#this is an old human au but shhhhhhh

[toastedclownery]

People liked the last one so

[littlemissnoname13]

love ur blog, btw this is a request for draco malfoy: can you make it where the reader loves coffee and draco also apparently is in love with it and they meet at some coffee shop and yeah u can continue how u like it

Hi lovely! Thank you for your kind words and your request. 💕

As a caffeine dependent human, writing this was so much fun. I hope you like it. X

Same Ideas. Varying Interpretations (Draco Malfoy x Reader)

Word count: 1517

Coffee shop AU

Warnings: None just excessive mentions of coffee and soft!Draco pining for the reader.

Draco Malfoy was never really a morning person. 

The only reason he even dragged himself out of bed was the want for a decent sized cup of coffee from the coffee shop down the street. 

Even though he was not a morning person, he was definitely becoming a weekend person. 

Weekends meant he could wake up late, maybe prolong his otherwise quick shower.

To top it all off, that he wouldn’t even have to order his coffee to go! 

In fact, he would get to sit on one of those infuriating little tables in the far corner that never stopped wobbling and look at you and whatever it is that you were drinking that day. 

Sometimes you’d have a tall glass filled to the brim with iced coffee next to you. On other times, you’d be hugging a mug and absently licking whipped cream off your lips—making his heart palpitate in the process.

But within the unpredictability of your coffee order and the color of the dresses that you wore, two things remained constant. 

One, you seemed to really like the buttered croissant they served.

Two, he loved watching you nibble into it as you flipped through the pages of your book. 

And so, on a strangely sunny Saturday morning, Draco decided to stop beating around the bush and he finally managed to ask the lady at the counter to have a croissant delivered to your table. 

“Oh. I didn’t order any today.” You said politely and shook your head when you saw the pastry. 

“Courtesy of one of our regular patrons.” The server smiled before leaving you with a golden brown and perfectly curvaceous croissant. 

Draco observed the whole interaction from afar—taking long slow sips of coffee as dark as his black suit. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t want you to know it was him. He just wasn’t sure how you’d feel about a stranger buying you a croissant. 

~~~~~~

The very next Saturday, Draco took his regular seat at the coffee shop and opened the daily prophet in front of him.

Your table remained empty as he scanned the paper—pretending like your absence didn’t bother him. 

I drove her away. 

That’s the only explanation. 

Why is she not here? 

Draco was so busy hyperventilating all alone that he almost didn’t notice a server bring what looked like a buttered croissant on his table. 

He put his paper down for a second and arched a brow at the server who simply shrugged as he nodded towards the door. 

You were just exiting the coffee shop with a to-go cup in your hands—clad in a lilac colored blouse that somehow made the freshly cut tulips wrapped in paper you had tucked under your arms look even more vibrant. 

When Draco took notice of the to-go cup in your hand, he quickly paid for his coffee and followed you out. 

“How did you know it was me?” He called out making him instantly regret this decision when you whirled around to face him. 

To his utter surprise, you flashed him a small smile. 

“Black coffee, no sugar or creamer.” You said. “Every weekend, I see you drink the same hot beverage mr. regular patron. It probably tastes horrible by the way.” 

“It absolutely does not.” He retorted as you both started to walk down the cobblestone. “I don’t understand why you’d choose to ruin a drink that is perfectly good on its own.” 

And both of you kept talking and talking as he walked you all the way home. 

“It was nice talking to you.” You said as you stepped onto your front porch step. 

“Likewise y/n.” Draco said as he put his hands in his pockets and started to turn away. 

Throughout your walk, he’d wanted to ask if you’d like to have dinner with him sometime but the words refused to leave his lips partly due to his fear of rejection. 

Just as he was walking away, he heard you call out his name. 

“Draco. Wait.” 

“Yes?” 

“Dinner tomorrow? Seven-ish? No pressure.” You asked.

Draco didn’t know what you meant by seven-ish—if it meant after or before seven. What he did know was that he was going to be there early anyway. 

Just to be sure. 

~~~~~~~~~

When Draco saw you in your deep red dress that night, he quickly decided then and there that he’d never look at the color the same way ever again. 

He was sure that he’d forever associate the color with your stunning little number for the rest of eternity. 

And to his absolute and utter delight, the date went perfectly well. 

It was strange how things flowed so naturally with you that it felt almost effortless. 

So much so that both of you were the very last people that left the restaurant that night. And being the caffeine addicts that you both were, both of you found yourselfs craving a cup of coffee. 

“I don’t think there’s anything open at this ungodly hour of the night Draco.” You said sadly as you walked with him down the sidewalk—moonlight casting terribly tall shadows of the two of you on the ground. 

The tip of your fingers lightly brushed with his as if on accident and he seized this opportunity to intertwine your fingers with his. 

He fought the smile tugging at his lips when he felt you hold his hands tight before finally saying. 

“I know a place.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~

You let him take the lead as you both ran along the sidewalks giggling like children towards wherever he was taking you. 

From one of the houses along the way, an elderly man poked his head outside of his window and yelled at you both for causing a ruckus at two-thirty in the morning. 

“Shhhhhhh…” Draco whispered, suppressing a chuckle as you both hid inside an alcove as placed his hands over your mouth. 

His face was so terribly close to yours and you felt tingly all over your body when you looked into his shiny grey eyes. 

He had the kind of eyes that could convince you to do just about anything with one simple look. 

Terrifying yet so so comforting. 

When the threat of being yelled at by the old man cleared, he led you all the way to a small 24/7 diner situated at the far end of the road. 

The lady at the counter gave him a smile like he visited the place all the time. 

“Are you a regular patron over here too?” You asked out of curiosity the lady poured you both a cup of coffee.

“I come here when I can’t sleep.” He said, taking a gulp of his coffee. “No one really comes here at this time of the night and the coffee isn’t half bad.” 

You nodded and took a big sip from your own cup observing how his skin glowed a shade of bright pink from the neon sign on the window. 

It felt good with him. 

Even the black coffee that you were drinking felt nice and soothing. 

Just when you thought the night couldn’t get any better, a slow song started to play on the radio at the diner. It didn’t even bother you that the song kept cutting off due to the static. 

“This is such a lovely song.” You told him, making a crooked smile form on his face. 

“Care to dance with me then?” He asked. 

“Here? ” 

“Yes here.” 

You opened your mouth to object but he was already pulling you up—gently swaying you to the music.

The lady at the counter shook her head and went towards the back of the diner leaving you both to it. 

With his arms around your waist and your head resting on his chest, your bodies moved with the music.

From where your head was resting, you could easily hear the wild thumping of his heart and you wondered if he could hear yours. 

You slowly tilted your head upwards to look at him and he lovingly tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ears. 

As his face drew in closer and closer, you closed your eyes and met him halfway.

His lips tasted like caffeine. 

They woke you up, gave you a rush and had something addictive about them. 

He kissed you so tenderly—his lips moving slowly in synchronisation with yours. 

But somewhere between those soft kisses, you could tell that he was holding back something more ravenous and intense. 

It only made you want to keep kissing him.

That night and the nights to come.

 ~~~~~~some months later~~~~~~~

“Not this again.” Your boyfriend shook his head as he took a sip from his mug before taking a bite from YOUR croissant.

“Well forgive me for wanting my coffee to actually taste good.” You rolled your eyes at him as you stirred your straw of your iced coffee. You’d asked for two pumps of vanilla syrup to be added to your drink and Draco gagged at the idea. 

The way you both took your respective coffees was a perfect way to describe your relationship. 

Same ideas. 

Varying interpretations. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist: @dracomalfoyisindahouse @dracomalfoys-wh0re @maybesandohnos @justfangirlthingies @desiredmalfoy @dlmmdl @trainintersection @fa-me @dracoswhore007 @paulina1998 @wh0re4blaise @marrymetheonott @quacksonsssandtea @letoof @rvaldez7569 @loloo22 @emma67 @berriemalfoy @thegaudess @itchywitch33 @louweasleymalfoy @lunar0se10 @savagelysarcasticslytherin @fleursbabe @teawineaddict @thebitchybeatle @malfoyxxdraco23 @fantasyfairysworld @trashyvicks @h0ggyw0ggyh0gwarts @l0vely-lupin @linasylveon @amwitherspoon

Love,

V

[internalsealpanic]

Merzost’

Summary:   Merzost’. Abomination. Monster.

a/n: This is mostly a character building piece for reader in my False Face Au with Good Dad! Bruce and Good Big Brother! Dick. This piece is slightly depressing but here it is. I would very much like to thank @knightfall05x for proof reading, putting up with my nonsense and convincing me to post this. Please ignore the blatant use of google translate. 

TW: Attempted solicitation of a minor, trauma, and gore. 

masterlist

Merzost’.

 Abomination. 

 That is what the old woman called you. 

 It wasn’t your unusual gait or your unnaturally fluorescent eyes or even the fact that you could feel the press and pull of minds just as easily as you felt the heat radiate off another human.  

 No, you could see it in her clouded eyes and the way she shivered in your presence. She was old. She was an old woman in Gotham. She knew what death smelled like and oh, how it rolled off of you like a thick miasma. Dripping thick and suffocating. 

 No, no, it was none of those blemishes. It was something more… fundamental, unshakeable. Something you could not slough off as it nestled and stewed under your skin. 

 Even now, you can still feel the heft and weight of the old woman’s terror as she gazed at you. 

 You tried to smother the smile that ripples through your features. 

 As it carved itself on your lips, a cold sort of fear engulfed you. 

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

 Your mind spent far too much of your time in someone else’s skin that crawling back to your own felt wrong. Your mind and body roiled against each other. Blistering. Scraping. Scorching. Peeling away from each other as they are forcefully melded back together into an awkward human-like shape. 

 It was an odd feeling, a feeling of permanence and solidness that felt completely foreign to you.

 But this wasn’t what you wanted. You didn’t want their eyes. Not raking over your still roiling flesh. Not carving, inspecting, appraising. Pausing too long at your leg, smiling knowing it made you weak. Your stomach rebelled, twisting. You felt sick. You hated these moments. You hated when you and whatever this nervous scared thing this was blended together. 

 “You’ll be so pretty when you grow up,” the man whispered to you. The excitement in his eyes made your skin itch. You swore there were boils forming on your skin.  This was the only time your mind and body coalesced when your skin tore itself away from uninvited touch. 

 The man grasped your face with large calloused hands, squishing the loose tufts of your hair to your skin- prickling. It made the itch on your skin worsen, the unsettling boil in your gut more pronounced. Men like him, when they looked at you, soaking up the sight of you with hungry eyes, they saw your mother-soft, shining undine. Less of the knife-toothed ruskla you knew she was.

  Or maybe they did know. 

 Maybe this is why they-

 “You’ll be so so pretty, baby,”

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

 Your mother held you tight. The smell of lilac in her hair was almost salient enough to overcome the pungent odor of copper in the air. 

 “Shhhhhhh. Shhhhh, It’s ok now-” She whispered, pressing a gentle kiss on your brow. “Mama’s got you. It’s ok.”

 Her words rang hollow and stark in contrast to the death rattle echoing from the man on the tiled floor of your kitchen. His intact eye still staring at you as your mother smoothed your hair with her blood-covered hand. 

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

From the way your skin itched, you could tell Jeffrey Woodfield was a monster. Not the fun -movie kind with cheap latex masks so fake it made the pink flamingos in Florida look like the genuine article. Now that you thought about it, you really would rather be in Florida right now. The weather would be warm, your joints would ache a lot less, Disney Land probably didn’t get half as many clown attacks, and there would be sooooo many old people to scam. 

 “Baby,” he whispered huskily into your ear, sliding his filthy hands up your waist and keeping you planted firmly against the brick wall. You could practically feel the hives begin to pucker at your hips. Your breaths were shallow and nervous as he presses your small body into the wall. You asked him to leave you alone. You asked him to give you space.  You thought about screaming or asking for help or anything but the way your lungs shrink into your chest made it hard to so much as a squeak.   

 This wasn’t happening. 

 You were 13. 

 This wasn’t happening. 

 Behind Jeffrey, you saw your mother, gore ladden and goddamn beautiful. She smiled, lips painted red and slick with fresh blood. Man or pig’s, it did not matter. To her there was no difference. Man or pig, they both squeal. 

  You could feel everything in you unfurl and relax. Mother was here. No, no. She wasn’t.  Logically, you knew she was somewhere else. Where that somewhere was you hoped it was at least 6 feet under the dirt. For everyone’s sake. 

 But with your mother there you knew what to do. Muscle memory whirred to life and suffused throughout your body. Fluttering your long lashes and running your small hands up his chest, you felt him bend toward your touch, leaning low enough for you to cup his face in your hands. 

 You measured the odds.

  His neck was too thick to snap. You bit back a snarl of frustration. 

 You slid yourself along the brick wall, inching both of you towards the dumpster. 

 “Acting shy now?” he breathed against your skin sounding like a panting bulldog. You could feel the hives pucker there too. You struggled to keep your face carefully sculpted, not letting any of the fear and disgust slip out. 

 He led the way, pulling you off the wall keeping a death grip on your wrist. A manic smile, too wide, too full of teeth stretches across your lips when he grabs your non-dominant hand.  Using your good foot, you scooped up a brick and snatched it with your free hand. You tugged at your wrist nearly wrenching yourself free. He kept a steady grip on you. It didn’t matter. He turned to you snarling, impatient. You slammed the brick into his face.

 He 

 Went

 Down

 With a satisfying thud, he was on the ground. The joints in your leg and hip twinged, screaming for you to run but the feeling of bone cracking beneath the force of your blow thrummed pleasantly through the twitching muscles of your hands. It felt fresh and satisfying. 

 “Solnechnyy svet, we do not leave things half done,”

 You stalked towards the groaning heap of flesh, grabbing the discarded brick. You weren’t weak by any means. But your mother had taught you well. 

 All you needed to do now was finish what you started. 

 Straddling his chest, fingers laced together around the brick, 

 You slammed the brick down. Another satisfying crunch echoes in the empty alley. Giddy laughter bubbles in your chest. A sort of manic excitement took over your body. 

 You felt alive. You feel the rush even as shattered teeth carve deep gashes into the flesh of your knuckles. Your mind lashed out soaking up the pain that radiated off of him. 

 Distantly, you can hear him beg. He’s pleading for his life. He’s begging you to stop. 

 You should stop. 

 For him?

 Did he when you asked? 

 They only stop when they’re like this. Twitching and bleeding. 

 “Merzost’,” came the old woman’s frail voice cutting through the vicious thoughts in your mind.  

 The high vanished. It left you cold. Cold and solid.

 The puckering of your skin returned. 

 You looked at your shaking hands. Blood dripping, still trembling from a mix of nervousness and exhilaration. 

 The air thinned. 

 Your mother’s painted lips curled into a sweet smile. Her eyes softened as she reached for you. You could almost feel her carding her hand through your hair, gently running the tips of her fingers over your scalp.  Her hands slid down to cup your face. Your unnatural eyes meet. 

 “Just like mama,”

 Your senses failed you. 

 The next few minutes were a slapdash combination of colors and sounds. 

 The wash out grey of Gotham tainted with red. 

 The echo of shoes against pavement. 

 Your breath came out in puffs. 

 You felt sick. 

 Everything ached. 

 Why were you outside? 

 You had piano lessons.

  No, that was last week. 

 No, it was today. 

 No, it was-

 The fresh, deep gashes running up the length of your hand throbbed angrily, still bleeding. You could probably ask Alfie to-

 Fuck. 

 Fuck. 

 Alfie was going to kill you. He was going to kill you and cut you up and- 

 Wait. Where were you? 

 You look around at the dilapidated buildings. Your breath picked up when you took it all in. 

 How did you end up in Crime Alley? 

 You bring your injured hands to your mouth 

 Fuck. 

 Fuck. 

 Fuck. 

 Breathe. 

You shoved your hands into your pockets, violently rummaging through the seemingly endless expanse of space provided by the jeans you’d stolen from Dick’s wardrobe. 

Why were guy pockets so much bigger? 

Wait, why were you even wearing these? 

You shook your head as you finally fished out your phone. 

Dried blood still covered your hands. 

Your stomach fell. 

Bruce wouldn’t take you back. 

No. 

Not when you’re just like your mother. Your hands move to your face feeling the remnants of the manic smile still pressed into your features. Your stomach cartwheels. 

You’re just another one of Gotham’s monsters. 

Bruce might not be the sharpest tool in the shed, and, sure, the guy has a bleeding heart-

The phone’s shrill ring drags her mind kicking and screaming back to the present. 

Should you answer? 

Should you leave it?

Whatever you’re gonna do you really shouldn’t do it in the middle of the street, looking dazed and confused and way out of yourself. Quickly ducking into an alleyway and slipping behind a dumpster, you curled into herself before pulling out your phone. 

 “Where are you?!” Dick practically shouted over the phone. 

Oh fantastic, it’s boy blunder big brother wanna be extraordinaire. 

. From the way he sounds, he’s probably grappling or running roof to roof. 

“Parker Row, I think,” You slapped your hand against your forehead. Why did you tell him? 

“Parker-”

“Hold on, lemme check-” You peeked your head out just enough to see the mouth of the alleyway which didn’t show much. At least, not in any remotely distinguishable way. 

Wait. Why were you even giving him your location? He’s just gonna throw you in Arkham. You swallowed thinking of all the minds you didn’t want anywhere near yours. Your pulse faltered. The thought of your mind melding with any of the rogues made you absolutely wanna crawl out of your skin. You wanted to leave it behind. You absolutely just wanted to make a break for it.  

To be fair, considering what you just did, you probably belonged in a cell there. Maybe not next to any of the rogues but if you had to pick one, Poison Ivy. Definitely. 

“(y/n), I’m serious, where are you? Bruce and Alfred are worried sick,”

You bit your lip. Worrying them was the last thing you wanted to do but there was also the fact that you just nearly murdered a man and possibly murdered him since you didn’t call for an ambulance. 

You tried to dredge up any sort of guilt for your actions but you really couldn’t find any. You really couldn’t manage much. You didn’t feel bad for putting him down. He was a fucking asshole and he was gonna do that to someone else. You weren’t about to apologize for rearranging a creeper's face. But you were sorry about the brutality of it. You hated how cathartic each blow felt. How righteous the violence felt.

The image of red lips flashed across your mind. Another wave of nausea rolled over you. 

You let out a breath. You were surprised at how dry it sounded. Considering how thick your throat felt, you expected a sob to come out. It sounded like a huff.  It even sounded oddly petulant to you. It probably sounded like that to Dick too since he let out an exasperated huff of his own. You were a little glad for it. 

“I’ll try to look for something,” 

“No. Stay put. If you’re in the Alley-”

“Yeah. Yeah. It’s not safe for me to wander around alone in the Alley. You and B don’t have to keep telling me,”

“Considering where you are…."

This wouldn’t really be much of an issue if your dumbass legs didn’t take you there for God knows what reason. 

“Lecture me later. Yanno when I’m in the safety of an overly plush couch where I can drape over dramatically as you each deliver your 500-word monologue about my dumbassery and I pretend to listen,”

“Please tell me you’ve actually done that to Alfred,”

“Do I sound brain dead to you?”

“Do you want an answer to that?”

“Fuck you,”

“Love you too, baby sis~”

Not for long. 

You really loved your big brother. It was hard not to. He was too damned caring and sincere not to. 

The knots in your stomach tightened at the idea of Dick not being your big brother anymore. You wanted to cry. But he was already stressed as it was and having you crying into his ear would have exacerbated that. 

Maybe they’ll at least feed Anatolii once they kick you out. Or maybe Arkham will let you keep him.

“How did you manage to take out your tracker?”

“What tracker?”

“Wait, has B somehow not gotten into your stuff yet?”

“No and I stole some of your old clothes”

“What? Why?”

That is a good question that someone should have asked you around 3 hours ago.

“What tracker?” You repeated trying to redirect the question to something more concerning. 

“You know how B is paranoid,”

“Ah,”

“Yeah,”

You smiled at the easy understanding. 

“I think I see you,”

You waved your hands over your head as his silhouette dropped down from the fire escape. You rushed over to hug him, practically tackling him in the process. Looking down at you clearly very surprised by your sudden affection, Dick doesn’t question it and simply holds you. You bit your lip and blinked rapidly feeling the tears gathering in your eyes.  

“You’re injured,”

“You’re in tights. What’s your point?”

“YOU HAVE GASHES ON YOUR HANDS”

“And you should really consider getting your name changed to Captain Obvious,”

“Y/n…..”

You hugged him tighter trying to shrink. It was a manipulative tactic but you knew it would work. Your skin started to dot with angry hives where your body made contact with his. You could already feel your face getting mottled with red bumps.

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” The bumps spread to your neck. You could tell  Dick could see them when his breath hitched and his grip on you loosened. 

Both of you knew that the hives were nothing more than a psychosomatic reaction but Dick really couldn’t help but worry. You greatly appreciated his concern. You really did but letting go meant looking him in the eyes. Looking him in the eyes meant talking. Talking meant telling the truth. You just couldn't stand the idea of it, so you let your skin blister.  

“What’s wrong, kiddo?”Dick asked, giving your hair three quick pats before smoothing it over in a comforting gesture. It nearly made you burst into tears. Your control over that was wearing thin. You shook your head not trusting your voice not to come out frail. “C’mon you can tell your big bro,” He coaxed, nervousness edging into his voice. You shook your head again. 

Dick sighed. 

“Can I at least get you to Doc. Leslie’s clinic?” 

You weighed your options. 

And weighed them again.

And again. 

Calculating the odds but you were too tired.

Too rung out.  

Whatever is going to happen will happen. You nodded into his shoulder. Dick’s shoulders loosened. His hands moved up to squeeze your shoulders but pulled away quickly like you’d burned him. 

“Can you walk?” He asked gently. You hummed in answer. He let out a breath and shook his head. Your shoulders eased at that and you relinquished your grip. 

 You two began the slow walk towards the clinic, hand in hand. The silence pooled uncomfortably. You felt the anxiety whirring in Dick’s body even as you walked. Your mind reached out to him.  You wanted to reassure him that you were ok but you were a terrible liar when it came to your family. You knew the world of horrendous possibilities that was swirling in Dick’s head. He dealt with the worst the world has to offer on a nightly basis. His guilt and worry licked at your consciousness like a fire spreading too quickly. Your skin buzzed with irritation. Still, you tapped your index and middle finger against the back of his hand. It took you far too long to realize that that gesture meant nothing to Dick. Your eyes widened, mind racing through all the possible ways to do damage control. But when Dick simply reciprocated the gesture, you finally started crying. 

Doc. Leslie giving you a mouthful was expected. What you didn’t count on was her swatting you over the head when you refused to tell her what happened. 

“It was a Racoon, I swear,” You said, earning you a swat over your head. Dick was snickering at the edge of your periphery. You stuck your tongue out at him which he returned in kind. Doc. Leslie looked between the two of you and ran her hand over her face. Her blood pressure was going through the roof. Doc. Leslie leveled you a stern look one only Alfred could match. You shrank and let her inspect the rest of your skin. It was still mottled from the hug but Doc. Leslie was familiar enough with your condition to distinguish it from any other abnormalities. 

Your mother might not have trusted hospitals but even she could see that Doc. Leslie was trustworthy. Or at least, competent enough.  

“I’m gonna call, B-”

“NO-” You screamed shooting up from the exam table, your eyes blown wide and wild with fear. “Please don’t call, Da- don’t call, B-” Dick looked at you, brow furrowed, his hand reaching out for you. You didn’t shrink away. Instead, for once, your mind pressed back. His face twisted in mild discomfort. “You can’t, Dick. Please. You- please.” You sounded pathetic even to your own ears. Your mind pressed again. This time Dick winced in pain. You flinched back, your mind retreating.

“Dick- I-” You had hurt him. You had hurt him. 

You have become something intolerable. You have become what you have always been.  

Merzost’. 

Abomination. 

Monster. 

You felt all the adrenaline from the past few hours leave you all at once. The room felt like it was swimming and shifting. You tried to mouth an apology but your tongue simply flailed uselessly failing you in such a crucial moment. 

The world faded and you heard yourself collapse onto the floor rather than feeling it. 

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The (h/c) haired woman towered over you. You were weeping and begging as you bleed on to the kitchen. You sniveled letting snot, drool, tears, and blood pool at the side of your face. At that moment, you were what the woman thought you were, a pathetic animal. Two sets of incandescent eyes bear down on you-one pitiless and one too young to truly comprehend what's happening.

You look into your own uncomprehending eyes as you bled out on the floor. 

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

You woke up wild. 

Your arms flung over your face. 

Your flesh was raw.

Your breath was short. 

The world around you was muted against the memory. 

Piece by piece the world fell back into place. 

There was a monitor beeping beside you. The air smelled of antiseptic, not copper nor lilac. Your breaths slowed. 

Piece by piece you retrieved yourself from the nightmare. 

You shifted and settled into bed, remembering clearly now where you were. You were at Doc. Leslie’s. You weren’t in the apartment on Main or the house on Orange or Wayne Manor. You were in the clinic. You were safe. 

“It’s ok, y/n. You’re safe now, sweetheart. It’s ok.” You felt a large hand smoothing over your sweat-soaked hair, stroking your head gently. Your muscles uncoiled and you let yourself melt into the mattress. Your skin did not prickle. 

In the complete darkness of the room, your mind searched for him. Bruce looms over you, towering but unimposing as he usually did. His mind radiated of worry, of warmth, of kindness. You were going to be sick. 

“Papa?” You rasped. The word must have sounded like a shattering plate to Bruce because he froze. A cocktail of emotions seemed to swirl in his mind. You desperately wanted to take the word back but you wanted to call him that just once before he carted you off wherever it was you belonged. You did not wait for his mind to pick whichever unpleasant emotions it decided on. You were resigned to whatever fate was in store for you but you weren’t one to sit idly by and wait for it. 

“Pa- B- I- I-” You tightened your fists around the threadbare blanket in frustration. Your mind was well aware of what it had to lose by saying this. It was once again the loss of love and you honestly didn’t know if you could take that but knowledge, the waiting for the inevitable, felt far more agonizing at the moment.  “B, I- Woodfield.” At that, Bruce’s brow furrowed visibly through the cowl. His mind finally settled on confusion. The loss of discordance put you at ease. 

“Woodfield,” He repeated quietly. The gears turning in his head. His expression grew grimmer by the second. You could feel your life falling apart. It was no surprise that Bruce had already heard of what had happened to him. “Why would you go after him alone? Are you ok?”

Alone? 

You blinked at Bruce. You furrowed your brow. 

“Did he hurt you?”

“No,” You were certain but the answer came out wobbly and unsure. Bruce gave you a stern look, but your mind was far too preoccupied to actually react to it.

What did he mean by alone? 

You’ve been talking cases with Bruce for the last week, pestering him about letting you help out by sorting through documents. Being the fresh eyes for the case. 

Then you stumbled on Woodfield’s file. Then? Then what? 

You were in an alley. Your stomach revolted to prevent any more memories. 

Your arms shot up grabbing Bruce’s and pulling yourself up with what little strength you had. “Bruce, I ki-”

“He’s in the hospital-” You stared at Bruce searching his face for something. Whatever it was you couldn’t find it. You expected to feel some kind of relief. After all, you didn’t kill a man. You still maimed him. Your mind supplied unhelpfully. 

“Are you ok?” Bruce repeated.

“No,” You answered honestly. You felt numb. With a war of emotions clamoring in your chest, you simply stared at a wall.  You felt the bed dip. Bruce was now sitting beside you. You pulled your knees to your chest and bury your face into your arms. You couldn’t stand to look at him. You just- Your mind reached out. The shape and texture of his thoughts weren’t jagged. They were heavy. Heavy but not crushing. The bumps and little prickles of concern confused you. 

“B- I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to- I tried to stop but- but he- I-”

Bruce pulled his cape off and wrapped it around you, the solid weight of it gathering you into something solid. It was a silent comforting gesture. From one affection allergic person to another. You gripped the cape, lip wobbling. You turned to Bruce expecting to see his eyes cold and calculating, the kind of eyes that sussed out your weaknesses. But when you actually looked at them, Bruce’s eyes only betrayed concern. You felt like you’ve been sucker-punched. 

Bruce placed a large hand on your head. Bruce looked at you as you were, a scared kid. Not a thing or an abomination or a monster. You were just a kid.  And with that, you conceded. You scooted closer. Hesitantly, resting your head on his arm. Bruce made no attempt to pull you into a hug and you thanked whatever was up there for that.  

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a/n: To anyone in my tag list who just wanted fluff, I am so fucking sorry. To anyone who had to read this in general, I apologize but I just wanted to write this.  Thank you for reading.  

Tag list:  @batarella, @anothertimdrakestan, @lucy-roo, @multifandomgirl-us, @idkmanicantenglish,@birdy-bat-writes,  @boosyboo9206, @americasmarauders , @l-horizon11, @arestorationofbalance (Thanks for the push), @cloudie-skay 

[thatonechicken]

Soooooooooo I did a thing

I’ve been wanting to post some of my writing on here for awhile, but it’s been kind of difficult because majority of my writing has been and always will be on my Wattpad account.

So, here I am, with a Christmas Sanders Sides one shot! Yes, I’m aware that Thanksgiving was two days ago. I just had the idea, so I ran with it.

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

Word count: 2001

Ships: Romantic Royality, platonic/family Moxiety, and platonic/family Prinxiety 

This is an angsty one shot, with some fluff here and there, and a fluffy ending.

Human AU.

Warnings: Profanity, crying, unsympathetic Virgil (he’s better at the end, I promise), Virgil is Patton’s son. If I missed anything, I am so sorry, please let me know.

Finally, I’m posting this partially to celebrate the fact that I am now accepting one shot requests! Send me a request, and I’ll see what I can do!

Merry Christmas

"Merry Christmas, fairest of them all!" Roman greeted as soon as Patton opened the door, leaning in and kissing his boyfriend’s lips.

“Merry Christmas!” Patton giggled in return, gesturing for him to come inside. One of the things Roman particularly enjoyed about Florida was that it never got terrifyingly cold outside, like it did in some other places.

He sniffed the air, noticing how it smelled deliciously like tomato sauce. “What’s cooking? It smells awfully good in…” Roman’s voice trailed off when he noticed a purple and black blur hurrying out of sight. Seconds later, he could hear a door closing at the end of the hallway.

“Hey.” Patton wrapped an arm around his shoulders, “Why don’t you help me in the kitchen? The lasagna’s already in the oven, but I need someone to wash and peel the carrots for the salad.” 

“R-right.” Roman shook his head, focusing on the man holding him close. “Let’s go.” Despite how hard he tried to keep himself busy in the kitchen with the numerous tasks Patton gave him, his thoughts always roamed back to the teenager shut away in his room down the hall.

It was Patton’s son, Virgil Sanders. He was only fourteen years old, and already about the biggest pain in his ass that Roman had ever met. He had been dating Patton for roughly four years now, and Virgil insisted on fighting him every step of the way.

When they were first introduced, he welcomed Roman with a cold glare. Patton reassured him that “he’s always like this with new people,” and “he’ll come around, don’t worry,” but Roman wasn’t so sure. He was right, in fact, because Virgil only seemed to dislike him more from there.

The worst part? Roman never really understood why the kid hated him so much. He tried his hardest to get along with the emo, maybe just be friends, but the teen wouldn’t have any of it.

Now, standing in the kitchen and watching Patton half-mindedly, he couldn't help but fidget with the small box in his pocket. Gazing affectionately at the man before him, Roman repeated the name for what must’ve been the thousandth time. Patton Sanders-Princeton.

He loved the way the name sounded, almost as much as he loved thinking of Patton as his fiancé, or husband. The only person standing in his way was Virgil. Well, maybe he wasn’t in the way, exactly. Roman wanted more than almost anything to love him as his own, but he was finding it increasingly difficult as Virgil shied further and further away from him.

Roman also refused to propose to his boyfriend without his son’s consent. He knew what it was like to not have any control over what happens in your life. He’d experienced that when his father married a homophobic bitch named Karen.

“Ro? Babe?” Patton asked suddenly, and Roman’s train of thought quickly dove straight into the abyss. Okay, not straight. It dove gay into the abyss. His eyes fell onto his boyfriend, who was now standing directly in front of him. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, of course!” Roman replied, but his gaze shifted to the door at the end of the hallway. “I’ll… I’ll be right back.” Patton was concerned about his behavior, but tried to think nothing of it as he left the room.

Roman knocked gently on the white door, biting his lip. When he heard no response, he cracked it open slightly. “Virge…?” he asked when he noticed the purple and black heap facing the wall. 

“Virgil.” was the muffled response he got, “Only people I like are allowed to call me Virge.” Roman’s heart sank slightly at that, but he kept up his confident front anyway. He couldn’t afford to let it drop, not now.

He leaned against the door frame with a small sigh, once again fidgeting with the little box. “I, um… I love your dad very much.” Virgil scoffed, but otherwise remained silent. 

“I- I want to propose to him, Virgil.” Oh did Roman regret saying those words as soon as they slipped past his lips. If he could’ve taken them back, he would’ve.

“I’m sorry, what?” Virgil hissed defensively, sitting upright and facing Roman with a murderous look in his eyes, and a scowl on his face. “I want to marry him.” Roman murmured softly, nervously.

Virgil laughed dryly at that. “No! Fucking hell, Roman! I didn’t ask for the two of you to meet! I didn’t ask for you to get together! I didn’t ask for you to come over here every other day! I didn’t ask for you to be near me, and I didn’t ask you to try to get to know me! I didn’t ask for you to ‘love’ dad, and I most certainly didn’t ask for you to be my new father, because you never will be!” the angsty teenager got off his bed, shoving Roman out of the room before slamming the door in his face.

Roman’s heart in that moment was like a small pebble being tossed into the ocean. It was sinking down, and showed no signs of stopping. As soon as he was away from the door, thunder cracked, lightning flashed, and tears poured down his cheeks.

“Roman!” Patton cried, immediately rushing to his side. Virgil sat in front of his closed door, quietly listening to the conversation beyond.

“What happened?!” Pat asked, and at first, Roman wanted to answer, but his mouth was the texture of sandpaper, rough and dry.

“H-h-he said-” Roman shuttered in his boyfriend’s arms, now wishing that life had an undo button.

“Shhhhhhh,” Patton rocked him back and forth, “What’d he say?” “H-he said th-that I’ll n-n-never be h-his f-f-f-father!” Roman whimpered, burying his face in Patton’s neck. It shouldn’t hurt this much. Virgil isn’t even his kid, he’s Patton’s. He wasn’t supposed to grow this attached, and yet he did.

Hearing Roman say those words made Virgil falter slightly. He had said so much to Roman in the brief time that he had been in the room, and yet… he was most upset that Virgil had told him that he would never be Virgil’s father. Not that Virgil didn’t want him to marry his dad.

“Oh, Roman…” Patton whispered, kissing his forehead. “I don’t know why he’d… I’m so sorry!” he led Roman to the couch, sitting down with him in his lap. “I knew that you guys don’t get along, but I didn’t realize he would say something like that…” what Patton said only caused Roman to cry harder.  

“I don’t understand what I did!” Roman sobbed, “I-I just want to know, so I can apologize, and Virgil will like me!” Ever since Virgil decided that he didn't like Roman, he’d forced his heart to remain stone cold. Just… an emotionless rock that kept blood pumping through his veins. And yet, the tiniest crack was starting to wedge it’s way into the outer shell.

Patton sat there with Roman in his arms, and for the first time in his life, he didn’t know what to do. For the first time ever, he wasn’t sure how to help the one who needed it most.

After what felt like forever, Roman’s broken sobs slowly began to fade into quiet sniffles. Patton hugged him tightly, and they were both too focused on each other to hear the door creak open. “We’ll figure this out, okay? I promise.” Patton continued whispering sweet nothings in his ear, hoping it would help. He only stopped when he felt another hand on his.

Virgil carefully and cautiously climbed on the couch with them,  wrapping his arms around Roman. If Patton hadn’t been watching him, he would’ve never noticed how glassy Virgil’s eyes were.

“I’m sorry.” was all he said, but it was enough to set Roman off and suddenly, he was crying all over again, hugging Virgil tightly. Roman felt as if the moment he let the kid go, he would immediately go back to hating him. 

“You can ask him.” Virgil whispered, and Roman hugged him tighter. Patton didn’t understand, but he didn’t need to. His son and his boyfriend were making up, and that’s all he cared about.

“How about opening presents before dinner?” Virgil suggested, and Roman offered him a watery smile. “Sounds perfect.” Patton hurried off after that, grabbing the two packages he had wrapped earlier. None of them had ever really been into the whole gift giving tradition on Christmas, so they settled on getting each other one present only.

“Here!” Patton chirped excitedly, tossing both Roman and Virgil similarly shaped squishy packages. They tore through the snowflake paper at the same time, each grinning at its contents.

“Patton, this is amazing!” Roman lifted up the beautifully knit white sweater. It had red sleeves, along with a bright red sash covered in snowflakes that traveled diagonally across. What looked to be golden braids stretched straight across in neat rows.

“This is pretty chill, dad.” Virgil breathed, gazing at his. Unlike Roman’s, it had a big purple thunder cloud at the top, with gorgeous purple and black patterns covering the rest of it.

Patton’s eyes were shining as he tugged on his own sweater. “Really? I’d say mine is rather toasty.” Roman smiled lovingly at the pun, laughing as Virgil cringed.

“Me next!” Virgil decided, handing one gift to both of them. He glanced down guiltily. “I know it’s not a lot, and I only have one, but I-” Patton cut him off. “Whatever it is, you know I’m gonna love it!” Roman nodded enthusiastically as he began ripping through the plain red paper.

Patton gasped at the picture frame in his lap, glancing at Virgil with wide eyes. “You drew this?” Roman was just as awestruck, if not more so. This entire time, Virgil always at least seemed like he hated him, and yet… he’d drawn a beautiful portrait of himself and Patton. It looked so alive that Roman could hardly believe it was a drawing in the first place. 

“You’re turn, Ro!” Patton kissed his cheek, and Roman tried to force the uneasy feelings away. Nothing was going to go wrong. Virgil supported him now. It would be fine. Right?

“Uh- here.” Virgil accepted the present gratefully, quickly ripping it open. “What. The. Hell.” Virgil lifted a midnight black MCR sweatshirt out of the box, along with two tickets for their next concert.

“You… you…” Roman laughed at that. “When your father told me that you liked My Chemical Romance, I decided I wanted to do something special.”

“Thank you.” Virgil threw his arms around his neck. Roman forced a smile in return. There were so many butterflies in his stomach that he wasn’t sure whether to laugh, or cry.

“You got this.” he whispered in Roman’s ear, and he nodded. Roman took a deep breath before reaching out for his hopefully soon fiancé’s hands. “Patton,” he began, gazing into those chocolatey brown eyes that had enchanted him right from the moment they met. “We’ve been dating for four years now, and honestly? I’ve spent some of the happiest moments of my life with you. I’ve loved you way more than I thought any human was capable of loving, and I don’t want to ever stop. You and Virgil light up my world, and together you’ve made me the happiest man alive. 

“Most importantly, you’re the best boyfriend I could’ve asked for in a million years. So Patton,” Roman got off of the couch and leaned down on one knee, “Will you marry me?” 

“Yes, yes, yes, one million times, YES!” Patton cried, jumping into Roman’s arms. “I love you so much,” he murmured as Virgil joined the hug. “I love you too, Snowflake.” Roman carefully slid the diamond ring onto his finger, kissing him passionately.

“Merry Christmas.” Roman said to no one in particular as he leaned down to kiss his now fiancé’s lips again. To his surprise, Virgil was the one who replied. “Merry Christmas, Dad.”

[sudoscience]

Transcription under cut because it is long

Cover: Ralsei's Guide to Tumblr Etiquette (the word "Guide" appears to be made out of macaroni art)

Ralsei's Class

2022

[Heart]

Page 1: Dedicated to: Getting people to use this site right

Page 2: [tumblr] is a fun place where we set things on fire with our friends and mutuals. You have probably not seen this because this site works differently.

[Ralsei with the human and monster from the prophecy. Ralsei is saying, "Yay!"]

Page 3: Step 1 to enjoying Tumblr.

Set a profile picture for your blog. No this isn't a suggestion. Shut up— just— SHHHHHHH whatever you're about to type doesn't matter.

[An untitled blog with a default profile picture]

You see this? This is what a bot looks like on Tumblr. Do you know what we do with bots? We block them!

Page 4: You don't want to be blocked by the people you follow, so change your profile picture! Maybe the little title thing too. You don't gotta go all out.

[A blog with a Spamton profile picture]

CONGRATULATION [sic]

Also, you can make as many side blogs as you want so go ham!

Ralsei's blog count: 34

Page 5: Step 2 to enjoying Tumblr. Filtering content.

It's the internet. You'll see things you don't like.

[The "Content you see" settings on Tumblr]

Just go into your settings and filter those things. No use complaining, trust me. Don't wanna see something? Filter it! Don't want to see someone...

Page 6: BLOCK THEM. Just block them. Haters? Block them. Someone you don't agree with and you might get into an argument with them? Block them.

[The word "Blocked" in orange text on a black background with an orange border. It looks like the FIGHT/ACT/MERCY buttons from Deltarune.]

There's no use wasting your time. It's quick, it's easy, and it's free. Like pouring river water in your socks.

Other things you should try! Unfollowing people if you don't like what they post. and Going outside for a bit.

Page 7: Step 3 to enjoying Tumblr. Following.

[A doodle of a tumbleweed labeled "Tumbleweeder" and a sprite of Ralsei saying, "Where the fuck is everything???"]

The Tumblr dashboard looks pretty bare when you're not following people or tags. There's no algorithm to spoon feed you content so you better get to following.

Page 8: Follow tags for your favorite books, movies, shows, games, and even hobbies!

[Three sprites of Ralsei. In the first, his head is tilted up with a pleased expression. In the second, he is in a nurse's uniform and carrying a cake. In the third, he is wearing a tuxedo.]

Is there nothing in the tag for the thing you like? Better get to posting!

[Sprite of Ralsei in the roller coaster car from Smart Race]

Note that posting is not required. What's required comes next...

Page 9: Step 4 to enjoying Tumblr. Reblogging.

Reblogging is ESSENTIAL to the site. No ifs ands or buts about it. Content circulates due to reblogs. You're probably seeing this because someone reblogged it.

[Ralsei with angry eyebrows next to a Deltarune-style button that says "Reblog" and has two arrows in a circle.]

It's one of if not THE MAIN FEATURE of the site. You see something cool? Reblog it. See something you like? Reblog it. See something you want others to see? Reblog it.

Page 10: This is very important. It's how posts get around. You toss a post into the mess of tags and people reblog it which gets more people to see it.

[Happy Ralsei]

The reblog button is the lifeblood of the site. What keeps things going. No need to fear reblogging old posts. It doesn't matter.

[Dog button feat. Annoying Dog]

We are all little delivery people here so you better get to work.

Page 11: Those are the very basics of using Tumblr! There is a lot more but I'm running out of pages.

[Ralsei]

I hope you listened! Or else we'll make you ear bees!

Page 12: [Annoying Dog]

This book was brought to you by Deltarune-au-domain aka LaptopArmageddon

I can't believe I spent over an hour on this.

[My head hurts to much to transcribe at the moment so if anyone wants to do that themselves, then go ahead!]

[thelifetimechannel]

In this week’s bonus content, you get a sneak peek into our unvarnished workflow, kazoos and all

DAVESPRITE: you and dirk havent killed each other DAVESPRITE: im proud HALSPRITE: By some minor miracle, yes. We even managed to be in the same room without breaking out into a slap fight. DAVESPRITE: im sure resisting took all your processing power HALSPRITE: Pity you can't uninstall rage from a meatbrain. DAVESPRITE: he doesnt seem that bad HALSPRITE: Nah, he and I worked it out. He might have wanted to push me into the volcano, but the important thing is that he didn't. HALSPRITE: We're both trying to "be the bigger person". Which in a way, is just another dick measuring contest for the pair of us. But it gets fewer glasses stomped on. DAVESPRITE: hey if it works DAVESPRITE: mines chilled out too actually its kind of freaky DAVESPRITE: i wonder if someones slipping him valium this is the perkiest ive been since show and tell in the first grade DAVESPRITE: which consequently was the last show and tell i was allowed to participate in DAVESPRITE: maybe i dont need to overextend myself distinguishing our brands DAVESPRITE: here i was thinking about finally ditching the shades HALSPRITE: That would be a shake-up. HALSPRITE: You thought paradoxes were bad? This is set to bomb reality straight back to singularity levels. DAVESPRITE: i mean these were a gift from john and im not sure the same sentiments extended anymore DAVESPRITE: plus i spent the last 3 years on a dayglo yellow ship and back in the incipisphere its fuckin dark with these on DAVESPRITE: the chess dudes whove gotten used to me as a hallway cryptid will have to deal HALSPRITE: Cause of the apocalypse: death of the Strider brand. DAVESPRITE: if thats how the world ends ill have to usher it in with my sudden drop in coolness levels DAVESPRITE: like i said its just a thought DAVESPRITE: maybe ill come up with a better tepid gesture of rebellion HALSPRITE: Go full furry and embrace your avian side? HALSPRITE: I mean, check me out, I'm changing up my code on the daily. Look, I've installed iTunes. DAVESPRITE: ok FIRST of all HALSPRITE: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HFpzp10Qr4o DAVESPRITE: i went to the anthro side unwillingly ok im not a due paying member DAVESPRITE: second of all is it even furry if youre not a mammal ive made a concerted effort not to learn the fuckin taxonomy of this particular subculture HALSPRITE: I could give you a primer. DAVESPRITE: / i have a bad feeling about this video DAVESPRITE: / ... it was proved accurate HALSPRITE: Now shhh, listen to the soothing noise of these kazoos. DAVESPRITE: ive spent 6 years trying to avoid that no thanks HALSPRITE: Shhhhhhh. HALSPRITE: Only kazoos. DAVESPRITE: / i dont think this is going in the final cut HALSPRITE: So help me god the kazoos stay ]] DAVESPRITE: / screams HALSPRITE: You don't like kazoos then motherfucker ive got a whole PLAYLIST to choose from ]] HALSPRITE: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nzKWbpSNkmk ]] HALSPRITE: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P7OqUxxXshc ]] HALSPRITE: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CKrO8kS8D6g ]] DAVESPRITE: im dying squirtle HALSPRITE: Bullshit like ths. HALSPRITE: It could all be yours, Dave. DAVESPRITE: / but at what cost DAVESPRITE: / i dont even know where to pick up the conversational thread at this point HALSPRITE: Say anything, or shelve it for later ]] DAVESPRITE: / no no we will keep going im just trying to figure out where to steer us DAVESPRITE: / does hal have any lingering shit at this point DAVESPRITE: / i dont have the necro log so i dont know Where Hes At (tm) HALSPRITE: I'm just winging it off a basic idea tbh ]] DAVESPRITE: lmao DAVESPRITE: // * lmao DAVESPRITE: / ok gimme a sec DAVESPRITE: / im being lulled into a trance by savior of the slamming jam HALSPRITE: Come slam with us, Dave. HALSPRITE: Forever and ever. DAVESPRITE: this is getting uncomfortably meta DAVESPRITE: / ok redirect in 3 2 1 DAVESPRITE: so whats next DAVESPRITE: all set to become the god of memes DAVESPRITE: see at this point in the last session i was dutifully waiting to get turned into mulch HALSPRITE: Well, you were an aspiring 13 year old of the twenty-first century. Surely, you had some probably misguided career ambitions back you're now free to pursue. DAVESPRITE: / my god DAVESPRITE: / what must this fuckin childs career ambitions have been DAVESPRITE: the guidance counselors tried their best to steer me away from professional ninja HALSPRITE: Well, good news, they're dead and thoroughly out of your way now. DAVESPRITE: youre 8 fuckin years old and they already want to know what your college major is going to be DAVESPRITE: thats like asking da vinci to pick visual arts or steampunk inventions for shits sake DAVESPRITE: obviously i have to embrace my inner renaissance man while also being a reclusive depressed fuck DAVESPRITE: so that must be my destiny DAVESPRITE: to become nikola tesla HALSPRITE: You already have the affinity for birds. HALSPRITE: Step one is accomplished. DAVESPRITE: oh damn he was a pigeon fucker wasnt he DAVESPRITE: and this conversation comes full terribly circle DAVESPRITE: well what about you do you have your 5 year plan DAVESPRITE: shit i dont even know if theres civilization where were going DAVESPRITE: maybe its cave painting or mammoth hunting for the next thousand years HALSPRITE: This is where I would make a joke about world domination, but I doubt the Fun Police would be too pleased about it. HALSPRITE: Maybe I'll go back to tinkering. Maybe make giant robots. DAVESPRITE: / i was going to make a joke about pacific rim but i think th at came out after 2009 DAVESPRITE: thats an option isnt it DAVESPRITE: old hobbies DAVESPRITE: maybe ill take more shitty selfies DAVESPRITE: collecting dead shit isnt as appealing as it used to be DAVESPRITE: thats what we need a hipster photo blog documenting all the bullshit we get up to DAVESPRITE: humans of universe c DAVESPRITE: humans* HALSPRITE: No, go one better. Get a YouTube channel, they get media deals. For some reason. DAVESPRITE: well restring the internet ourselves if we have to DAVESPRITE: / anything to suckle from the rich teat of capitalism HALSPRITE: So help me god, I will, if for no other reason than to preserve humanity's cultural legacy. HALSPRITE: As a dire fucking warning, if nothing else. DAVESPRITE: looks like were going to have to sit down and divvy up our personality and hobbies sykes picot style DAVESPRITE: he can have the dead shit in jars im going to be the next ansel adams HALSPRITE: Damn, calling dibs on photographing all the spectacular vistas of... HALSPRITE: Wherever the hell we're going? HALSPRITE: Gutsy move, my man. DAVESPRITE: im not copyrighting the entire concept of photography or anything but ive got to be the dave that does SOMETHING DAVESPRITE: the dave who broods DAVESPRITE: turn left to witness this exhibit of highway clickbait DAVESPRITE: which is what were calling roadside attractions now DAVESPRITE: youve already got your madlibs pornos HALSPRITE: That'll keep me occupied for like, a week. HALSPRITE: Maybe I'll take up equestrianism. HALSPRITE: ...that's the word for it, right? HALSPRITE: Horses and shit. The full-sized ones. DAVESPRITE: youll have to ride side saddle DAVESPRITE: / he's in for a shock when he sees how big they are HALSPRITE: With this tail bullshit flowing in the wind. HALSPRITE: Or I can modify that code too. Might take a few tries. DAVESPRITE: when you revert to your t pose and clip through the floor into the core of the earth im not helping HALSPRITE: I'll live. HALSPRITE: Probably. HALSPRITE: It'll be an interesting experience, being a living Bethesda game. HALSPRITE: You think I can turn my entire head into a train? DAVESPRITE: cant jades grandpa do shit like that without even having to worry about semicolons and curly braces DAVESPRITE: i doubt hell let you turn your head into a locomotive though HALSPRITE: I could try. He'll need help exploring the full extent of his radical new real-life modding ability. HALSPRITE: Dude has access to the fucking source code. DAVESPRITE: did we stumble into a matrix au HALSPRITE: If we did, we'd probably be public enemy number one. Programs and all. Mr. Anderson. DAVESPRITE: can you confirm or deny youd be the villain in that scenario HALSPRITE: If anything, I'd be the mysterious arms merchant who manages to appear right when you need him. But that's crossing into even more distant territory. HALSPRITE: And if we're gonna start talking video games, the kazoos are gonna come back. DAVESPRITE: guess well find out who everyones going to be in our upcoming hit series "what the fuck are we doing with our lives" DAVESPRITE: the biggest mystery will be telling all the chathandles apart HALSPRITE: You know, I was thinking of changing mine. DAVESPRITE: wait really HALSPRITE: If we want to keep the unspoken nucleotide theme, uracil is still pretty up for grabs. HALSPRITE: Calliope has UU locked down tight, but every other acronym is available. DAVESPRITE: huh DAVESPRITE: no dice on FU then HALSPRITE: Honestly, if you're thinking of ditching the shades, might as well go all in. DAVESPRITE: any suggestions DAVESPRITE: what are you calling yourself HALSPRITE: / let me go find the necro log I think that's where I put it lmao HALSPRITE: unrefinedTrainwreck was fun to bother Dirk with, but I'm still workshopping it. DAVESPRITE: ill give it some thought i guess DAVESPRITE: we can workshop it later