created from the day he was born or the day he became who he are, or whenever, and in some insane, incalculable bid of rebellion, he’s spray painted over it.

But, the words are still on the stone under his colorful, creative rebellion,

And maybe his fate can’t be changed.

maybe no ones can be.

FILE UNLOCKED!

GENERAL STUDENT INFO

NAME- Miles G. Morales

CURENT GRADE LEVEL- 10

CLASS SCHEDULE- currently unentered due to re-enrollment issues.

BEHAVIORAL RECORDS - N/A

TRUANCY RECORDS - Chronically absent, not currently a candidate for any teacher/guardian involvement.

VISIONS SCHOLAR LOG

Enrolled as one of Brooklyn’s 2022 lottery students. 

maintained grades to hold lottery enrollment 

Currently dormmed part time, should be making plans to transfer full time.

FRESHMAN YEAR EXTRACURRICULAR ACTIVITIES- N/A

SOPHOMORE YEAR EXTRACURRICULAR ACTIVITIES- Engineering and Technology/ Robotics Comp • mandatory OOD student participation

GUARDIAN SIGN IN/OUT LIST

Rio Morales— mother PRIMARY CONTACT

cell-********** work-**********-4221 (hospital extension)

Aaron Davis—paternal uncle

OTHER/PERSONAL NOTES

Nothing of note personal

some transfer files in correctly marked as Wiles, please disregard.

FILE END

make sure to save updates and inform I.T.!

BYE BYE!!-☆♪

I know Miles G. Probably doesn’t go to visions bc the whole burning and overrun city thing but I like school settings in fics and visions is such an underused setting for e-42 world building. I swear someone could cook with this and it’s gonna have to be me because if no one else will I’m gonna write what I wanna read. Haven’t decided 100% when I’ll introduce a reader but if I do it’ll switch between being centered on miles and the reader.

[lilyofthesword-writes]

What Should Be - Part 4 (Batman)

Summary: You have a loving family, a cozy home, a great job - What more could a person ask for? But what do you do when an injured man dressed as a bat shows up in your home in the middle of the night?

Pairing: Batman x Reader (Platonic or Romantic)

Word Count: 1,036

Warnings/Disclaimers: Blood, injuries

Counterpart: Alchemy (Please read first)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 |  | Part 5 | Epilogue

Masterlist

You didn’t sleep again, but you weren’t about to let Jesse find out. After you had found the will to stand, you went to bed and laid on your back staring up at the ceiling until dawn broke. You waited for your partner to get up, vaguely wondering why the alarm hadn’t gone off yet.

What day is it?

A cell phone rang on Jesse’s side of the bed. They groaned and answered it. You shut your eyes and pretended to sleep. They kept their voice low to not wake you, but you knew what was being said. It was a Saturday and they were being called into work on some emergency. Well, at least it was less of a chance for them to find you out.

They hung up, rolling over to nudge you. “Hey, babe. Wake up.”

“Mmmm,” you feigned drowsiness.

They huffed amusedly. “I have to go into the office today. Are you okay taking Torri to his friend’s party today?”

You frowned internally. You didn’t remember any party today.

Peeling your eyes open, you breathed, “Yeah… What time, again?”

“One. At Amusement Mile.”

“Heh?” You shot up. “Why there? That’s where—”

Jesse leaned in and pulled you to them into an awkward embrace. “Where, what? That’s where kids have parties and fun? You act like its a criminal hangout.” They laughed when you scrunched your nose. “You’ve got to be joking. Babe, it’s just an amusement park. It’s been around for years. It’ll be great!”

You just nodded. They kissed your temple and left to get ready for work.

Later that day, you got Torrence ready to go and in the car. The drive was fairly quiet, only hearing the road noise and your son playing with a toy in the back seat. He was the one to break the silence.

“Do you think Adrian will like the gift we picked?”

“Of course, she will,” you smiled, glancing into the rear view mirror. “Why wouldn’t she?”

He bounced his heels on the back seat. His bottom lip puckered out in thought. “I mean… She likes Batman… A lot. But she has a lot already.”

“Bat…man?”

Torrence gasped, “You don’t remember Batman?”

He immediately went into describe him, hands going up to show the pointed ears on the cowl, but you couldn’t hear him. Your ears deafened with a loud ringing. You looked up in the rear view mirror and saw him. Batman, still battered, was sitting in the back seat. And he was staring right at you. You turned your body to face him. Nothing was there. Just your son who froze, hands in the air, with a look of terror on his face.

A horn honked angrily. Twisting back, a car going the opposite lane was in your lane. Or rather, you were in theirs. You wrenched the steering wheel to the side, veering away from the car and off the road.

You slinked through the shadows of the warehouses along the wharf. Graffiti littered the building exteriors.You could not afford to be caught by one of the gangs who called this home or what you were hunting.

Maybe you should have told one of the vigilantes you were going to be here or tried to get one to come with you. No. That wouldn’t have worked. They would have never let you leave your apartment if you said anything. They were definitely products of the Bat. You shook your head as you rounded the corner.

There it was. You saw an old ship repair building up ahead. It was the one you had found on one of Gotham’s older maps. Newer ones didn’t include it. The gangs didn’t go near the shabby former business. It was the only one not covered with grotesque spray-painted words and symbols. You made your way inside through a window void of glass.

Much to your dismay, you had to use a flashlight to see anything. The smog was too heavy a filter to let any natural light the moon may have provided. You hoped this didn’t alert your prey. Unsheathing your silver blade in your unoccupied hand, you used it to steady the flashlight beam.

Everything seemed untouched, layers of dirt and sand on the equipment and a constellation of dust in the air. That is… Until you reached the highest floor.

Abandoned boxes of office furniture had been shuffled about. They had left a clear trail across the wooden flooring so desperately in need of sweeping. Rusted gurneys laid strewn about while chains swayed from the ceiling. Your thigh pulsed in time with the chains. It was here. You needed to get to Batman quick. But where was he?

You stuck to the walls, keeping your back against them. A set of double doors settled just down a nearby hall. Your throat constricted. The hairs on your arms stood on end. This was a terrible idea. 

Sucking in a deep breath, you began your power walk down the hall. When you reached the doors, you stopped. No ambush… Yet.

You tried to peer through the glass panels, but the grime and dirt only blockaded your flashlight’s beam. You nudged one of the doors. No squeaks from the hinges. Steeling yourself, you slowly pushed the door open, ready for the old metal to whine. It never happened. You slid past the threshold, gently letting the door fall closed.

There he was.

His gadgets and most of his armor had been strewn about the room. For his sake, his cowl remained on him. Batman was chained, beaten, his suit ripped and torn. A butterfly needle was stuck to his leg, blood slowly drifting through the connected tube and into a sealed container. He was left to dangle from ceiling… In the middle of the room. Cold sweat beaded along your forehead.

Bait.

Yes. You were 100% regretting your decision to come alone.

You pressed yourself against the wall and sidling along in hopes of not being caught off guard. Not that it mattered much. A hand shot out from the shadowy corner you were closing in on, latching onto your throat, touching what little bare skin was available. And you fell into darkness.

[onceuponapuffin]

Fanatic Intervention Part 23!!!

Okay, so yes this took me a while, but it's here :)

Let's do this.

Beginning || Previous || Next

*********************

With a click, the tripod locked into place. Jeremy went behind his recording phone to check the angle one more time. It looked perfect – he would be dead center of the screen as he started his latest masterpiece. He nodded in satisfaction and hit record. He needed to get as much footage as he could before Doug showed up to “bust” him. As much as his viewers loved watching him do this stuff and get away with it, the numbers always jumped whenever he “got caught” and had to get himself out of trouble. Lucky for him he had friends at the police station who were happy to play along for the right price. Doug, specifically, was his most reliable buddy cop. He had like, 3 kids, so he was always happy to have the extra cash. Jeremy was pretty sure he’d taken them to Disney World on it last year. Jeremy’s dad may not have been around all that much, but one thing he’d made sure Jeremy learned early was the power of holding others’ financial stability in the palm of your hand.

Jeremy stepped into the camera’s line of sight, made it look like he was adjusting the angle, then he winked and ran a hand through his hair. Gotta look cool for the camera. Then, he picked up a bottle of spray paint, shook it, and tossed into the air. He missed the catch, but that’s alright, his editor Luca would make it look good in post. Then he started painting. The comments had asked for him to paint something called Trollface. Honestly he’d had to Google it and he thought it was the weirdest thing he’d ever seen, but if it got him views and followers, then sure. He could see the faint chalk lines that his artist Matteo had drawn for him ahead of time. Luca would erase those in post. With another smile at the camera, Jeremy pressed the trigger, and began painting Trollface on the side of the federal office building.

*******************************

Okay, you decide, the time has come. You need to say something.

“Um, hey everyone?” You start as Crowley steers deeper and deeper into the busy streets of LA, “I think the car is a Swiftie.”

Aziraphale sighs and looks at Crowley. “Is this one I want to ask about? I still rather regret asking last time”

“Listen, every song for the last three hours has been Taylor Swift,” You insist, “And the second someone mentions it, the song changes to a different artist, but then it just goes right back!”

Anathema raises an eyebrow at you.

“Don’t give me that look,” You say to her, “You are not someone who should be looking at me like I’m crazy.”

“Maybe it’s just an AI feature,” Sardis suggests, “You know, it sees that there are Taylor Swift songs on our playlist, and Taylor Swift is a pretty big deal right now, so it just gives us more of her songs.”

“No,” You say, “It’s the car, I’m sure of it--” You’re prevented from saying anything else because Crowley slams on the break and leans on the horn. Someone had the audacity to try and cut him off. You have no idea who would try something like that, but you are very sure that they will find themselves regretting it later. To your right, you see Sardis shaking his head. Anathema is swearing under her breath in at least two languages, and Aziraphale is holding on to anything he can get a grip on as though his life depends on it. You, for your part, are trying a bunch of breathing techniques to try and shake off the shock of what just happened. While inhaling and counting on your fingers, you happen to look out the window, and you get the breath knocked out of you for a second time.

“WAIT I THINK I SEE HIM!” You scream, pointing out the window. Crowley slams on the brakes again and swerves in the direction you’re pointing. A corner of your brain is once again comforted to realize that he does actually use his mirrors. Aziraphale shrieks and grabs the overhead handle with both hands. Anathema swears really loudly, but Sardis actually looks where you pointed and becomes rather excitable himself.

“THAT’S HIM! THAT’S HIM!” Sardis yells, confirming your suspicion.

What are the chances, right? Yeah, okay we’ve done this bit before, I’m not gonna harp on it. You get how this goes by now. Suspend your disbelief – we have things to do.

The kid in question – Jeremy – is busily vandalizing the side of an office building. He’s within view of the street, which honestly you find really annoying. Couldn’t he at least have the decency to go around back? No, you figure, probably not. That tik tok seemed to suggest that he wanted to get caught. How on earth were you going to convince him to help save the world?

The car comes to a screeching halt right behind the boy who, weirdly enough, doesn’t seem alarmed by the sound. He doesn’t jump or anything. At least, not until he turns around, then he almost leaps three feet in the air. There’s suddenly surprise and confusion on his face as Crowley cuts the engine and hops out. Aziraphale also scrambles out the door, but you figure that’s probably less about the mission and more about Crowley’s driving.

Jeremy drops his spray paint and runs.

Aziraphale groans. “Must it be running?” He asks no one in particular. There isn’t any time to reply before Sardis goes rushing past the lot of you.

“You coming slowpokes?” He calls over his shoulder.

“No!” Aziraphale answers, “You’re doing quite well on your own! We’ll catch up with you!”

“Speak for yourself!” Anathema huffs at the angel. Then she picks up her skirt and starts running after Sardis, heels and all. You look over your shoulder and see that Crowley and Aziraphale have hopped back in the car. Wait, wait, you’re gonna get left behind. After only a second of indecision, you book it back to the car behind the husbands and you only just manage to get your other foot in the door before the door slams behind you and Crowley takes off at full speed. How does he know where he’s going? You have no idea, but you’re not asking questions. Besides, you’re busy being thrown around the backseat because he took off too fast for you to put on your seatbelt.

“OI! OUTTA THE WAY!!” He yells, full volume, laying on the horn. The traffic bends to his will, as do the lights. There are miraculous spaces for Crowley to weave between cars, every light is green, and he drives through construction zones without any trouble. Once you finally manage to sit back up and click in a seatbelt (it immediately locks tight, which is uncomfortable, but you decide it’s the better of your options), you glance at Aziraphale, whose eyes are shut tight. You vaguely register that the car has started playing Taylor Swift again.

“You okay, Azi?” You call. The seatbelt is constricting you too much to get his full name out. Fortunately he seems MUCH too distracted to notice.

“As long as Crowley doesn’t discorporate us, I’ll be fine,” The angel mutters. The look on his face says otherwise.

“Yeah, Crowley please don’t kill us,” You call to the driver’s seat. From the rearview mirror you can see the smile on his face, and just how yellow his eyes are getting.

“We’ll be FINE,” He says through his devilish smile, as a maniacal laugh rises in his throat. Well, nice to see someone is enjoying themselves.

“Good lord,” Aziraphale mutters. Honestly, you can’t tell if he’s trying to be sassy or if he’s actually praying. Could easily be either.

You close your eyes, and do your best not to throw up.

After what feels like too long, the car finally drifts to a screeching halt. You’re thrown sideways, and find yourself feeling grateful for the hug of the seatbelt – it’s the only thing keeping you from being thrown against the door like a ragdoll. The doors and seatbelt unlock with a click, and your door is thrown open for you. It takes you a second to get your bearings, and as soon as you step out of the car, you see three figures running toward you at full speed. Jeremy, and right behind him, Sardis and Anathema.

Jeremy’s attention is behind him. Clearly he doesn’t expect anyone to have gone around. By the time he looks back, he’s going to fast to stop – and he bumps into Crowley.

“Well well well,” The demon says, towering over the teen, “It’s been a while, now, hasn’t it?”

❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ 🖤

As per usual, feel free to tell me your thoughts and ideas in the comments :)

I'll to my best to keep the updates on some kind of normal-ish schedule.

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[lgsx1ii]

(It can be platonically or romantically, Your choice)

Head cannons for Wally Darling / Wally dear

Wally is your childhood friend.

You both are inseperable since the both of you are very fond to eachother. Mostly Wally would stick to you like a glue. He would go anywhere with you if he has plently of full time, Holding your jacket sleeves cause he wasn't sure if he should hold hands yet with (Y/N). Maybe his shy?

When howdy's store doesn't exist yet, (Cause it's only the two of you in the neighborhood. .just existing with no parents.) Wally would use (Y/N), For him to reach the apple tree or any fruit tree. Or (Y/N) will be the one to reach it since their tall.

Wally has one sharp tooth, Just one sharp tooth. While (Y/N) has multiple. Wally will still stare and blink at the food for him to eat. It made (Y/N) wondered he does that, But they won't question further more but Wally notice that their interest by that. Intrigued that staring and blink to eat the food. With anything liquid to drink, Wally Dear holds the a cup of glass water and closing his eyes for the water to slowly drain away to transfer Wally dear's stomach. Or just by the normal drinking way to tilt his head then drink.

Hobbies, The original Wally Darling knows how to paint and knows how to blend and to grid by sketching and mixing colors to make an accurate painting or portraits. While Wally Dear (Attached Wally Au) is not very skilled at painting. He knows but it ends up not accurate, Turns on to be a mess. And he would just throw it away. How about portraits? Painting people's faces? Well he barely. .does it right.

Like he couldn't make everything accurate and looked exactly from the reference. It ends up good and terrible. Wally Dear really wanted to paint a protrait of (Y/N) but. .scared if he messes up.

So he decides to sketch and draw digitally. Which is comfortable for him, So he couldn't mess up all the time. (Undo button ehm-) So he wouldn't struggle all the time. Eventually, His fast at learning.

What inspires Wally is (Y/N), Taking pictures of them and looking back at the pictures he can see how to draw the pose and anatomy. Shapes. That's where he gets alot of motivation. But his really good at blending, and color theory and to match colors. And draw everything what draws him attention. Mostly (Y/N) in different poses, Drinking their favorite drinks, like anything sweet and wholesome. And even includes him. If his lacking poses, He would ask (Y/N) to pose for him, Or Wally would pose himself in the mirror.

Sometimes when (Y/N) is doing his own thing, Wally dear would bake and cook. Which he isn't in (Y/N)'s cooking or baking skills, But hey at least he will just give snacks to them for a present or a gift of their relationship. Mostly his focus on cooking rather then baking. He will be struggling sometimes on baking. And inf end it will mess up the whole thing if one simple ingredient he missed or over done it right. And prefers cooking since he just. Cooks in the pan. Y'know.

Not sure apple is the only thing he eats, Since Wally dear seems to like sandwiches. And other things that his taste buds he enjoys, Like how (Y/N) made every dish or desert delicious that Wally dear can't decide which is his favorite. For now he likes sandwiches and macaroon. His favorite drink is Coffee with milk of course. He kinda dislikes green tea. When it's way hot outside and makes him sweat, There's a chance of Wally getting picking at food and drinks.

Hair. His hair is messy yet fluffy looking, He doesn't use hair spray alot since he wasn't sure if it can damage his hair. But uses hair spray sometimes when he needs to impress. Wally heard that (Y/N) seems to like fluffy things cause that drews their attention, So. .Wally kept the fluffy looking hair thing.

When he let's his hair down, his hair length was on his shoulders. Sometimes when he feels lazy to fix up his hair, He just use the hairstyles of doing a lower pony hair hair style thing.

Wally really liked to be headpat, He can. .vibrate? Like a cat. But when scratching under his chin, Wally backs away little with his face turn red. He was embarrassed when (Y/N) does that, Low-key enjoys it.

When hugging, You know how Original Wally would turn into a ragdoll when getting hugged. But to Wally dear he will slowly dissolved into a back pack. Like when (Y/N) hugs him, Wally dear would wrap his arms around (Y/N). His okay to be hang around while (Y/N) is walking around. His like a backpack when getting hugged. Just stick and cling on.

Which is also kinda funny, that his hands on that situation getting hugged. his fingers and hands will be sticky like those plushy toys can stick their hands together. As then Wally wraps his arms around (Y/N) being a backpack. Or when (Y/N) is really busy at something they wanna do or what they do, Wally just clings to them like a bag always. They don't mind Wally dear being like that. Kinda cool right?

His very touched starved, So expect alot of hugging from behind or tackled and hug on. Alot of hugs. He gets pouty and annoyed when his hug time getting interrupted, His like cat prefers to be with the owner rather then the others. He gets way awaked when someone hugs him who isn't (Y/N) and wanted to be out from someone's embraced. He runs away back to his house or to (Y/N)'s house to take a quick bath then hugs (Y/N).

His like a stray cat when it comes to other people, He would slowly walk away or run away, Staring at them menacingly and walks away finding (Y/N).

He gets impatient and a bit angry when he gets no attention alot from (Y/N). And makes him jealous whenever (Y/N) is talking to other neighbors, When his really in a bad mood and add with jealousy, He would use his tentacle from his back and wrap around (Y/N) as he drags him away while looking back glaring. He really hates being left behind or left around with no attention from his special friend.

He drinks fermented apple juice that makes him drunk, Mostly. .possessive around (Y/N)? But mostly very clingy like he would follow them everywhere like a dog. Or when his drunk he acts like a whiney husband/Partner, That he gets all pouty on (Y/N). "Why did you look at that person....are you cheating on mee..? (Y/N) I'm way better..I can litterally sketch and cook better then themm..Please don't leave me..wahh.." like his sober and getting all clingy and pouty on (Y/N). For (Y/N) they wouldn't let themselves be drunk or drink to much, Gets picky to those types of drinks. Mostly doesn't like the smell of alcohol.

(Y/N) would have to carry Wally back to (Y/N)'s house and put him on their bed as (Y/N) would sleep in the mattress in the floor. If Wally is still drunk he would try to pull (Y/N) to sleep with him in a weak strength, That (Y/N) shooks their head no and rather sleep in the floor and not to sleep with Wally. (Which it will be very rare for (Y/N) to let Wally sleep next to them, Nothing weird stuff happens since Clown's boundaries. It's all just cuddle and hug of two homies in bed. A very homie behavior letting your friend sleeping next to you.)

Now about his eyes one the third drawing, He would be able to hypnotized (Y/N), It lasted for a while since he wouldn't go to far. And means if you get hypnotized, He wants you to stay with him longer. His tentacles would wrapped you gripping you tightly if your being stubborn or not listening to him, Like his desperate not wanting you to leave his side. Or when he gets flustered or anything like that, His eyes change into hearts. At this point his like a snake. Rather then a cat vibe.

If he gets a breakdown of his emotions and himself loosing control, He will go mayham with his tendrils on his back with his face turn into an uncanny creepy expression on his face with a realistic eye, and ruin everything in his way while trying to fight back to control his urges with all his strength. In the end (Y/N) will be the one hug him and comfort him, Petting his and rubbing his back. Calming Wally's stress and his anxiety.

Wally has social anxiety and feeling anxious of himself around people, or felt being judged by others. If (Y/N) is there with him he felt very comfortable and safe and let (Y/N) do all the talking which his glad about that, If his not comfortable to talk or in not in the right mood.

But when his around people and (Y/N) isn't there, He. .became quiet, But talks when his been asked a question. He doesn't know how to come up with a topic or how to be comfortable around them. He would grind his pants onr his sleeve when his very struggling to calm himself, Then his overthinking thoughts will appear in his head while smiling hiding his stressful side.

Wally doesn't much. .have a peaceful sleep. He was struggling to sleep of that entity himself, and the voices makes him scared and anxious if his sleeping alone with this thoughts appearing on his head. When he tries to do things to make him sleepy, It doesn't really work as the whispers in his head would get louder. When his tired hearing if, He just gave up and walks to (Y/N)'s house at night. Which luckily (Y/N) can stay up at night. They answered the door and opens to see Wally his tired stress face, They nod and let them in to let them sleep in their house for a while. It work very well in the end.

That's for the headcanons for now, and Yeah I'm aware I haven't reply to the questions for Knfe. The urge to have new ideas gets to me much.

[autumnleaf1111]

Out of character but whatever.

The ADA and Port Mafia have nothing to do so Aku and Kyoka sneak away and find a random abandoned building and spray paint or just use regular paint on the walls. stfu I know Kyoka is now in the ADA but who tf cares,I need something cute from these two

They just paint random stuff because they’re bored. At some point they end up throwing paint at each other. They get a call from the ada and port mafia saying that there is gonna be a joint mission and they need to have a meeting. Right then. So everyone is already in the meeting room. So they have to go in, covered in paint.

Aku: kyoka, can you hand me the blue spray paint?

Kyoka: mhm!

Aku: thank you.

5 minutes later

Aku: alright, I finished. What about you?

Kyoka: I’m done.

Aku: what did you make?

Kyoka: a bunny!

Aku:……

Kyoka: what?

Aku:it’s good but why is it bleeding out…?

Kyoka’s not much of a painter because she’s not a full artist but she’s a little good. You can tell what it is. It’s a bunny that has a cut on its side and is bleeding out.

Kyoka:Idk, I just wanted to do something creepy.

Aku: well you succeeded.

Kyoka: what about you? What did you make?

They both turn around to look at Akutagawas art. It was a galaxy. The stars had been aligned to make a tiger(like Atsushi), Rashoumon, and a bunny.

Kyoka: woah…… it’s so pretty!

Aku: thank you…

Kyoka: you’re so down bad for him.

Kyoka said while rolling her eyes.

Aku: I— what?

Kyoka: with Atsushi. You’re so in love with him it’s actually hilarious. You don’t even try to hide it. Everyone knows— well he doesn’t because he’s a little dumb but everyone else sees it.

Aku: I am not! That’s ridiculous…

Kyoka: uh— you literally promised not o kill anyone for 6 month even tho you have little to no control? That’s gay as hell!

She face palmed herself.

Aku: alright, be quiet!

He then took the blue spray paint and sprayed it at her. She had a tiny blue spot on her kimono.

Kyoka: gasp How dare you!

She took the yellow and green spray paint and sprayed him with a lot more than he sprayed her with.

Aku: dude! That’s a lot!?

He then he dipped his hand into one of the green paint buckets they brought and threw his hand towards her so paint the splattered on her.

Kyoka: ew! You got that shit in my mouth!

She took the orange paint and did the same thing to him!

Aku: Ay! Watch your language.

He took a paint brush and dipped it in purple paint and brushed it on the side of her face.

Kyoka: YOU DID NOT!

Aku: I just did

For the next five minutes they just threw paint on eachother.

Aku: Alright, that’s enough. This is gonna be hard to get out.

Kyoka: you’re just saying that because you lost.

Aku: 1.no I didn’t. 2.id rather not get more paint on my mouth. Or yours, I’d rather not have you die around me.

Kyoka: yeah yeah.

Akutagawa then gets a call from Chuuya.

Aku: it’s Chuuya.

He picks up.

Aku:Chuuya-San? What’s going on.

He put it on speaker.

Chuuya: I need you to get to the meeting room, we have another joint mission with the ADA. Most of them are here but some are gonna be here soon so we need you to get here.

Aku:……

Kyoka:……

They look at eachother.

Chuuya: you there?

Aku: yeah, sorry, I didn’t think you were done.

Chuuya: whatever, just started heading over here. Bye

Chuuya then hung up.

Kyoka: well, fuck

Aku: language

She rolled her eyes.

Kyoka: welp, get we are gonna go in looking like we just got attacked by a rainbow.

Aku: this’ll be fun.

ꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀ

Kyoka: I think we are the last ones—

They were standing out side the door, ready to walk in.

Aku: welp, let’s just get this over with.

Kyoka: at least it finally dried.

Aku: you should dye the ends of your hair dark purple.

Some parts of her hair was covered in purple paint.

Kyoka: I’ll think about it.

Kyoka then opened the door and everyone was staring at them. They looked like a rainbow threw up on them.

Kyoka: sorry we are late, we kinda got lost—

Yosano: what the hell happened to you two?

Atsushi:why are you covered in paint…?

Dazai: you look liked you were attacked by a rainbow.

He laughed.

Mori: well this is interesting.

Fukuzawa: what did you two do?

He asked, mentally face palming himself.

Aku: we went to an old abandoned wear house and painted some parts of the wall.

Kouyou: that still doesn’t explain why it looks like a rainbow rained on you.

Kyoka: we kinda started throwing paint at each other for a good 7 minutes.

Chuuya: why…

Aku and kyoka:……

Kyoka: why not? It’s not like we knew we were gonna have to do this today so—

Kunikida: just sit down so we can’t start

They both sat down next to Atsushi. They kept glancing at each other trying not to laugh.

[apupp3tw0-strings]

Halloween Hassles

Date: October 31st, 2131

Today is Halloween, one of the most exciting nights of the year. Though it was a bit rushed, I decided to dress up as my Dark World form (which I sadly couldn't really tell anyone about so I just went with its a D&D character or something I made up). Even if it's rushed though, I'm still proud of it. It took a lot of cardboard and spray paint to make, and I even got my sister Broadway to help me temporally dye my hair pink! ... Even if glee says now I have to pay glam back because it was glare last box. Not my fault glee also decided to dress as glare Dark World sona. According to Broadway "You present me with the perfect pop star idol version of myself in October and expect me NOT to use it as a costume?" (I was a bit disappointed once I finally looked in the mirror and saw it barely even looked pink though. But according to Broadway again "It's not going to be that vibrant if you don't bleach it first. It'd probably look a lot better on your white strand than the rest of your head if you'd let me dye that part." My Dark World form keeps that strand light, Broadz!)

Anyways, after dropping Spamton off at Castle Town for the day and after Papa dropped me off at school back in Meta City, I met up with my friends. I probably should have told them I decided to dress as something other than our agreed super hero group theme. In my defense, I forgot. I also forgot about a promise I made with CK last year about us going trick-or-treating together this year when the five of us agreed to go trick-or-treating together as usual. I said we still could all go together. ... As long as it was in HomeTown. ... Which is a 30 minute drive away from Meta City (I'm really starting to see why Papa mentioned we really need to find a more convenient way to Castle Town, especially when we're making that trip to and back at least daily...)

Neil had asked why CK couldn't just come trick-or-treat up here, especially since Blaze mentioned that candy around here is better (everyone near where we live is rich, of course they have better candy.) But I mentioned that there were some other reasons I wanted to trick-or-treat down in HomeTown. (Even if I did want to use tonight as a chance to finally introduce Spamton to my friends, I couldn't just tell them about Castle Town. Taffy and Blaze are the biggest gossips I know, as soon as they found out about the Dark World, the news would spread like wild fire!) Eventually I offered for my Papa to pick them up, which they all seemed okay with before the bell rung. Little did I know that'd be more tricky to sort out than first thought.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Once school was over, Papa picked me up from school to drive me to HomeTown so I could pick up Spamton. While I was waiting, I had some mildly concerning Asker interactions before Papa showed up (Guys, even if some of you exist on another plane from me... I think... Please don't open any Dark Fountains. That's... That's bad. No.) Once Papa finally did arrive, another Asker asked how Spamton's been lately. It's been... an adjustment with him around. Both for him and all of us. Not a bad adjustment but... IDK, sometimes I question if we really can help him or Jevil. But, gyeh, that's probably just anxiety talking. The Asker then mentioned something about trying to reintroduce both of them to their old friends, like the Seam or the Addisons... I still don't think that'd be a good idea. From what I've seen, Spamton is extremely apprehensive even MENTIONING the Addisons. I know they miss him, and they want to apologize (I haven't forgotten the promise I made to Click, the pink one) but... I don't think Spamton feels ready to confront them.

That's when my Papa mentioned something. After I brought up my concerns with having Spamton talk to his old friends, again, Papa adjusted the car mirror to look back at me and said something actually really smart that I hadn't thought about until now.

"PROBABLY BECAUSE HE'S STILL AFRAID. FROM WHAT I'VE HEARD, HE DOES RESENT THEM FOR ABANDONING HIM, BUT MOSTLY HE'S AFRAID THEY STILL HATE HIM."

"How… How do you know?" I asked, confused as to how Papa knew something like that when I didn't. I know Papa has been taking the charge as the adult in trying to help both Spamton and Jevil, but Spamton is MY friend (or... at least I hope he is). It feels like something I would have heard about first.

"HE TOLD ME." Papa stated. "WHEN WE HAD KRIS, CK, AND JEVIL COME OVER TO FIGURE OUT HOW TO HANDLE THIS SITUATION SOME WEEKS AGO. THOUGH JEVIL'S CLAIM OF WANTING HELPED SEEMED TO JUST BE ANOTHER GAME TO HIM, I WAS ABLE TO HAVE A RATHER CONSTRUCTIVE CONVERSATION WITH SPAMTON."

Yeah... So remember some weeks ago when there was the whole Dark World in my attic thing and I got possessed? Apparently while CK and I were doing that and we told Jevil and Spamton to distract Papa and Kris, though Jevil was being his usual self, aka an "annoying little shite" or a "bloody pain in my side" according to Kris, Papa managed to have something of a very productive and helpful break through with Spamton. (... That probably explains why he was acting so off and seemed pretty burnt out once CK and I got back.)

Once we finally arrived to HomeTown and I headed inside the school closet to Castle Town, I quickly found that Spamton wasn't in his room in the Castle. Naturally this freaked me out, not knowing where he was, the Askers did not help my anxiety. I knocked on Jevil's door to ask if he knew where Spamton was, to which the jester told me he had gone out because Jevil and Dorothy (who woke up about a day or so after my last post and I forgot to write about it. I should do that soon) where making quite a racket when Spamton was trying to read a magazine or something. Jevil then asked about if he'd returned or not yet. Okay, so now I had some sense of why Spamton was gone, but still not where he was. I thanked Jevil for the help and went out to look for Spamton. (Jevil was apparently too tired from earlier to help.)

To be continued

[silly-inky]

Luigi is a jack of trades type of guy

He’s a plumber, but is more into the technical side of stuff compared to Mario (by that I mean fixing cars and messing with wires) so he knows how to fix stuff, not because he’s so good at it, but because he’s probably broken the exact same thing before and had to fix it in a panic. He’s clumsy it happens all the time.

Growing up in Brooklyn him and Mario probably used to get into all sorts of stuff, so Luigi probably knows how to pick locks, maybe even Hotwire cars (referencing to previous paragraph) not cause he was a bad kid, more likely his dad lost the keys to his car and had Luigi Hotwire it for him since it would be cheaper to do that then get a new set.

Probs knows how to spray paint too, and he���s not a wise mouth, he knows when to use his words and what to say, I think h would come under with some very creative insults, he’s street smart.

Apparently his granddad is an ex boxer, so he probably taught both of the boys how to defend themselves, and took proper boxing lessons when they where older (14-19 maybe?), again going up in Brooklyn at that time, with him being a target for bullies he would get into fights. So the man definitely knows how to fight.

And let’s ignore the Mario movie and how it portrays Luigi’s abilities (I loved the movie but they did him dirty with how little he showed up) he can jump higher than Mario, knows gymnastics, can even f*cking break dance! And does a lot of running (mostly from enemy’s but still) this is all canon or at one point was. He may be sacred of stuff and look a bit on the scrawny side, but he is definitely physically fit.

He probably knows at least one thing about any given topic, he likes to read, so you could ask him how the mushroom kingdom was established and he could answer in the heart beat, but if you where to ask what Princes Peaches grandfather was (name wise) he wouldn’t have a clue.

He has the magical ability to befriend people, that quite frankly, should not be befriended, or at the very least would be very heard to be friends with, he's just that type of guy, ways willing to talk and a good listener. He isn't so good with animals, I they are small or are naturally trusting then he's fine, but for the most part, his anxiety rubs off on them. The only big animal that properly likes Luigi is Daisy's Yoshi, who's known him since being a hatchling

Also I think Luigi is a medium, so he can see and feel and hear ghosts and other entities, this is probably why he's so good at ghost hunting, he senses them as well as seeing them when they are actually visible to others

He's a smart guy, and Is smart enough to not show how smart he actually is

Thats all I have for now, may make some more soon if in demand, or I feel like it, I really like Luigi okay.. ┐(￣ヮ￣)┌

[sylvia-forest]

[CN] Shaw's 6th Anniversary event - Day 4

⚡ Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for an Event which hasn't been released in EN yet!⚡

[Day 4]

MC: Why did you suddenly buy a suitcase? MC: We've been traveling in the RV this whole time, so we shouldn't need it, right? Shaw: Did you forget about all the things you've collected from various small shops along the way? Shaw: A pile of odds and ends needs a box when you take it home. MC: Oh, right! But is the graffiti on it is the masterpiece of Mr. Shaw? Shaw: Obviously, that's correct. Shaw: But if you want to praise me, put it on hold for now. Shaw: Come over, grab a spray can, and let's finish it together.

MC: You left a spot for me? I'm coming~ Shaw: Of course, doing graffiti together is more fun. MC: Shaw, I think I have a rough idea of what the "thing" you hid during our trip is. MC: Based on my understanding of you and my extensive search efforts… MC: Firstly, it's probably not a physical object, right? Shaw: Seeing that you've analyzed it to this level, I'll make an exception and give you a hint. Shaw: Indeed, it's not a physical object. MC: Oh~ I think I have a good idea now. MC: Let me observe the rest!

—

MC: Wow, this vast sea of flowers is too beautiful and splendid! Shaw: Big producer, can you enrich your vocabulary a bit? Shaw: Everywhere we go is full of beauty, and I'm getting aesthetically tired from it. MC: Then you show me how it's done? Shaw: There's a barbecue restaurant ahead, and the food they grill is crispy on the outside and tender on the inside. Shaw: Pair that with spicy sauce, and I guarantee it'll make some people drool. MC: Very well, although what you said is ordinary, it still made my mouth water. Let's go!

—

In winter, the surroundings here are full of the lively atmosphere of spring. Bees dance among the flowers, and Shaw and I stroll through this floral town, as if enjoying a colorful oil painting.

MC: Such a beautiful place. What should we do here?

I hinted, and Shaw shrugged with a knowing smile.

Shaw: To be honest, I haven't planned anything. After all, we've been well-prepared throughout this journey, and I'm getting a bit tired of it.

He took a step back, covering my eyes from behind.

Shaw: So, let's just go with a random itinerary. You get to decide where we go. MC: Haha, can we really play like this? Shaw: Of course, aren't you the one claiming to be a lucky charm? It's time to test your luck.

After Shaw spun me around in place, I pointed forward casually.

He promptly released his hand, and following my fingertip, I found it happened to point to a shop.

The storefront displayed various heart-shaped items, and the signboard above had a pink and white name—Love Challenge.

Shaw: Your luck in choosing places is quite something, picking one I'm least interested in. MC: Do you already know what the shop is about? Shaw: No idea, but just by the name, it seems to have an intentionally created atmosphere, quite artificial.

Seeing a hint of disdain on his face, I mischievously pushed him into the shop.

MC: You set the rules yourself, so just follow them.

Inside, the shop was lively. Besides numerous couples, many harmonious families were also queuing up in front of the long corridor.

A staff member dressed in a mascot costume approached us, handing over a card with instructions.

Staff member: Welcome! This is a love-themed pop-up shop, focusing on a game called "You Guess More Than I Do." Staff member: Based on drawing lots, each person is assigned a "role," and the one in charge of gesturing comes up with a question for the other to guess.

After a brief introduction, I carefully read the instructions on the card and nudged Shaw with my elbow.

MC: It looks simple enough. With our skills, we should be able to win a plush toy reward. Want to give it a try?

Shaw raised an eyebrow, signifying his agreement.

After drawing lots, I became the guesser.

After Shaw finished writing the "question," we were led into a room with a floor-to-ceiling glass separating us at both ends, even blocking our voices.

Watching the countdown clock start ticking, I gestured to Shaw to start gesturing.

However, he seemed in no hurry, nonchalantly making two "thumbs up" gestures next to his ear.

MC: Rabbit...? Rabbit! What's next?

He then pointed to himself and drew a circle, finishing with a thumbs-up.

MC: …..??

I checked the time and gestured for him to repeat it. After he did, I was still puzzled.

Rabbit, Shaw, circle, thumbs up?

What does it mean?

Seemingly sensing my confusion, he sighed deeply with his hands on his hips.

I pursed my lips, decided to break the deadlock by playing defensively, and raised my hand to make the "1" gesture, planning to go one by one.

MC: The first word is rabbit, right?

I made a gesture resembling rabbit ears, tilting my head to confirm with him.

Seeing Shaw nod, I clenched both fists, mimicking the shape of red panda ears.

Worried he might not understand, I also drew the shape of a chubby tail behind me and shook it left and right.

Shaw: .......!

Perhaps I acted too enthusiastically, he chuckled, immediately took out his phone, and aimed it at me for a moment.

Then, he swiftly swiped and drew on the screen until he stopped, then beckoned me with his finger.

I seemed to understand something and quickly looked around, only to find no cameras here. I chuckled.

Unexpectedly, this person would "go easy" on me.

So I walked briskly to the glass, and he also turned his phone screen toward me—

The expected answer wasn't there, but instead, it captured a moment where he "parodied" me.

In addition to my pouting appearance, he drew reddish-brown red panda ears on my head and a long chubby tail behind me.

It was exactly the mimicry I had just done, but he added a touch of humor to it.

MC: ………

Watching the remaining time, I anxiously knocked on the glass, signaling him to be serious.

But he just shrugged carelessly and then flicked my forehead across the barrier.

Shaw: "......."

Although I didn't hear anything, that familiar mouth shape automatically filled in the voice of him teasing me, "Really stupid."

At that moment, the ending signal sounded.

I could only pout, grab a paper and pen, and replayed his actions in my mind repeatedly.

Firstly, the rabbit was undoubtedly correct. As for the red panda... he did point to himself, so it should be right?

I wrote down the phrase "Rabbits and red pandas are the best!" and showed it to him, thinking I got it right.

Shaw leaned over to look at the answer I wrote, and then his eyes slowly filled with laughter.

Just when I thought I guessed correctly, he made a crossing gesture in front of his chest.

MC: Shaw, you made me lose the plush toy reward for nothing! No, I need to see what you wrote!

Wrong answer.

—

After leaving the shop, the more I thought about it, the more unwilling I became. I reached out to grab the note from his pocket, but he skillfully dodged. As I continued to stomp toward him...

A chubby little pink rabbit pendant swung in front of my eyes.

Shaw: The prize plushies they offer aren't cute at all. Don't you think this one suits you better? Shaw: Consider it compensation from me.

The rabbit, nibbling on a carrot in the sunlight, looked adorable, and I instantly calmed down by half.

MC: When did you buy it?

Shaw: While you were touching up your makeup in the bathroom, I wandered around nearby. MC: You have a little conscience, but don't think you can divert my attention. Quickly, tell me what you wrote!

Shaw: You couldn't guess something so simple; it's your fault. So, you have to accept the consequences. MC: You! Shaw: Alright, it's time to add a finishing touch. This time, I'll treat you to hot pot, and you'll foot the bill. How about that?

Seeing that he was determined not to tell me, I glared at him with widened eyes.

MC: You didn't plan anything at all. I don't want any finishing touch. Shaw: Is that so? Then, I'll just confiscate this rabbit.

I quickly reached for the little rabbit, but he lifted it high.

Thinking about how to get it back, I first noticed the note hanging precariously at the edge of his pocket.

Humph, he was careless.

While pretending to reach for the rabbit, my other hand swiftly grabbed the crumpled note.

Shaw: ...Hey, don't be unfair. Give it back quickly. MC: I won't. Clearly, someone else is being unfair~

I grinned and quickly turned around to open the note. The words on it were vividly revealed—

"With you silly rabbit by my side, everything goes well."

I couldn't help but hum happily. Just as I was about to say something, my vision was suddenly blocked by someone.

MC: Humph, I've seen it already. MC: Although you call me stupid, I understand the meaning of this sentence because I am considerate.

I crouched down to escape his restraint while triumphantly waved the note in my hand.

MC: Since it's an expression of feelings, why hide it?

Shaw: Who said it's hidden? I just don't want to see certain people being smug.

Seeing him stubborn, a thought flashed through my mind, and I slowly started to smile.

MC: Shaw, didn't you say you hid a "something" before? MC: It wouldn't happen to be your feelings, right?

He glanced at me, and interest sparked in his eyes.

Shaw: If you're trying to probe me, I advise you to give up. MC: Why would I be probing? You clearly said we could find it before the end of the journey. Now, we're at the last stop. MC: Moreover, you mentioned it's not a physical item, meaning...

I paused, my gaze softening.

MC: It could be a sentence, a message you want to convey, or the understanding between us. MC: And after these days of little moments, I am convinced that the "answer" you hid is actually—

Before I could finish my sentence, he gently covered my mouth with the rabbit pendant.

Shaw: Stop. When did I say this is the last stop? Shaw: The organizers designed it as the final destination, not me.

Shaw smirked triumphantly, pulled me along without another word.

MC: Wait, where are we going?

Shaw: Wherever we walk is where we end up. Since it's not the last stop yet, there's no reason to stop.

—

🚐 Finale

[fordarkisthesuede]

Fangs of Ourorboros - Chapter 1 - Ghosts of the Past

Good evening from the east coast! 🌇 I've brought you a proper chapter for you to chew on! (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

Last time:

Batman was playing a strange murder-mystery game with Joker when an explosion interrupted his investigation...

<start> | [Read on Ao3] | <next>

Rocky Hopper:  employed part-time in Xotic Construction, living in a two-bedroom apartment in midtown with a wife and two children. His criminal record showed he was a three-time parolee by the age of thirty-six for armed robbery, assault, DUI, and theft. No known association to any Gotham-based gang. An unremarkable small-time criminal Batman previously noted for rubbing shoulders with Oswald Cobblepot during his time in Gotham two years ago, before The Penguin was taken into custody.

To anyone else, such a fact was a mere blip on the radar. But to Bruce - to Batman - it was a flashing yellow mark on the edge of his mind. 

Richard Hartright. Vicki Vale. Penguin. One string leading to another on a cork board collage with a muddled picture of why. 

The GCPD touted BlackGate Penitentiary as a fortress; a prime example of modern security in spite of the building’s age. 

Heh. Not for Batman. The nighttime security were like any other lookout team, conversing on their radios or over their shoulders while paying mild attention to their surroundings.

It was practically a cake walk. Bruce grappled up to the roof and rolled over the railing with barely a swish of his cape. The guard by the rooftop door jabbered about the Knights’ chances in the league this year over the two-way as Bruce crept behind him and squirted all-purpose oil between the crack in the door where the hinges should be.

The door opened silently, and Bruce slipped in, breathing in the familiar smell of dusty hallways as he walked on the edges of his feet down the concrete steps.

Oswald would be in the C Block. It took no time to get down to the third floor. Even less time to find the section, painted in chunky white letters on the floor and wall as if the heavy metal door to the place was easy to miss.

The security lock was a simple hand scanner, meant to use the layout and size of the hand instead of a key or passcode. Bruce pulled out the luminous spray normally reserved for crime scenes and sprayed the scan bed. The Batsuit’s gauntlets scanned the imprint, and with a few taps on the key generator Tiffany had perfected last year, all he had to do was place his hand over the sensor and wait while for the lights to turn green.

The bolt lock slid open with a sudden thunk, and Bruce slipped into Cell Block C.

Three stories of prison cells stretched open before him, smelling like a public bathroom in the Narrows. He could see each barred door had two beds embedded into the walls, with only just enough room for two people to stand shoulder-to-shoulder, bringing to mind a twisted shoebox diorama.

One long catwalk weaved throughout the place, spotted with rust and bits of peeling paint. The rush of air as he whizzed past rows of metal bars was only slightly satisfactory when he was still wincing at the slight sound of the metal clang of the grapple teeth hitting the railing.

The cell door was easy to unlock - all the doors were connected to an online grid for routine automatic unlocking, but had a manual override to use a physical key. A simple signal jammer was all that was needed to fool the cell into thinking it lost connection to the controller and let Bruce pick the lock.

Despite the cowl, the hairs on the back of his neck were standing up. He was being watched, but he wasn’t sure by who. At the very least, he knew an alarm hadn’t been tripped; his radio tuner wasn’t picking up any calls to action inside the prison…

The lock opened with too loud of a cha-clink. Oswald stirred.

The upper bunk was empty, despite the rumpled sheets. At least Bruce wouldn’t have to worry about potentially fighting off two prisoners at once.

Bruce chose to stay away from the cot to speak; there was no need to overstep and put either of them in harm’s way yet. He kicked the cot’s mattress instead to get attention.

Oswald jerked upward with a garbled sort of shout, flinching to press his back against the wall.

The direct approach was best. “Why did you want to destroy Richard Hartright’s files?”

Oswald glared at him, shoulders sagging as he relaxed into a sitting position. “Should’ve known you’d sneak your sorry-winged ass in here to give me the business one of these days. Or did the Commissioner give you your own Bat-pass?”

“I know Rocky Hopper worked for you,” Bruce said flatly, “The bomb he was setting in Hartright’s filing cabinet went off early. He’s dead.”

Oswald’s eyebrow rose a fraction, eyes widening in a sort of surprise that he was trying and failing to suppress. “Plenty of people worked for me,” he said with practiced casualty, casting a look at the cell door and waving away the issue. “I don’t care what they do with their spare time nowadays.”

Bruce had enough. He grabbed Oswald by the collar and hoisted him up to be more on his level. “I don’t play games,” he growled out, “You worked for Vicki Vale - you knew Richard was one of her sources during her time at the Gazette. One of your affiliates blew up his office with enough C4 to kill him. Why were you after him?”

“I thought you were supposed to be the detective,” Oswald scowled.

Bruce punched him hard in the jaw, holding him up so he didn’t fall back into the wall. “What did he have that you didn’t want getting out?”

“You can’t hurt me in a way that matters,” Oswald scowled in disgust, “You think I don’t see this every day in this hellhole?”

Bruce narrowed his eyes. A clanging noise came from outside the cell.

“SHUT UP or I’m going to come over there and chew your FACE off, Penguin!” came a gravelly hiss of a voice from a nearby cell. “SOME of us are trying to SLEEP!”

“Your neighbor sounds mad,” Bruce taunted, “Tell me what I want to know and maybe I won’t wake up the whole block.”

Bruce tossed him to the floor, only too late feeling his cape pull along with the motion. His shoulder smacked into the wall as Oswald skittered out the open door.

He chased after him, boots clanging on the metal of the catwalk, priming a bat-bola to throw. Oswald barely reached the staircase when the weighted rope whipped through the air and wrapped itself around the man’s calves in the nick of time.

Oswald hit the floor with a loud, reverberating thunk. Bruce was able to grab an arm and pin it around his back as he leaned over him, out of arm’s reach.

“You bastard, you’re no different from the pigs that run this place!” Oswald spat, voice echoing around the cell block.

“Why did Richard pose a threat to you?” Batman asked again, feeling more eyes on him. He could see several prisoners had risen in their beds. One was already pressed against the bars of the cell for a better look. He pulled on the arm he was holding, just enough to hurt.

“Because he’s just like your lot,” Oswald grunted, “Sticks his nose in where it doesn’t belong. Vicki’s worth ten of him.”

Bruce’s brain buzzed, trying to parse through what information he had. The private detective’s only link to Oswald was through Vicki Vale; he had nothing to do with Penguin’s crew, before or after his arrest, that Bruce knew of. The mention of Penguin’s old leader in the present tense was jarring. “Vicki Vale’s been dead for two years.”

Penguin gave a light wheeze of a chuckle. “Killed her yourself, did you?” he taunted, “Buried her in a shallow grave with the last rites? They never did find a body in all that rubble, did they?”

Bruce had seen the rocks fall as he guided Alfred out of the underground catacomb. He’d doubled back later, on the off chance he could find her, and found the chamber practically blocked off by the collapse. There were no other tunnels, no secret rooms, no pockets she could have climbed out of. He’d checked.

But it bothered him all the same.

He could hear the inmates start to blabber and howl as he dragged Oswald ‘The Penguin’ Cobblepot back to his cell by his feet. 

Body slam him next! Body slaaam!

Not so tough now, are ya Peng’? Ha ha, oh man!

Fuck you! Fuck you, you hear me, Bat? Fuck you!

Let me out - I’ll drag your ass around the block, Bat! 

Come on, Penguin, get up and grab him-!

You think you’re so tough, you’re nothing without that fuckin’ armor!

He ignored it all, leaving Oz to nurse his wounds on the floor of his cell, winding the bola back up after he slammed the door behind him.

Deep down, he knew getting information out of Oz was a longshot to begin with. Any more questions would be met with more stubborn non-answers. He would have to check Oz’ mail, visitors, cell-mates, anything he could have used to send out the message to his cronies.

He leapt up and over the railing to glide back down to the first floor, feeling the eyes of awakened prisoners all around.

“Hey, Batman” a smooth, familiar voice called from his right. “You got a taste for beating up bird-dudes or what? I’d think you know he doesn’t like to talk about work.”

Bruce barely gave Roman Sionis and his cocky little smirk a second glance.

“I could tell you what he was up to,” Roman added.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Bruce ignored the cacophony of noise as he left the way he came in, the sound of the hinge on the metal door far more noticeable now that he was in a hurry to leave. “I doubt it,” Bruce muttered.

🜁

The bare facts stared out at him through black and white scans and data retrievals on the Batcomputer’s oversized screens.

Rocky Hopper communicated strictly through text messages. Simple instructions of picking up the bomb and a key from a contact he’d meet on the street, dropping it off in Detective Hartright’s office, and flicking the switch to let the countdown start. Said contact was never named, explained as being able to recognize Rocky on sight.

Oswald Cobblepot’s outgoing mail took a long time to be scanned and approved, up until a few months ago. Most likely he or someone who worked for him was paying off one of the officers in charge of the mail room. At first, the letters used an easy code of the first letter in each sentence spelling out a short command. Silence person, pick up this, sell that, mostly to one Cameron Van Cleer. As far as Bruce could tell, Cameron was one of Oz’ one-time cronies that - judging by the social media profile Bruce had gathered - had sympathies to the Children of Arkham. Oz must have entrusted them with a financial account, judging by shorthand instructions to buy and sell actual stock as well. No mention of Detective Hartright.

All of this would be easily digested, if it weren’t for the last line in the last letter to Cameron:  Our fair lady will be reaching out to you.

The incoming mail told a similar story of back-and-forth mob work disguised as friendly exchanges. And then there were the others. Arriving every week or two, short and to the point, like telegrams more than anything.

I know you must be surprised to hear from me. I know I’ve been away a long time, but I’ve kept a close eye on things. I can see things haven’t changed since I left… Wayne Enterprises is still standing, to my surprise. But I can see our friends aren’t all gone. Can I still count you as a friend, even though it’s been so long? -Your fair lady

Then, two weeks later:  

I’m glad we’re still friends after all this time. I have so many things I’d like to share with you! Do you remember Julian Day ? He had a whole article in the Gazette on page 4!  -Your fair lady

Bruce checked the date against the Gazette’s webpage. Julian Day was noted for causing a car crash that ended in his death and the destruction of a popular corner restaurant. The coroner’s report Bruce pulled up noted no street drugs in his system. One patron said they thought they saw someone else exit from the backseat of the vehicle, but no other person was found on CCTV.

And then the last letter, dated a week ago:

We need to catch up in person. I’ve got a little place downtown above the Iceberg Lounge. (I heard Roman Sionis tried to buy it once!) I’d love for you to visit… Drop me a line when you can. -Your fair lady

Bruce felt the impossible gnaw at him. But the strings he had were so easily put together. Oswald had been corresponding with Lady Arkham, despite the fact that Vicki Vale was buried under the rubble of Arkham’s underground catacombs.

She was dead. 

Had to be. 

He’d checked. 

They never did find a body in all that rubble, did they?

Bruce tried to breathe steadily into his hands. His elbows were sore from the near-constant perch on the metal console as he read and re-read. He sank further to rest his forehead on his arms, breathing in the cave air as he tried to focus. 

He saw that pile of rubble in his mind’s eye. Broken stone bricks were piled high in a seemingly endless mountain in the cool, musty darkness below Arkham. He moved through it, stepping on only the largest, sturdiest pieces to prevent an avalanche. Bruce climbed over a fallen column. The snakes winding around the stone seemed to shift in the light.

Even in the basement, he could feel the pull of the asylum on his psyche. The toxic energy that seeped into walls from years of madness and undoubtable abuse stirred down there like dust, swirling at his feet and seeming to stick to the edges of his cape. He tried to ignore it as he walked over the broken stone to the spot he saw Vicki last.

The opening she had tried to get to was completely sealed now. There was nothing but dead ends among long-dead bodies everywhere else underground.

He could see the top of the air-pulse weapon Lady Arkham had wielded sticking out between two stones. He reached down and pulled, straining against the rock until they started to tumble away; the weapon pulled free as if it were Excalibur, almost making him fall back.

His drone was too large to send into the fresh gap. He stooped down to shine his light into the crevice, dust swirling up to meet him and cover him in Arkham before could glimpse the gloved hand reaching up to snatch his cape, jerking his shoulder, trying to pull him down deeper into-

Bruce snapped awake, jolting in his seat. When had he fallen asleep…?

“Morning, honey-buns,” John greeted from behind, placing a cup of coffee next to Bruce’s elbow, “Rough night?”

Bruce watched a freshly dressed John lean his hip against the massive desk, taking a sip from his silly ‘clown juice’ mug with an expectant stare. He felt his mood sink upon realizing he hadn’t seen him since last night. He’d seemed surprised at the explosion interrupting the odd murder-game he’d made, but… He looked awfully casual right now, if not a little mad.

“I mean, I assume,” John added, squinting accusingly at Bruce, “you forgot to text me what happened.”

Ah. That explained the mood. “It was pretty long,” Bruce answered, his mouth tasting like old beef jerky. “I didn’t even know I fell asleep.”

“I could tell,” John teased with a snide little smirk, moving to sit on the flat surface so he could swing his feet in the air. “I haven’t seen you fall asleep in the suit before.”

The square cut of emerald and tiny amethysts on either side winked at Bruce from John’s ring finger, bringing Bruce back into the reality of the present. He pushed the thoughts of John’s involvement away, choosing to trust his fiancé and figuring that his mood was entirely due to Bruce keeping him in the dark. He finally gave into the urge to let his gloved fingers rest softly on the plum-purple corduroy covering John’s thigh. “That’s because someone keeps goading me out of it.”

John giggled, looking pleased. “If you weren’t so shy about mixing the other halves of our lives together, I wouldn’t have to.”

Bruce could feel the little smile in the corner of his mouth quirking up as John’s hand covered his. He relented in finally taking in some of the steaming caffeine John had brought him. The smooth bitter heat steeped into his chest, bringing him partially back to life.

“Soooo…Penguin, huh?” John craned his neck up to the monitor behind him, taking Bruce a little off guard. “Was he playing ‘Emperor’ in prison, or is it just another concrete jungle?”

Truthfully, Bruce wasn’t sure what to make of Oz’ predicament. “Hard to say,” he said, “He got out of the cell for a few minutes, but some of the prisoners had no problem with me fighting him. His neighbor certainly didn’t care about who he was talking to.”

“Could just be all that testosterone and sleep deprivation crammed in those two-by-fours,” John commented knowingly, legs moving steadily in the air, “Any fight gets ‘em all riled up! As you well know,” he said with a sly little grin.

Bruce remembered Zaaz’s fight with the orderly back in Arkham all too well. The orderly survived, but Bruce had felt the guilt of leaving him to fend for himself while he made the all-important call compound and sit in him for a long time. 

“Could be.”

“Those little letters sure are interesting, aren’t they? I’m guessing you didn’t find the replies.”

Bruce leaned back in the chair, looking at the whole picture again. “No. He must have had an in-between deliver them. I know he must have had someone in the mailroom on his payroll.” He stared at the offending final letter, pulled up square among the rest. “That last one bothers me.”

“Right? It’s hard to picture The Penguin meeting up with a zombie in a club! Ha ha ha haa! Ah, doesn’t that sound like a bad horror flick?”

Such a silly thing to say should have quelled the thought still pecking at the back of his skull. It only left a bad taste in his mouth. Coffee wasn’t washing it away.

The smile slipped from John’s face. “...she is dead, isn’t she? I remember that pile of rubble looked pretty big on T.V…”

For a moment, Bruce thought about shrugging it off with silence. Or just saying that Oz mentioning her couldn’t be a coincidence. But John had asked the question that kept casting shadows over everything else. And if there was anyone else who could look at those, it was John. “I never found her body,” he answered, staring hard at the digitized letter, “No one did.”

“Sooo…there’s a slim chance she’s back in Gotham, then,” John said with a squint, pinching his index finger and thumb together in front of Bruce’s face, the emerald on his ring glinting, “I mean, IF we put aside the fact she was likely heavily injured and would have to hitch a ride back to the city, where everyone definitely recognizes her, AFTER getting out of the secret underground chamber and swimming back to Gotham from the island.”

It was the kind of thing he’d hear from him across the visiting table at Arkham. He wanted to believe him. “It’s still a chance,” he said, unable to shake the feeling he was missing something important, “If it’s not her, then someone’s going out of their way to convince us it is.”

“There is another possibility.” John paused to take a loud slurp from his mug. “He’s trying to throw you off your rhythm.”

“To what end?”

“Who says there has to be an end?” John shrugged, a smile on the corners of his cherry-red mouth, “If I was really mad at you - like, ree-ally mad - ‘you betrayed me’ mad - I’d do it just to mess with you.”

Even now that they were engaged, he found himself not doubting that at all. John sometimes enjoyed needling him for little to no reason other than getting a reaction. Maybe, if John were different… If their lives had gone differently, then…

He swallowed the dark thought down with coffee and a non-committal hum as the cell phone left on the console buzzed. Once, twice, and on the third Bruce finally deigned to answer.

“Morning, Iman.”

“Bruce,” came Iman’s no-nonsense voice, “you need to get down to the office.”

“I wasn’t exactly planning on playing hooky,” Bruce said dryly.

“A few of my old colleagues are here,” Iman replied, her tone sharp and stable, “talking to our security team. They’re going to have a conference call with a few of our other branches. And I have a feeling they’ll want to talk to you personally.”

“Great. That’s all I need.” He pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he felt he needed to know:  “What are you doing there so early, anyway?”

A slight pause. “I wanted to catch the Quick ‘Fast truck again,” she answered sheepishly, “I figured I would just come in and get some work done afterward.”

Ah. The early bird catches the pancake-burger, Bruce thought to himself. “Right. I’ll be over as soon as I can.”

“Be careful,” she added, “they’ll likely put a tail on you after they talk with you here, but they might have one already watching the house.” A beat passed as he considered the small frame of time he might have unobserved. “I’ve gotta run. Any longer in here and they’ll suspect I’m talking to you.”

John set his mug down by the fabric flowers he’d made Bruce while he was still in Arkham. “Bad news? Let me guess – our latest wedding planner’s gone rogue.”

“No. Worse than that.”

“Good; Kimberly might not have much going for her, but after the last two…”

“John.”

John mimed zipping his mouth shut.

“The Agency is back in town. Some of them are waiting for me at the office.”

“The Agency?” Tiffany piped up from behind, “What do they want?”

“I don’t know yet,” Bruce said over his shoulder, “but considering they aren’t coming to the house, and are conversing with Wayne Enterprises’ entire security team, I’d say they’re waiting for someone to come in or out of one of our buildings.”

John was worrying the corner of his bottom lip as he looked at the steel floor, eyes darting over the squares like they held all the paths such a situation could go.

“John,” he said as gently as possible, putting a hand on his shoulder, “you don’t have to go to work if you don’t want to. I can talk to your social worker-”

“No!” he said suddenly, snatching hold of Bruce’s arm. He seemed to realize how frantic he seemed, because he quickly covered it by giving the armor plating a couple of pats and trying for a smile. “No. I’ll go. I shouldn’t…”  The smile wavered. “I don’t want to be alone here,” he muttered honestly.

“We’re going to have to get you to work early, then. It’s that or dropping you off at St. Dymphna’s…”

Tiffany was already taking over the console, pulling up the 3D-generated image of the bomb. “Have you looked through this?”

“Not quite.”

Tiffany pulled away the layers of it, eyes traveling over the interior. The drone cameras had taken the pictures of the pieces, and Bruce and the BatComputer worked together to piece it back like a three-dimensional puzzle. He didn’t pay as much attention to its construction as he should have; he had been combing over Oz’ mail not long before and thinking about any other possible explanation than the one that kept popping up.

“So, you missed the partial left behind?” Sure enough, a partial print of what might have been from the middle or index finger was barely visible on one of the inner slices of metal, somehow not entirely burned off. If Bruce hadn’t been present for the explosion, he wouldn’t wonder if it was somehow planted for him. 

Tiffany was already running a cross-check on the criminal database with one of her shortcut commands. “That’s not like you.” She squinted at him with a tilt of her head. “Are you okay?”

“I think the lure of the criminal chase was clearly too much last night; he fell asleep down here,” John excused for him.

Tiffany pulled a face. “I hope that’s not a euphemism for something.”

“He means I was distracted by case details,” Bruce butted in, “And I did fall asleep. But more importantly-”

“You need to go,” Tiffany and John said in unison. 

John pointed at Tiffany in delight. “Ooh-hoo, jinx!”

“I can easily look into this,” Tiffany pointed to the rapidly growing list of names, “and still be on time.”

“And I’ll help!” John gestured to himself importantly, “Four eyes are better than two! Um, as long as you don’t mind driving me to work on your way,” John added, casting Tiffany a friendly look. 

Tiffany pursed her lips in mock-thought. “Hmm… Alright. But only because I know I’m getting a seat of honor at your guys’ wedding. And this is a huge list.”

Bruce felt the usual itch to just take the important work with him. He knew he could only look at it at red lights, and knew he’d be thinking about it nonstop until he reached his office. But with the Agency back in town and speaking with his security team of all things, the sense of dread he’d felt last night was building higher. 

Something was going to happen.

And for once, Bruce felt that he shouldn’t try to go it alone.

“I expect to see you,” he pointed to Tiffany, “in the engineering offices by 9 A.M. sharp. I want a brief in my office at 9:30.” Tiffany seemed to stand a little straighter, and the smile on the edges of her mouth became more pronounced.

“And you,” he directed at John, who was already looking bright-eyed, “better be at All Stitched Up Alterations by 8:30. And you’re going to stay there for your whole shift, go back to St. Dymphna’s with the others, and wait until I pick you up at 5:30.”

“Sheesh, I leave early one time to follow a lead for your case, and you act like I’m some delinquent,” John poked with a toothy grin. “I’d make a joke about detention with you if Tiffy wasn’t here.”

Tiffany wrinkled her nose. “Yeah, please don’t.”

John giggled at her as he brushed off his pants like he’d gotten them dirty just by sitting. “Okay, Bruce, I promise I’ll be good,” he half-sang, “but I better be updated during the day this time.”

John looped his arms around Bruce’s neck and leaned in to kiss his cheek, but his lips didn’t make contact. 

“Don’t think any of this stops our game, Bruce,” John whispered in a low voice, the corner of his smiling mouth brushing over the fine hairs. Bruce wasn’t sure if it was the words or the soft movement that made the spike of heat in his gut. John’s lips barely brushed his skin in a soft peck. “Don’t make me sleep alone.” 

Bruce felt John’s nails dig slightly into his back with the last word, and then John pulled himself away like nothing happened. “Have a good day!” he added brightly. “Uh, you know, as much as you can.”

His heart thudded with the small rush of adrenaline at the threat still burning against his ear. It was unreasonable to try and play this…murder-game Joker had established while Bruce and Batman had enough on their plates.  

“I’ll be waiting,” John added, tilting his head to look at Bruce through his lashes with a challenging sort of smirk. The kind normally reserved for when he was moments away from being bound and on his knees.

Bruce reminded himself that this unreasonable, manipulative, handsome sneak of a man was who he was choosing to marry. He wouldn’t promise him anything; he couldn’t. But he wouldn’t deny him, either. If he was this hell-bent on playing, it was clearly important to him.

“I’ll…try.” Bruce heard the cape of his suit swish across the metal tiles as he made his way to the elevator.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Author Notes: Finally, we're at our proper start, having returned to the classic TellTale formula! The Whole Nine Yards sure was a nice romantic break in the series, but things can't stay that way forever. (If you hadn't read it, no worries, I'll summarize for you: Bruce and John talked about their feelings and further built their relationship, boinked a lot, Alfred left again, and Bruce spontaneously proposed to John on a romantic sunset-lit beach.) I'm sure you realize that our return to base means "choices" have an impact again - for example, if you romanced Selina throughout and only befriended John, it would be her waking Bruce but John butting his way in partway to deliver his last whispered lines with a hug…minus the threat of sending Bruce to the couch, of course. Selina would then stick around to help next chapter as well, but only so far. A villainous Joker would have had made a real crime scene for our prologue and thus made his game a lot more pressing of an issue and a way more reasonable excuse to follow up on it. (No matter who he romances, Bats can't stay away from Joker's ploys.)

Y'all know by now that I love jokes in my work as much as I love making clues. Penguin's dead goon, Rocky Hopper, is both! The name comes from the rockhopper penguin, which is famous for it's bushy "brows", weird spikey mullet-like "haircut", and red eyes. We also have a callback to Season 4, The Tolls of Justice, with Iman's excuse for showing up to work early - Quick 'Fast (like "quick breakfast"), the mysterious food truck that eludes John and home of his coveted Pancake Burger! Apparently, Iman tried it and liked it enough to chase after it. Somewhere, in the recesses of my brain, there's a short story taking place before this where Iman and John hunt down the truck together… But that's for another day.

Next time, we'll see things from a certain bird-girl's point of view. After all, her choices matter as much as the rest, and she really doesn't get enough love around here. Until then...thank you, as always, for joining me on this journey! (●´□`)♡

[soulofgenocide]

Sickness

. . THIS WILL BE FUN . .

"Bloodthirsty psycho."

. . THE POT . .

Richard laughed and pulled out a stim from his coat pocket, taking a deep hit and letting the drug surge through his entire body like a shockwave of pure ecstasy. A grin close to that of a cyberpsycho spread across his lips, that or someone about to finish, either way he grit his teeth and popped out both of his mantis blades.

"We're just getting rid of an unwanted sickness."

The door of the drug den burst open with Richard's foot on the other side of it, he'd kicked in the metal sliding door like it was one to a doll house and it sent the 'elevated' residents inside into panic. Stumbling like fools Richard walked past, eyes scanning over them as he placed an incendiary grenade on the table with their stash and made a small waving gesture. Those who understood ran for their life, those who didn't we caught as the stash and nearby burst into flames, Richard already moving his way down the hall deeper into the den.

. . NO SIGN YET . .

"Pestilence has learned a bit I guess, still walks around with that stupid ass mark but at least learned how to hide it now."

At the end of the hall Richard came across a red X, spray painted across a fairly normal looking wall, but as he gave it a knock with a mantis it made a clearly metal sound in response. With a roll of his eyes Richard then dug his blade into the shitty drywall directly next to the metal door, and sliced clean through the electronic lock keeping it in place.

"Moron puts a reinforced door in the slums but doesn't fix the walls up too."

The opened path lead to a short set of stairs, just enough to go down into a basement which then lead deeper into an old bunker, one likely from the corpo wars or before. Slum residents knew how to survive hell, and that was dig deeper until nobody can even fucking smell you anymore, survival comes before anything else. The basement was mostly empty, except for a small stash of boosters that got another grenade chucked their way, and he was down the bunker stairs before the burn started.

"Seems his cult is still the same, slum, guttertrash, traitors and shitbags is pretty much all he ever gathers, so where the fuck did he get all that iron and tech."

. . PESTILENCE AI IS CAPABLE OF RECREATING BIOLOGICAL WEAPONS. THEORY. THEY FOUND THE NEEDED LOCATION TO RECREATE A STRONG ENOUGH WEAPON. USED IT AGAINST A MILITECH OUTPOST. TAKING CANDY FROM A BABY'S CORPSE . .

"That is absolutely not the saying, still to get that all back not only states side but into NC, someone heavy has their hand above him, whether they're a puppet master or the unknowing puppet."

. . THEORY. CONQUEST? . .

"Why the fuck would he ever arm his enemy, you know how it goes, there can only be one."

. . CONQUEST IS INTELLIGENT. HE PLAYS A LONG GAME WHILE WE TRY TO SIMPLY WIN ONE ROUND OF CHESS. IMPOSSIBLE TO PREDICT HIS PLANS. DO NOT DISMISS . .

Richard sighed but WAR was right, always assume in NC someone was gonna pull off the impossible and that their bullshit would likely get you killed. Finally they came to the bottom of the bunker stairs and kicked open another door, only to find this room empty, not of just people but of everything entirely, except for an old cellphone sitting on the floor which rang the moment they walked in.

"Motherfucker."

. . TRACING . .

With another sigh Richard picked up the old phone, flipping it open and then rolling his eyes when there was an annoying laugh on the other end.

"Hello my dear brother."

"Eat shit Pest, if we were ever related I'd purge the whole bloodline."

"Oh? Didn't a corp take care of that already, ever find out who that was? I'd truly love to meet the lads that were kind enough to give me this gift."

"You know what I actually did."

"Really now?"

"And every single one of them is mutilated beyond recognition, and that fucking gun they stole from me is on my trophy as it should be, granted it's now stained with their blood."

"Mr. Mantis using a gun? Must've been really mad."

"Get to your point, I walked into your little trap what now?"

"Oh, nothing brother, I moved all of my supplies out of there the other day expecting you to come along and just left some addicted dregs behind. This was just for our first hello, it's been so long after all, thought you'd miss me."

"You know what, I did miss part of you."

"How sweet!"

"The dipshit part, that thinks this is the first place I went to today."

"...Wha-"

On the other end Pestilence was clearly interrupted, as he was told not only was more than half of his product up in flames, but every single militia cultist that were in those dens were torn to pieces. Richard wore a tiny smirk as he then heard the loud bang of him slamming his fist into something metal.

"Still there. Dear brother?"

"Burning some RAT nests won't slo-

"There you fucking go again, same as before, you think you're fucking Conquest and above me like I can't read you like an open book. Hell, try reading a book, maybe then you'll actually get one step ahead of me."

"Like the men I've got outside waiting for you?"

"What men?"

There was a loud silence on the other end of the phone, followed by a sigh, as Pestilence mumbled something to whatever subordinate was in the room.

"You don't learn Pesty, I thought you had, you brought all that iron and heavy here but what's the fucking point if you don't know how to use it properly. You're trying to fight me with violence, with soldiers and psychos high off their ass? Bitch please, this is NC and I'm motherfucking WAR walking."

Richard crushed the old phone into a mix of dust and scrap which fell from his palm, he then turned and went back up the stairs, avoiding the burning fire in the basement. Once back in the main drug den he tossed another two firestarters across the room, then slipped out the door and lit up a cigarette.

. . HE IS DOWNTOWN . .

"Mm, not for long and we're too far, cunt at least knew to keep some distance, tell Rogue theres some places burning in the slum that may need put out. She'll like the bunker actually, always good to have a hole to hide in."

. . THEN WHY DID YOU SET IT ON FIRE? . .

"Gotta burn out the stench first."

He raised his leg a bit high, the reason of course being the dozens of dead men littered around the entrance to the den, all with holes blown cleanly through them and charred around it. As he made his way through the body minefield the Javelina slowly rolled up from across the alley where it had been hiding, in the perfect spot for shooting fish in a barrel.

[dragonclaude]

Hey! I'm trying to make my own Danganronpa action game concept, except with the V3 cast where all 16 students are playable. I was wondering if you had any ideas for the characters not listed here (Rantaro, Korekiyo, Kaito, and Kokichi.) Note that not all of them should be connected to their talents, as seen below.

-Kaede and Shuichi both use the UDG Megaphone hacking guns. They're the only ones with said guns, by the way.

-Himiko finds and uses a magic staff with a variety of spells powered by "mana" (soft drinks.) In reality, it's just the old "magic is just super high tech that we don't get" shtick. I also want her to use small tricks and sleight of hand, such as a smokescreen spell or the ability to pickpocket foes easily.

-Maki uses nothing but a metallic baseball bat. It's all that she needs.

-Ryoma fights with a tennis racket and balls, like what he did with the mafia.

-Tenko fights with nothing but pure Neo-Akido, and later on some devices that let her shoot out Hadoukens and such.

-Angie uses a "magic" paintbrush that is in the same category as Himiko's staff. She uses it to create flat living paintings or just spray paint with different properties.

-Miu would use a mini-mecha to fight, and one I'd assume has multiple different modes. I also think she'd have an outside-mecha form when she loses her mecha for whatever reason or needs to enter a smaller space.

-Kirumi fights with kicks, cleaning supplies (including a broom hiding a sword,) and equipment she picks up throughout the game.

-Gonta fights with his bare hands and his bug friends that he accumulates.

-Kibo would use similar enhancements to the ones he had at the end of V3.

-Tsumugi would cosplay and fight exactly like Usopp from One Piece.

Funny! For like a year I've been thinking about how I would've changed DRS to add more interesting combat and gameplay loop. During that, I've thought of how every character's attack animation would look like along with what abilities or weapons they could have with them. If anyone has questions, I'll be happy to talk about it, just haven't found a good way to introduce it without drawing a lot for it like RCB xD

Anyways, here are my ideas but slightly different for an action game:

Rantaro: Uses a variety of navigation-related tools for battering (ex. compass, telescope, captain's wheel) and can summon small boats that drive through the ground to attack enemies. Can stand on and ride on top of the boats if desired.

Korekiyo: Uses special tags and masks to summon spirits and ghosts to fight for him and has shadowy effects to his attacks. He has dodges that pass through things, and perhaps also uses candles for a fire damage attack.

Kaito: Has a rocket on his back. He can fly and crash into people to attack or turn the engines around to produce a flamethrower-like effect to close targets. If not using it, he has basic fist/kicking attacks without much tact.

Kokichi: Kokichi would probably have the least overall damage but the most dodges. He can either lay traps of a variety of prank items (ex. surprise peanut can), stick them onto enemies that go off after a second, or use them in his hands to attack directly. He will have a variety of taunts/insults to move enemies around to where you want them to be. Everything he does will stun enemies and he will then be able to use a "talk down"/"shame" move that gets anyone currently stunned around you out of the fight instead of killing them.

[alt-pocalypse]

Day 12

We started the flat bottom today, got a full flat bottom frame done pretty quick. We could have finished the flat bottom completely but Nyxx said we should stop early to prevent burnout. We checked on the survival packages today too. All of them had been taken except the one in the school but we know there are people inside that one so we’ll probably just bring the package in to them at some point. Not today though. Today we were way too busy exploring the abandoned Bats and Beauty (that's what the alt fashion store is called).

Seeing that the package got picked up meant there had to be another group of alt kids who had made base in there. Maybe even our age! We explored through the shelves and even snagged some new clothes but we didn't find any other people until around lunchtime when we were about to leave. Just as we were approaching the door we were ambushed by a group of store employees. All of us recognized at least one. One of them was N’s dad and Wood’s uncle which neither one ever told us. All the employees were full of piercings and they all had the coolest weapons, chains and pink pistols and one of them even had a bat like mine, except it was spray painted all black. Hers had a name too, just like ‘ol Nancy! Her bat was called Rhonda.

At first I thought they were going to attack us but when they saw that all we had taken was clothes, we ended up chatting. They were very grateful when they learned we were the ones who left the packages and they even let us have some of their monster stash to say thank you! They also gave us their spare walkie so we can get help from each other and just form community. I don't want to bore you with all the details of our conversation, goodnight!