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digital-corruption · 2 years

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The Road Trip Part 3

Everyone's favorite dysfunctional group trip is baaaack! In case you've forgotten, here's the link to Part 1 and the link to Part 2! I fell into a writer's rut while writing it, but I recently found myself inspired to return to my WIP and reworked it. ;)

The story concept was created many moons ago in a Duskwood Discord with @layanasstories, @duskwoodfan01040 and @pennyl4n3. Thankfully I have a copy of that chat saved. 😅

ONTO THE STORY!

“Thomas, what’s wrong?” Hannah questioned.

“No, no nothing’s wrong,” he lied so terribly.

“Liar, you are fidgeting like crazy. It’s distracting!” she complained.

“Ok, don’t get mad,” Thomas prefaced.

“You not coming out with it is going to make me mad. Just say it already,” she groaned.

“I... need you to pull over,” he spoke quietly, but we could still hear him from the next row.

“Did you not use the restroom while you had the chance!?” Hannah raised her voice out of annoyance.

“I was going to,” Thomas whispered.

“But?” Hannah glanced over at him.

“Well, Dan was in the men’s room,” Thomas started to explain.

“And?” Hannah pressured.

I laughed, “Yeah I wouldn’t have wanted to go in there either.”

“Thank you,” Thomas glanced back at me. “I thought I could just hold it, but then we hit that traffic. Look, there’s a rest area ahead.”

Hannah sighed and pulled us off the freeway for the rest area.

“Hey? We're stopping?” Dan suddenly piped up from the back.

“Just for a moment,” Cleo answered.

“Awesome, there’s a toilet!” Dan pointed out.

As soon as the van came to a stop, Dan bolted out the side door and headed for the toilet. Thomas' disappointment was nearly audible.

“I think you better use the bushes,” I teased.

“Yeah, ok,” Thomas conceded and slipped out of the front seat.

Thomas slowly meandered away from the picnic benches and out of sight between the bushes.

“You know what,” Lilly spoke up suddenly jumped off of Jessy's lap. “Shot gun!”

“Be my guest,” Hannah gestured with a smile.

“Oh yes,” Jessy stretched out. “Much better!”

“Could I join you?” Richy asked meekly.

“No way, you’re not sitting on my lap,” Jessy protested.

“Please,” Richy begged. “I can’t stay back here any longer! I'm going to throw up!”

I looked over at Jessy, “We have to let him up here.”

Cleo sighed and moved her cake to the seat behind her, “The cake’s ruined anyway.”

“Thank you Cleo!” Richy beamed and got up to move in our row.

“Nuh-uh, Jessy, you’re sitting with me,” Cleo instructed.

“What?” Jessy frowned.

“Or do you want Thomas on your lap?” Cleo pointed out.

Jessy couldn’t argue that one. Thomas returned just as Jessy moved and while he was noticeably disappointed he had lost his shot gun privilege, he was happy that he had not been forced into the back. Though before Richy could take the seat once occupied by Jessy, Thomas pulled him away and sat down first.

“Hey!” Richy frowned. “Why do I have to be on top?”

The girls all giggled at Richy and Thomas' uncomfortable situation.

“Beggers can’t be choosers,” I mocked.

“Considering this situation could have been avoided if you had checked the wiring,” Thomas shook his head. “unless you want to go sit with Dan.”

“Fine,” Richy groaned as he sat down on Thomas lap. “Can we never speak of this again?”

“Agreed,” Thomas mumbled.

“You agree to stop setting us up with terrible rides?” Cleo asked snarkily.

Richy sighed, “I'll try harder next time, guys! Really!”

Dan finally returned and retook his sleeping position across the back row again without a care to the rest of us. Judging by the smell that followed, it wasn’t over yet, but Hannah was quick to have us going again.

Aaand not twenty minutes down the road, Richy interrupted Dan's renewed symphony of flatulence, “Um, hey guys, can we pull over?”

Hannah groaned, “What now?”

Richy very nervously responded, “I forgot to go...”

Several hours later, after another four stops for the bathroom, we finally reached our destination. I want to say it was a lovely house on the sunny beach, but it was neither lovely nor sunny. As storm clouds were encroaching on the last remnants of the blue sky, we stood in front of the house in bewilderment.

“It's boarded up,” Cleo commented. “Are you sure this is the right address?”

“Yeah, this is it,” Richy assured us. “It's, what did they call it... oh! A character house!”

“You know it’s summer, not Halloween, right?” I joked.

“Oh, I bet it’s haunted,” Jessy grinned with delight.

“As long as it has four walls and a roof it’s good enough for me,” Dan was first to enter the house.

“Do we really want to let him in first?” I frowned.

“Too late now!” Jessy laughed.

We entered the house and spread out to explore our home for the weekend. Quickly we found the biggest problem with our stay. There were only three rooms and each room only had one queen sized bed. No matter how you did the math, there just wasn’t enough beds.

“Please tell me you don't settle your books,” Cleo chastized Richy.

“No, that’s Jessy’s job, why?” Richy looked at her confused.

“Because your math is shit, that’s why,” Hannah shook her head in disbelief. “There’s nine of us.”

“Yeah, I know,” Richy still didn’t get it.

“Three beds,” Lilly butted in.

Richy was quiet for a moment. Jessy decided to back him up, “Oh, but the sofa opens up, doesn’t it?”

“Uh, maybe?” Richy responded nervously.

“You don’t know?” Cleo frowned.

“I'm sure it said sleeps eight,” Richy thought out loud.

“That still doesn’t get you to nine,” I laughed.

“It’s ok, I don’t need a bed,” Jake spoke quietly.

“Yeah, see, problem solved,” Dan assured Richy.

“No, not solved,” Jessy called out from the living room. “This definitely doesn’t open!”

“All right, two have to sleep on the couches,” Dan shrugged. We all looked at Dan for him to be the first to volunteer. “Oh, no, I can’t sleep on the couch. Since the accident, my back's been... sensitive.”

Hannah rolled her eyes, “We’re going to have to draw straws again.”

Jessy pulled out a pen and pad of paper to write names down. Richy offered his cap for the draw. It was decided that Hannah would automatically get a bed since she got stuck driving, which also made her in charge of the draw. It was also decided that Richy was definitely delegated to a couch due to his neglect in choosing a stay. As Jake had already volunteered to have nothing, there was only one name to choose for who was forced on the other couch.

“Cleo,” Hannah announced, holding the piece of paper up.

“Ugh, great,” she sighed. “Well, it had to be someone.”

“Wait, who’s bedding with who though?” Lilly questioned.

“Guys together,” Jake butted in suddenly. “I mean so that way none of the girls are uncomfortable.”

“Hey, MC, let’s room together!” Jessy cheerfully grabbed my hand.

“Um, sure,” I smiled. I glanced back at Jake. He still seemed bothered by this development.

“Hannah?” Lilly looked at her sister.

“Yeah, ok, it'll be like old times,” Hannah nodded in confirmation.

This left Thomas and Dan looking at each other uncomfortably.

“You better not snore,” Thomas glared.

“I make no promises, Tommy boy!” Dan declared.

“This weekend can’t possibly get worse,” Thomas groaned.

And exactly on cue, the skies opened and rain started to pour down.

“Uh, does that rain sound unnaturally loud to you guys?” I questioned while looking around.

“Hey so I don’t want to be the bearer of bad news,” Cleo made a concerned face as she gestured to the open door of one of the bedrooms.

We all leaned over to look through the doorway together. Sure enough, rain was pouring through the air vent onto the bed.

Hannah put her hands on Dan and Thomas' shoulders in fake sympathy, “Sucks for you!”

#duskwood #duskwood fanfiction #duskwood jake #duskwood dan #duskwood richy #duskwood jessy #duskwood thomas #duskwood hannah #duskwood cleo #duskwood lilly #The Road Trip

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melodious-madrigals · 3 years

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the last shred of truth (in the lost myth of true love)

Pairing: wondertrev Rating: T Word Count: 4277 Tags: amnesia!fic, hurt/comfort, happy ending, steve and diana being soft for each other Summary: When Diana wakes up alone in a hospital room with no memory of who she is or how she got there, she panics. But even though she doesn't remember anyone, there's someone who seems fundamentally familiar... AKA: the "i may have amnesia but i trust you implicitly" trope, wondertrev edition

Read it below the cut or on [AO3].

***

Notes: @svgurl410 this fic is Your Fault™ (affectionate) because you posted a thing about the amnesia trope and WHOOPS my hand slipped, so, uh, due to the stars aligning for some very convenient timing, HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!

***

She wakes up in a too-sterile room, white and soundproofed and empty, but for her and her bed and a battery of too-sterile machines, all hooked up to her.

The first thing she takes in is that everything hurts. Ache blooms down her body and her head feels like it’s about to split open.

She tries to lift a hand to knead away the pain, and that’s how she discovers thing number two: she is restrained here, in this strange place, by herself. Strapped to the bed with no recollection of where she is or how she got here.

Or, for that matter, her own name.

Normal hospitals don’t look like this, she thinks. Not that she can remember ever being in one, but she’s got the vague impression that there are usually windows, or people, or doors that look like they don’t require a top-secret clearance to exit through.

She’s in trouble, then; maybe the people tying her down are the reason for her faulty memory. (Retrograde amnesia, supplies a tiny voice in her brain that she doesn’t have time to examine.)

All she knows is that she needs to figure out how to get out. If she can’t remember anything, then she can’t rely on there being anyone who would help her out, which means she needs to rely on herself and only herself.

She struggles against the bindings—they’re tight, well-constructed, but she thinks she feels some give. With a little extra effort, she pulls, and low and behold, yanks the straps straight out of their holdings.

So she’s strong, then. Good to know.

She detaches her legs next, and is partway through unhooking herself from the plethora of machines when two doctors—scientists?—beep themselves into the room.

“Code yellow, she’s awake,” says one of them into a radio.

“Miss, you need to lay back down,” says the other.

“Where am I? What’s going on?”

“You’ve been gravely injured. You need to stay calm.”

The first one is still talking into the radio. “—and the patient is agitated. We need to put her on another macro dose of the sedative,” he adds to his colleague.

“No!” She wants to know what’s going on, not be drugged back into oblivion.

A frenzied swipe of her arm sends the man flying into the padded wall with a crunch that she’d feel bad about if there wasn’t panic rising in her throat.

Three more personnel, all bigger than she is, which is saying something, rush into the room and she leans back into a defensive stance until—

“Wait!” says a new male voice, and a tall, well-dressed man with the remnants of a cut over his eyebrow steps into the room. The orderlies stop their forward motion, but they don’t leave, and she’s scanning them for signs of weakness before she’s even aware she’s doing it.

“Diana, you need to calm down.”

Her attention snaps to the new man, and she eyes him warily. “Who are you? How do you know me? Where am I?”

“You don’t remember me?” He seems hurt when she shakes her head. “You’re at a hospital facility. You took a bad blow to the head, and now you’re in recovery.”

That would make sense, except, wait— “A head wound requires being tied down?”

“It was for your safety and theirs.”

“It seems more the thing you would do to a prisoner.”

“You’re safe here.” The man catches her hand as she tries to sidestep away from his advance. “Diana, you can trust me.”

There’s half a beat as she considers, where he makes eye contact, looks at her imploringly—

—but nothing good ever comes of people telling you to trust them, of this she’s sure, and when his grip tightens almost imperceptibly as he shifts, at the same time that one of the orderlies off to the side flinches forward, she throws him off, breaking his grasp and sending him flying into the hospital bed and related machinery.

The orderlies advance, but she’s properly panicked, now, desperate to get out of here, find something—anything—familiar, and it’s muscle memory that takes over, dodging around them and hurling them to the ground, blows strong enough to make sure they don’t get back up without hurting them too badly.

She’s out in the corridor when an alarm starts blaring, sending loud noises and flashing lights through the hallway that make her already-splitting headache throb as more people rush at her. Most seem to be technicians of some sort, but two are security guards carrying guns.

She doesn’t know how she knows how to fight—can’t even confirm with herself that her name is Diana—but she knows being here is not the answer and sets to work, lashing out at each successive wave of people.

As she’s dispatching with the last of this group, she hears a new set of voices and almost starts to cry—will these people stop at nothing to keep her locked up?

“—has gone crazy!”

“What the hell did you do to her?” At the sound of this newest shouting voice, another man’s, she counterintuitively feels her muscles involuntarily relax a little.

She turns around, dropping the last of her would-be attackers just as the man to whom the voice belongs skids around the corner and comes to a stop in front of her.

He is beautiful: dirty blonde hair and an angular jaw and striking blue eyes that have fixed themselves on her. There is fear in them, and anger, but it is not the same fear or anger of the scientists holding her in this place. She has the sudden, inexplicable thought that it might be for her rather than of her. Indeed, the second their eyes meet, she notices him deflate, relief evident in the lines of his body.

She sees him, and she feels—calm. He is familiar, somehow, even if her mind can’t pull him up.

“Diana,” he says, and the shape of her name in his mouth is a balm, like honey drizzled in tea or a whiff of lavender on the breeze under a hot summer sun.

Time dilates a little, as she drinks in the sight of him, whispers flitting in the corners of her brain that she can’t quite catch.

She takes half a step forward and sees the owner of the first angry voice fling an arm out in front of the man in warning.

“Stay back, Agent Trevor. She’s disoriented and extremely dangerous.”

“You’ve done more than enough already, and I’d thank you to stay out of it.” The man pushes the arm away and steps towards her, slowly, telegraphing the move before it happens. “I’m sorry it took me so long to get here, Angel.”

Like the chiming of midday bells, a dozen discordant memories of him saying Angel like that flicker through her brain before fading back into foggy nothing. She’s moved instinctually, before her brain has time to approve the motion, and then she’s in his arms, holding tight.

Home, her brain supplies, and she feels her cheeks getting damp from silent tears that she does her best to blink away.

“Hey, I’m here,” the man says, pulling back just enough to swipe the moisture away. “I know you must be scared right now, but you’re going to be okay.”

“I don’t know why I’m here or what’s happening,” she admits, whispering into his ear. “I just want to get out of here.”

Before he can reply, another wave of security floods the hallway, and the man reacts accordingly, twisting out of her arms and nudging her behind him.

“Everybody, stand down,” he commands.

The alarm stops, but the personnel don’t move and there are several holding what look like big-game tranquilizer guns.

“They’re technically friendlies,” he says over his shoulder to her, “even though they’re doing a shit job of it right now. Everyone, back off.”

Finally, the woman he appeared with nods, and with a wave of her hand, people start to retreat back down the corridor.

“You could convince her to stay, Agent Trevor,” the woman says, somewhere between imploring and accusatory.

“Maybe,” the man agrees. “But I won’t.”

“Think of her treatment. Be reasonable—”

“I am.” His voice brooks no refusal, and she’s strangely relieved. “After the way you’ve bungled this, she isn’t going to be comfortable here and I’m not making her stay. She wants to leave, so we’re leaving.”

“Her memory—” The woman’s face is pinched, like she’s swallowed half a lemon.

“Will not be improved by you poking at her. Diana?” He turns to her, offering her his hand, and she slips her own into it without question, letting his guide her down the hallway.

“Oh,” he says, over his shoulder, “and tell Bruce to expect my call.”

The parking lot outside is just asphalt and concrete, but it’s a relief to be out of the building and in the sun.

“I’m taking you to one of our houses,” the man says. “You’ve been there before, and you liked it.”

“Anything’s better than that lab.”

Something in his jaw ticks, and he nods before sliding into the driver’s seat.

“Thank you, Agent Trevor,” says Diana, once they’re speeding away from that awful facility. The way he flinches tells her it’s a mistake, somehow.

Her brow furrows. “Is that not your name? I thought I heard them call you that, but I don’t know your name. I feel like I must know you, but I can’t remember. I’m sorry.”

The man next to her takes a deep breath. “You remember the important things,” he says reassuringly.

“I don’t see how that can possibly be true.” She can’t remember a single name or face, or any of the events that precipitated the memory loss.

He’s quiet for a moment, and then he reaches out and takes her hand, ever so gently, and slow enough that she could pull away. (She finds she doesn’t want to.)

“You remember how I make you feel, otherwise you wouldn’t have come with me,” he says finally. “The name stuff is a bit trivial compared to that.”

“Still,” she says, frustrated.

“Steve,” he relents. “My name is Steve Trevor.”

“Steve.” She turns the name over on her tongue and sees his mouth quirk out of the corner of her eye. Then he sighs.

“We’re about three hours away from the safe house. There’s plenty of time for a nap, and I’m sure you’re exhausted.”

“No, the copilot’s in charge of the music,” Diana says automatically, surprising herself. Beside her, Steve glances her way, a bemused look on his face. In her seat, Diana just sags. “I have no idea why I said that. I’m exhausted.”

“You said that because it’s our road trip rule,” Steve explains gently, “but I think today calls for an exception. Get some sleep.”

She nods and lets her eyes flutter shut. Her eyelids have been heavy since she woke up the first time, but it’s only now she feels comfortable doing something about it. She’s asleep before they hit the next mile-marker.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” she says, leaning in for a kiss that Steve is only too happy to provide.

“The hazards of loving someone who’s constantly saving the world,” Steve jokes.

“Alas, it was only a museum trade agreement this time.”

“As long as no artifacts were harmed in the process.”

“No, none at all,” Diana says, grinning. “What smells so delicious?”

“It’s—”

Her phone, on the Do Not Disturb setting that only Steve and the Justice League line can get through, pings angrily.

“Damn, I have to go.” She hands him her phone so he can read the sitrep from Alfred.

“I’d come with, but I have the meeting with Waller tomorrow.”

“I know,” says Diana ruefully. “It’s not worth an eight-hour flight for you. I should be home by tomorrow evening, anyways. It looks pretty standard.”

“Be careful.”

“Aren’t I always?”

“You are absolutely not. That’s why I’m telling you now.”

She laughs and kisses him. “Don’t forget to buy new basil plants again on the way home from the market.”

He huffs good-naturedly and rolls his eyes. “Diana—”

“Diana.”

She jolts upright, still looking at Steve’s face, but in a different time and place. She tries to hold on to the memory, but it filters away like the tide receding on a beach, out of her grasp before she can catch onto its ephemeral quality. When she tries to chase it, pain stabs through her head.

“Diana, are you okay?”

“Fine,” she says, wincing.

He looks unconvinced but doesn’t press. “We’re here.”

It’s a little cottage in a secluded wooded area, and it feels welcoming even from the outside.

“Is this where I live?” she asks, trying to figure out if this is the type of place she would want to live, as he unlocks the door and ushers her in.

“No, you mostly use this house when you come to the US for long business trips,” Steve replies. “You live in Paris, most of the year.”

Her brain conjures up an image of the Eiffel Tower, but it doesn’t feel like hers, just something clinical that she knows about Paris. She finds she also knows French, though once again, she doesn’t remember learning.

“I figured we could stay here a few days to see if your memory comes back on its own. If not, maybe going home will help.” He pauses. “Is that okay with you?”

“It sounds reasonable. I don’t—I don’t really know how to make my memory come back, though.”

“I don’t think there’s an established protocol for that,” Steve says, cracking a smile. “Except to make yourself comfortable and try not to stress too much.”

They stand there, staring at each other for a moment, and she gets the intense, sudden urge to kiss him. To see if that would help, like some sort of fairy tale. She’s halfway towards working up the nerve to close the distance between them when Steve clears his throat.

“You should take the shower first,” he says. “I know you hate the smell of hospital.”

As soon as he says it, she knows it’s true.

“Will you answer my questions after?”

“As best I can, yeah.”

How long she stands under the pounding hot water, she’s not entirely sure, but it feels good. Her muscles relax, and she closes her eyes, letting the water stream over her body.

A phantom touch on her shoulder, gentle but blazing with heat, and eyes to match, and the sudden feel of cold tile against her back—

—her eyes fly open, and she gasps, scrabbling to chase the feeling, one she’s sure is a memory, but the harder she tries to catch it, the more painful the stabbing sensation in her head becomes, and she’s forced to give up, tired and frustrated.

When she finally emerges from the bathroom, hair still damp and curling, it’s to find Steve finishing a call. Even as he’s occupied on the phone, she sees him gravitate towards her and then consciously stop, hovering a few meters away.

“I have to go. We’ll talk later,” he says tersely, and hangs up. Then to her, “That was Bruce.”

He says it like the name should mean something to her, but it doesn’t, and she shrugs helplessly.

Steve sighs. “Someone you work with,” he explains. “You encountered him earlier. Sent him flying clean across the room.”

She feels a stab of guilt—she’d sent a number of people flying across the room in her desperation, and she hopes that if he’s her colleague, he’s okay and that she’ll be able to properly apologize. Until then, “The one in the pretentious suit?” she clarifies.

It startles a laugh out of Steve—fluttering white curtains and mischievous bright blue eyes and that laugh, warm and infectious, snatched away in a flicker of pain—who just says, “That’s the one.”

She nods once, and then looks around, unsure. “Can you tell me why I’m like this? What happened?”

“Let me put the kettle on,” says Steve. “It might take a while.”

He tells her about the extent of her abilities, surprising in the abstract, and yet not so much when she thinks about the thrum that ignited in her veins when she felt like people were closing in on her. He tells her about the mission she left for, last night, that was pressing but apparently standard enough in scope. He tells her that something went wrong, that something powerful and unidentified was used to deal her a blow to the head, that she was unconscious for eight hours, that he got there as fast as he could but not soon enough because transatlantic flights take time, even when you’re the pilot on a requisitioned jet. He tells her that the explanation that he was given was that she’d been convulsing in her sleep, and really had been restrained only to prevent injury to the attending doctors. He tells her that the doctors—who never really had a chance to examine her, but for a single CT scan while she was unconscious, and who have no precedent since her physiology is so different than any other being on Earth—aren’t sure whether her memories will return or not. (One of them said to give it a few days; the other wasn’t optimistic at all, based on the scans.)

Through it all, he barely references himself, but she can see the contours of him woven in: he has intimate knowledge of the things she can do, and the ways in which she uses them. He was with her when she was called away on the mission; indeed, he is clearly with her often. He speaks about her with delicate care and a small smile on his face, and she can’t help but think that given the chance, she would probably talk about him the same way.

“And you?” she prompts finally, when he’s done, when the tea has long since gone cold and dinner is prepped and in the oven.

“Me?” says Steve. “What about me?”

“You’re clearly important to me. I trust you, somehow. But you’ve said almost nothing about yourself, and I’m not quite sure how you fit in.”

“I guess it wasn’t relevant.”

It’s a bullshit answer, and they both know it.

“I love you.” It’s a question phrased as a statement, but Steve has the uncanny ability of hearing it just as she meant it.

“Yes.”

“And you love me.”

“Yes.”

It confirms everything she heard in the subtext of his words, his tone. They’re something, something powerful, and she’s gone and thrown a wrench in it by forgetting everything about him, about them. The absence plagues her, but she can barely imagine the weight he must feel at the loss of their history, of being the only one to carry it. For the first time, she really contemplates the implications of the gaping holes in her mind.

“What happens if I never get my memories back like the doctors said?”

Steve scuffs a hand over his face, the only overt sign so far that he’s feeling the stress of the situation.

“Well, I’ll go on loving you all the same, and you can decide whether you still love me.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“You make it sound so simple.”

“Love isn’t simple, Diana, but loving you is the easiest thing in the world. I’ll love you no matter what happens, and no matter what you decide when it does.”

She regards him for a moment. Now that she’s looking, she thinks she can see lines of tension in his body. He’s good at covering it up, but there’s worry there. Then the understanding hits.

“You’d let me go.”

His eyes fall shut, and she thinks maybe it’s so she can’t try to read them. It doesn’t matter: she can already see that he’s pushing down his pain to put her first, a clear character sketch if she ever saw one.

“Yeah.”

That one word, it makes her heart break for him.

“If it’s all the same to you, I think I’d like to.” He looks up at her, confusion dotting his features. “Go on loving you, that is,” she clarifies, and is rewarded by an absolutely incandescent grin.

“Well, that’s neat.”

The sacredness of the moment is shattered by the insistent dinging of the oven timer, signaling that dinner is ready, and Steve ducks his head, breaking eye contact as he gets up to retrieve the food.

They’re not very talkative for the rest of the evening, but even though the mood is heavy, the silence is not uncomfortable. There is an unspoken agreement that they can deal with the ramifications of the day tomorrow since it’s been such a long and stressful day for them both.

The house is small, one bedroom only, and given the conversation they had earlier, she just assumes that they’ll share the bed, but Steve, apparently, does not seem to share that assessment, because when he leaves the bathroom, he picks up the spare blanket off the foot of the bed and heads for the door.

“You could stay,” she says, so soft she’s not sure for a second if he even heard.

“Are you sure?”

“I feel better when you’re close by,” she admits into the darkness, and a moment later, she feels the bed dip next to her as he slips under the covers.

Her hand finds his under the duvet, and she links their fingers together. She wants so badly to remember him properly, but every time she pushes, there’s a searing pain that drives its way through her skull.

“Goodnight, Diana.”

“Goodnight, Steve.”

It takes surprisingly little to drift away on the current of sleep.

The air is acrid, thick with smoke and gunpowder. She’s been here before; she knows this place. It is dark, but there are fires burning all around and the thunder of bombs, lighting up the horizon.

The earth shakes somewhere close by.

Then there’s Steve, in front of her, telling her he loves her, that he wishes they had more time. She doesn’t understand; as far as she can tell, he’s young and healthy. They have time, don’t they?

Time fuzzes and suddenly she’s staring at the sky, and a plane that she knows to be carrying Steve explodes, high above her in the cold dark air.

“NO!”

This can’t be how it ends. He can’t leave her like this. Think, Diana, she tells herself. The pain in her head is unbearable, but it is nothing compared to the one in her heart. If she can only push through, maybe she won’t have to feel this way anymore. Maybe she can change the ending. Maybe they’ll have more time.

…a cerulean ocean, and a diving plane.

…the soft shimmer of snow in lanternlight.

…a plane exploding high overhead.

…the weight of arms, too long gone and miraculously here, enfolding her.

…dancing in the late-night glow of streetlamps on a bridge over the Seine.

A thousand tiny flashes, all swirling together as her past and present unfold before her, and there at the heart—

“Steve!”

Diana sits up with a gasp, struggling for air as her brain tries to sort through the influx of information that it suddenly has access to once more. It’s all out of order and too much at once, but it’s there.

A hand on her shoulder tells her that Steve’s woken up too, and she slumps back against him, relishing the way he rearranges his arm so that she’ll be more comfortable.

“Did you remember the basil plants this time?” Diana asks, exhausted.

He lets out a little huff. “I was a little busy, what with—” She feels him stiffen under her, the whole of his body silently asking the question that his mouth isn’t. “Diana?” he manages, hesitantly.

She twists a little in his arms so that she can see his face. “I’m so sorry I forgot you.”

Everything in him relaxes. “You didn’t; not really.”

“No,” she corrects, “I think it would be impossible to forget you entirely. You’re written in my soul.”

He chokes a little at that, squeezes her closer, shifting just enough so that he can rest his forehead against hers.

“I’m glad you’re back, Angel.”

Diana kisses him softly, feels the dampness on his cheeks. “Oh, my love. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” he insists.

“No, but I ache for what you must have felt, and yet you handled it all so calmly.”

“Shit, Diana, I was terrified,” Steve admits, somehow managing to pull her even closer, like he’s scared she might physically disappear, too. “It was only a day, but it felt like a century. I mean, we’ve had some pretty good times, and I didn’t want to be the only guardian of those memories.”

“That will never happen.”

“You can’t know that,” he says helplessly.

“I can. We always find our way back to each other, my love. I believe in us.”

“And you say I’m the one that spouts the romantic lines.”

“You love it.”

“I do.” He kisses her, soft and slow, and any quip she might have had flies directly out of her head in favor of this feeling.

“Don’t forget me between now and tomorrow,” Steve whispers later as they drowse next to each other.

“I wouldn’t even dream of it,” Diana promises, tucking her face back into the juncture between his shoulder and neck, before falling asleep herself.

(She doesn’t—her promises, after all, are unbreakable.)

***

#wondertrev #wondertrev fic #wonder woman #diana prince #steve trevor #Diana x Steve #lenci writes

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niles-rainbow-room · 3 years

Text

Freemod Context! (Long!!)

This is Gordon Freemod! He’s my own little AU Gordon, and I love him!

I made him based around the way I play Garry’s Mod

Cause, in Gmod, my player model is Gordon, and I literally cannot change it because whenever I go to change my model he just

He looks at me. He judges me. He’s just refusing to let me change it.

Here’s just. A bunch of things about Freemod that aren’t related.

Btw, this whole thing is me going-

*projects rapidly*

These were all taken from various moments of me info dumping to my discord friends about him, so, that’s why there’s so many that are barely related.

To get some characterization down, Freemod can go from Excited Sweet Voice at Everything to This Man is in God Mode and He is Staring You Down as You Attack Him

They’re also

very scared of Gman

It’s not even funny

ANYWAYS something else about Freemod, he likes starting all out fights between people, but he’s very polite too so like

Someone says hi to him and he gives this big ol smile, next thing you know, he’s spawning headcrabs that could wipe out an army

He also has no idea what to do with bodies like sometimes he just Sweet Voice cocoons them, and other times he just beats them rapidly if it was a combine or something

Another thing! He doesn’t like making eye contact 100% of the time! If he gets too excited as well, he’ll despawn whatever was making him excited until he calms down.

He’s also really fast when it comes to no-clipping.

He’ll shoot up into the air and fling himself from place to place, just absolutely soaring and loving that feeling of flying through the air

He definitely makes Catboy Calhoun jokes but like

He’s also really nervous around Calhoun sometimes like he’s constantly checking in on them after making them fight a ton of headcrabs.

He doesn’t really like using the majority of the guns. He just typically uses the quieter/less frantic weapons like the magnum or the crossbow.

He’s like

Magnetically drawn to mirrors. He likes watching himself do the Sweet Voice and will do it for hours when he’s in the right mood if someone doesn’t stop him

He’s very giggly and smiley when it comes to hearing other characters talk. But he also can be very mean and cutting to the people he doesn’t like. Especially combine.

Freemod really likes Houndeyes.

*Really* likes them.

He spawned in a group of 8 and just watched them for a while, and then he spawns a MP Combine. It proceeds to stun stick every one of them. And they all die in one hit. They don’t even fight back.

What Freemod does next is basically the equivalent of “die a very painful death” and just beats the shit out of them while alive and dead.

They have to erase everything because they can’t stand the sight of the bodies of Houndeyes.

Hi! Sorry to take you out of the immersion of reading my brain goo, or the annoyed scrolling of “Oh my god will she just shut up already” but!

Another thing I decided to do with him, I gave him a little plot. A hint of his own character rather than just being me but an AU Gordon.

So here that is!

I feel like the only true way to contain Freemod and keep him from destroying the world is by keeping him in gm_construct

He likes it there sure, but like

If someone let him into Black Mesa let’s just say that the Resonance Cascade would’ve been way sooner and way more intense.

All he really does is fly around in there. Just. That’s it.

It’s his own personal Bug Bucket.

I don’t even think he realizes he’s trapped to be fair?

Another thing with Freemod, I’m not exactly sure how he’d react to... say, the HLVRAI characters showing up in gm_construct one day, idk Benrey takes the gang on a trip to there out of nowhere and they find Freemod just vibing by himself, flying through the air on a capture point from TF2. I don’t know if he’d:

A: Summon a bunch of things to attack the HLVRAI crew for the fun of it

B: Immediately try to befriend all of them desperately

C: Possess a creature and disregard them

D: All of the above

Cause with all this “He’s trapped/alone” sorta thing, I don’t know if I’m making him into a villain or am I just making him very touch starved and sad?

Cause like, earlier I did say that if he was let out of gm_construct, the resonance cascade would’ve been sooner and more intense

Basically what I was thinking is that he doesn’t really limit how crazy his thoughts experiments can be that often, so like, he spawns a bunch of things all at once to see what would happen.

But he’s not like that all the time, like I said, he’s also very polite, he’s just got a thin coating of God Mode on and he’s very lonely.

I was trying to figure out the thing with Freemod’s voice actually. I’m trying to think what they’d be like on the Gordon Scale.™️

I’d say he’s able to speak, but he doesn’t do it often. Because typically he’s only around NPCs and they can’t respond to him the way he wants, so why actually talk to them?

But he definitely talks to enemies as sort of a “I am the last thing you’ll ever hear” kind of thing.

But if he were to meet a different Gordon or someone with sentience he can talk to, he’d speak. Totally.

He talks to some of the alien/animal NPCs, cause like!!! Come on!!! That Houndeye over there needs to know that he’s a good boy!!!

So, maybe when Freemod is upset or something, he spawns the biggest thing he can possibly think of and posses it, and goes on an absolute rampage until he’s better

So I can just imagine.

Freemod, not feeling great and tense:

Feetman: Mod, hey. Don’t do it...

Freemod: *spawns and possesses a Gene Worm, and roars*

Feetman: FREEMOD NO GET OUT OF THE GIANT MONSTER-

Or like. He just possesses something and just. Flies away.

He just has moments where he’s too out of his head and he needs to just escape.

Something he’s been doing recently is possessing a Stukabat and flying up on top of a roof of a really high building and just. Viewing everything.

This man is SAD please hug him :((

Ooh, another thing,

He doesn’t like that dark room at all. In gm_construct? He will not go in there for more than a minute. That place scares him so much. Not even the fact that it’s dark, he just hates that he can’t see anything and while he knows he’s alone in the world he’s in, and he controls what can exist there or not, but, he just refuses to go there, even with a flashlight.

Aaaaaand that’s all the content I’ve made for them so far! Now that y’all know the context for him, I’ll post the comic of him meeting the HLVRAI characters, as well as some other drawings!

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ardett · 3 years

Text

all dead hearts to you

Description: George and Dream have never met in person. It isn’t a problem until Dream calls George to tell him he’s going to kill himself.

check this out on Ao3 if you wanna be cool!

Author’s Note: Not me crashing recklessly into another fandom (also this is assuming sapnap went home to Texas after living with dream idk let me live)

title from Dead Hearts by Stars

also I'm new here, anyone wanna give me a welcome to the boys?

warnings: suicide warning (obviously) but no actual suicide, general anxiety and panic attacks

It’s 3am when George gets Dream’s call.

Late, but only really for him. It’s still before midnight in Florida, right around 10pm. He’d like to say that he’s so practiced with converting time zones that he doesn’t even have to think about it but he still has to count backwards on his fingers, thinking on the jump between late late nights and early mornings.

He’s still awake but the leds in his room have been turned to red, set to the dimmest mode. He was streaming with Quackity up until about half an hour ago and his room has settled back into quiet again.

He feels the thrum of anxiety as he hears the ringtone. Dream usually only calls him when George is about to sleep through something important or if he’s on the road. George wonders if he forgot something today or maybe he let something slip on his call with Quackity.

Now that it’s on his mind, he realizes that he hasn’t heard from Dream all day. Or yesterday?

They’ve both been busy, though George has been busy with the usual things and Dream said something about needing to put his affairs in order or whatever that meant. They usually text at least but even that has been quieter.

George grabs his phone off his desk and picks up the call.

“Dream. What’s up?” he asks. George runs a quick hand through his hair, checking his screen quickly. It’s a real phone call, not even a discord call. “Hey, I’m putting you on speaker. I’m gonna put on my pajamas.”

He’s about to set the phone on his dresser when Dream says, “Oh, I probably shouldn’t be on speaker.”

There’s something off in his tone. Something flat. It sets George’s nerves on edge.

“Yeah? Okay.” George tucks the phone back by his ear, slumping back on his bed. “Did you have something you had to tell me?”

“Yeah. George, I’m going to kill myself.”

Everything in George stills.

And then starts to spin.

“What?”

“I’m going to—”

“You’re not serious.” George jerks upright, ignoring the lightheaded feeling sinking its fingers into his skull. “Dream, this isn’t funny.”

“I don’t think it is. It’s just going to happen.”

There’s not even a tremor in Dream’s voice. George can’t feel anything past the bone deep shock in his system.

All he can think of is Dream, wrists bloody and split open. Dream, fingertips dusted white with the residue of unnamed pills. Dream, rope burns fracturing the long line of his neck.

Dream, dead.

How is he even going to do it? Is he actually going to do it? George wants to ask but then he realizes he doesn’t want to know.

He imagines the first time he sees Dream in person is when he attends his funeral.

He imagines all the words he’s held in for so long, waiting and waiting for the moment he could say them to Dream face to face, finally being said to dead air.

But George can’t say that so all he manages is an obstinate, “No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Stop disagreeing with me.”

“George,” Dream laughs. Laughs.

George feels dizzy with the disbelief swirling inside him. Surely this can’t be happening. What reason would Dream have to make this up though? Dream would never joke about something like this. Why is he laughing?

How can Dream be so casual when George’s world is shattering?

He doesn’t know what a future without Dream looks like.

They’ve always lived miles apart but Dream has never felt so far away. George has never felt like this. Like he couldn’t reach him.

“Dream.” Dream’s laugh cuts off as soon as he hears the plea in George’s voice. “Is something wrong? Are you— I can come there. I can be with you tomorrow. Sapnap can stay with you again. You don’t have to do this—”

“I know. But I want to. So I’m going to.” Any trace of mirth is gone. Dream sounds the same way he did when he decided he was going to break a world record or make YouTube work for him.

Determined. Steadfast. His voice has the steely confidence of knowing he won’t fail.

Usually it’s inspiring but now the familiarity of it just makes George sick. He’s never known Dream to be someone content with failure.

George's phone digs into his palm as his grip spasms. He tastes blood.

And he doesn’t even know why yet.

“What happened? Whatever it is, we can fix it.”

Dream sighs. “Nothing’s wrong, George.”

“There has to be something wrong. You can tell me,” George insists. Then he changes tactics and lies through his teeth. “I swear I won’t tell anyone else. We can work this out together, just the two of us. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

“I already told you nothing’s wrong,” Dream repeats.

“Then why would you… do that?” George trips over the word, rephrases it instead.

And then Dream rips that tiny defense to shreds.

“You can say it you know,” Dream says. “I’m going to kill myself. You should probably get used to it actually. People are going to ask you about it. I’m sorry about that,” he adds as an afterthought.

The harsh, blunt words sting against George’s skin.

“Don’t apologize,” he strangles out. “Don’t apologize for that out of everything. Just don’t do it.”

“George,” Dream breathes, exasperated.

“I just don’t understand,” George begs. For the first time, his voice wavers.

Dream, cold gun in his cold hands. Dream, long limbs hanging over the railing of a bridge as he stares down. Dream, slumped over his table with a bottle of vodka nestled near his feet.

Dream, dead.

Dead.

“Don’t cry, okay?” Dream’s voice softens. George forgot how gentle Dream could be with him when he wanted.

“I didn’t want to make you cry. Look, it’s just…” Dream trails off. Eventually, he continues even quieter. “This is it, you know? This is the top, this is the peak. It can’t go on like this forever, crazy numbers on videos and trending on twitter and all that shit. I’d rather go out like this than wait to hit the bottom. Doesn’t that make sense?” Dream persuades.

“No,” George insists, all the air leaving his lungs at once.

“Come on, George. Can you even picture yourself growing old? What happens when we’re 30, 40, and all of this is gone. Do you want that?”

The sick part of it all is that George has imagined the future. He imagines it lovingly, not viciously. Not like this.

He imagined a future with Sapnap and Bad and Karl and Quackity but most of all with Dream. He wants so badly to be with him. Sapnap talked about living together, how great parts of it had been, how he would have stayed if he hadn’t had to return home for family, and George so selfishly wants that for himself.

And he’s always known that’s not what Dream pictured. Dream doesn’t want what he wants. Dream doesn’t want to grow old with someone, much less George.

Can you even picture yourself growing old?

It hurts because George can and he always wanted it to be with Dream.

“What are you even saying? Do you want me to kill myself too?” George bites. He scrubs viciously at his eyes and stabs at the power button of his computer, teeth piercing into his lip as he waits for it to turn on.

“No, no, of course not. I would never— Come on, that’s obviously not what I’m saying.”

George fumbles with his keyboard, pulling up his discord messages with Sapnap.

He just needs someone else to help him, someone else to know. Someone who can do what he can’t. Someone who isn’t as fucking helpless as him, who doesn’t live an ocean away and who has never seen Dream in person and has never touched Dream, not once, has never known what the sun feels like in Florida.

Of course he was lying when he said this was going to stay between the two of them.

This isn’t the kind of thing he can do alone.

George: Sapnap dream says hes going

George: to kill himself

George: you have to get someone to him

George: call 999

George: 911

Sapnap: what

George: please now sap Im on the phone with him

Sapnap: are you joking

George: no

George: do it

George: please fast now

“Are you typing?” Dream questions, a note of warning in his tone.

George jerks. “No, I—”

He’s cut off by a beeping from his phone.

His heart stops.

“What’s that sound?” Dream asks.

Sapnap is calling him.

George can picture him, knee jumping as he clutches his phone, hoping against hope that George is joking. He can practically hear the adrenaline trembling in Sapnap’s voice, can see the way Sapnap stands and paces.

He can’t answer though. He can’t leave Dream.

George declines the call, hand shaking.

“Who was that?” The question is flat.

“No one,” George says too quickly.

“No one?” Dream repeats. Only a second or two passes before George hears the same beep through his phone speaker, this time coming from Dream’s end. “Wow look who’s calling me. Sapnap. Wonder if he changed his name to No One,” Dream says without emotion.

Sapnap: fck are you serious

George bites his tongue, wincing.

“Dream—”

George: y

George can’t manage to type anything more before Dream snarls, “You’re such a fucking snitch, you know that? It’s fine though, I thought this might happen. I was gonna call him after you, for the record.” It almost sounds like Dream is smiling. George’s heart twists. Why is he smiling? “I know you have to try as a friend to save me, or whatever you want to call it, but you really don’t have to. I want to do this. I’m going to.

“It’s not like you could really stop me anyway,” Dream continues. “You don’t even know where I live. You barely know what I look like. What, are you going to ask the police to search the entire state of Florida?”

“Sapnap knows,” George whispers.

He tries to shake off the savagery seeping into Dream’s voice. He tells himself Dream is defensive, Dream is nervous, Dream is scared. Dream isn’t thinking about what he’s really saying.

Though things have never mattered before, the fact George has never been to Florida, that George has never seen Dream in person. But now Dream is weaponizing them against him, forcing George to acknowledge that for everything their relationship is, it can never replace an in person friendship. And Dream has always been a better fighter than George.

“No, he doesn’t. Me and Sap rented a house, remember? We never went to my house. I never sent him my actual address, I checked.” And Dream sounds so smug. Like he won.

George’s gaze darts back to his computer.

But he already knows Dream isn’t a liar.

Sapnap: I dont know his address

Sapnap: fuck

Sapnap: Im calling bad

Sapnap: dont let him hang up

“People are so dumb about it, you know? They tell all their friends and then they get caught before actually doing it,” Dream goes on, not paying attention to George’s disconsolate silence.

“But you’re telling me,” George mutters. Hopelessness strings through him.

Sapnap isn’t writing anything else. George can only hope Bad picked up.

“Yeah but you’re literally in another country. What are you going to do about it?”

George can’t manage any words. He doesn’t even know if he remembers how to breathe.

Dream is right, he always seems to be right. George just wishes it wasn’t about this. Anything but this. He has to believe that Sapnap and Bad will figure something out. He has to trust them.

“Just think about how many people are found before they actually do it,” Dream goes on in George’s quiet. “Because they can’t commit. Most people are cowards. It’s dumb honestly. Just do it or don’t.”

“Don’t then,” George whispers.

His eyes burn with unshed tears. His fingers spasm on his bedsheets.

He doesn’t know what Dream wants. Does he want George to beg? To get on his knees and plead with him to save his own life? Because he would in a heartbeat but he doubts it would make a difference.

Dream sighs. “I feel like you’re not listening to me, George.”

“No, I am.” George’s voice rises with his wrath. Suddenly all his terror and frustration comes to a bursting point. “I’m listening. I’m listening to you talk about killing yourself. I just think you’re wrong. I think it would be a lot fucking braver to stay alive even if your views go down, even if you’re not fucking famous, Dream. What the fuck? You’re a fucking coward for trying to leave!” George’s breaths heave through the staticy phone microphone. His fear and anger wind him.

There’s a moment of emptiness.

Then, lip curling, Dream says, “Trying to leave you?”

George chokes.

“What?”

“Don’t try and pull this card, George. That’s what you’re trying to say, isn’t it? I’m a coward for leaving everyone behind? For leaving you?”

Dream’s voice drowns out George’s. George flinches, though Dream can’t see it.

“Don’t be so fucking selfish. I hate that, you know that?” Dream growls. “Everyone thinks they’re enough to save someone all by themselves. Wow, the sheer force of your love just fucking yanked me back from the edge of a cliff, give me a fucking break,” Dream scoffs. George’s ribs feel tight. “You can’t just reverse psychology or guilt me out of this.”

“Jesus, Dream, is it so hard to believe that maybe I care about you and I don’t want you to fucking die?” George grits out.

The room swims before him. He can’t remember how to uncurl his fingers.

“Well it’s not up to you, is it?” Dream practically smirks.

And that’s it, isn’t it? The winning phrase. Because Dream’s right.

It’s not up to George.

George can only listen helplessly as Dream considers his own grave. He’s a constant witness to the storm that is Dream. He was always grateful to be dragged along in Dream’s hurricane winds and now he dreads the day they calm.

“You’re being cruel,” George murmurs. His aggression leaves him as soon as it came.

“I’m being honest,” Dream contends.

George sinks his head into his hands. “Why did you even call me then? To— to gloat?”

Dream’s voice goes low and quiet, vulnerable. George’s insides twist and melt and contort. “No, no, I just… I don’t know. I just wanted to talk to you one more time.”

“Don’t say that,” George hisses. The words are half muffled into his palms.

“Don’t say what?” Dream asks defensively.

“Don’t say one more time. You can’t— you can’t—'' It all hits George at once. He’s going to lose him.

He’s going to lose Dream.

Before he knows it, he’s sobbing into the phone, loud ugly heaving sobs. “Don’t do it, Dream. I’m serious. Please— Just wait for one of us to get there. We can be with you. We can help.”

Dream’s voice hardens again. “You mean you can stop me.”

“Dream—” George starts to beg, trying to figure out how to lie without Dream catching him.

But Dream beats him to it.

“I’m gonna hang up now—”

Panic rips through George. The shock of it physically hurts in his veins, in his heart.

“No!” he almost screams. “Dream, Dream, don’t hang up—”

“Oh my god, relax. I’m calling Sapnap. I’m not doing anything yet.” He can almost hear Dream rolling his eyes. It’s not comforting.

George sniffles. He knows it sounds pathetic. He’s not one for pity but if it gets Dream to keep talking with him, he’s willing to stoop to any low. He just doesn’t know if he can believe Dream.

“Can’t you just… stay on the phone with me?”

“What, forever? Is that your plan? Just keep me on the line until someone inevitably finds me somehow?” Dream mocks.

Yes.

“No,” George says instead because he thinks it’s what Dream wants to hear.

Dream switches tactics. George recognizes the persuasion in his tone.

“Don’t you want me to call Sapnap? Shouldn’t he also get the chance to talk with me?” Dream questions.

Guilts rests against George’s ribs.

Of course he wants Sapnap to get the chance to talk to Dream. What if this is their last chance to talk? But George is too selfish to think about it much.

“That’s not what you’re asking me. Don’t try and pull that shit. You’re asking me to hang up. You’re asking for me to say goodbye and I’m…” George’s voice drops, almost inaudible. “I’m not ready.”

“George…” Dream’s voice trails off. His next words are nearly silent, something bitter and mournful about them. “You know I love you, right?”

“I know,” George mumbles.

“Are you gonna say it back to me?” Dream demands. George doesn’t know what holds him back now but something does.

“You know I do, Dream, why—”

The dial tone rings in George’s ears.

Dream hung up.

Not even 30 seconds pass, not nearly enough for the abrupt end of their call to sink in, when George’s phone is ringing again. He fumbles with his screen but manages to pick up.

“George?”

George’s heart sinks. It’s not the voice he wants to hear. That he needs to hear.

“Bad?”

“Yeah,” Bad affirms. “Are you okay?”

“Am I okay? Am I—” George scoffs and it feels like it rips his throat. He feels like he wants to scream. Like he wants to punch a wall. Like he would give anything to be somewhere warmer right now. “No, I’m obviously not okay, Bad. He’s going to— to—”

“I know. Sapnap told me.”

Bad’s voice is collected, even. It just makes George more frustrated. How can everyone be so fucking calm about this?

“George, just try to take some deep breaths, okay?” George ignores the suggestion. “Sapnap is on the phone with Dream. He just hung up on me to talk to him. I’m driving there right now, okay?”

George pauses. Something cold washes over him. He doesn’t know yet if it’s relief.

“You’re— you’re driving to Dream?”

“Yes,” Bad affirms. “We just have to keep him talking to someone for the next hour—”

“Hour? Are you serious? That’s too long!” George knows he’s screaming now. He doesn’t care.

“George—”

“We have to call an ambulance, the police. There has to be someone we can call.”

George squeezes his eyes shut, trying to think of other ways they could possibly get there in time. He comes up blank. He can’t accept it. He can’t.

Dream, alone. Dream, bereft. Dream, dead.

“I know but I can’t— I was trying to tell you.” Bad’s words are muffled. It sounds like he’s biting the inside of his cheek. He confesses, “I don’t know his exact address. Sapnap is going to try and get it while he talks to him. I’m driving to Orlando and hopefully Sap knows it by the time I get there but we’re just—”

“No, no, no—”

George thinks of Bad arriving just in time to find Dream’s body still warm. He’s going to be sick. His chest hurts. His lungs burn.

“Try and take some deep breaths—” Bad placates as George speaks over him.

“I’m never going to talk to him again. He’s going to kill himself.” George is spiraling. He can’t stop himself.

“George, I’m going to get there in time.” But Bad doesn’t sound sure of himself. George zeros in on the weakness.

“You don’t know that,” George hisses.

“This is hard for all of us, George!” George startles at Bad’s yell. He’s heard Bad raise his voice before but never at him, never seriously. “I’m sorry,” Bad apologizes, words quieting again. George hears a sniffle through the phone.

Bad’s crying.

God, George is a terrible person. He didn’t even think to check in on Bad. Bad’s the one who might find Dream halfway there or already committed. He’s the only one who’s even close to being able to do something and maybe that’s the worst position to be in.

To be so close and lose a friend anyway.

“You don’t have to apologize. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t… I know it’s hard for all of us. I know you’re doing everything you can. You’re doing more than me.” George tries to laugh but it gets stuck in his throat. It’s not funny anyway.

“It’s going to be okay,” but it doesn’t even sound like Bad believes himself.

“I don’t think I can talk about this anymore,” George murmurs. He feels exhausted. There’s so much adrenaline coursing through him that it hurts. “Can we just talk about something else just… just for a little?” he begs. Like anything could distract him from this.

“Yeah George.” George can hear the sympathy in Bad’s voice. He’s too far gone for the pity to bother him. “Let me— Let me tell you about what I did this weekend on the SMP.”

George sucks in a sharp inhale. “Not— not the SMP. Can you talk about something else?”

“Of course,” Bad agrees easily. “So last Friday I went to visit my family…”

George lets Bad talk in the background. Every once in a while, one of them will sniffle or sob or take a breath that’s too shaky to be normal. Neither of them mentions it.

George listens to people walk past his window, their voices carrying up into the stars.

The noises of the highway drone on through his phone.

Bad drives.

George thinks about what it would be like to go on without Dream.

He’ll never be the same, he already knows. It will haunt him for years. For the rest of his life. The thought of being so close to someone and then losing them.

Death is natural. He knows that. But it’s the intentionality of it that aches the most. The idea that Dream would leave behind everything for something so painful and unknown.

And George just knows… part of him will die with Dream and never come back.

George doesn’t know who he’ll be with that part missing.

part 1/3, though the next update won’t really be an update but it will be soon

#dreamnotfound #dnf #just gotta get those tags out of the way #dream smp #fanfiction #dream smp fanfiction #dnf fanfic #tw suicide #mcyt #mcyt fanfiction #thewar #dream team #pls just go to Ao3 I'm begging you

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moth-based-cryptology · 3 years

Note

ngl sending these bastard thots off anon is much scarier

race was two hours late to stream once because al fell asleep on him and race refused to wake him up. Oh wait!! what if he just started the stream with albert just snoozing on his shoulder??? oh god

they did a q&a and the question “who tops?” came up and race started to answer it but albert tackled him

race got al to do some butterfly knife tricks on camera for a cooking video and so al does it and at the end stabs it into a cutting board and emphatically states “I fucking hate butterfly knives”

race was doing a video on him dying his hair so he and al went to the store and while they were an old lady saw als tattoos and said “those are permanent you know” and al said no

once they were playing among us and race and al were accountabili-buddies despite the fact that race was the imposter and so when there were four people left race tried to open a door but misclicked and killed al and reported out of reflex and his acting was so genuine the other two players didnt even think for a second that it could be race and at the end screen everyone was losing their goddamn minds because race wound up making the ghosts second guess who it was and like two rounds ago race vented in front of three people but then somehow managed to pull that off???

race got dared to shot gun redbull and race being the impulsive rodent that he is did it and in the background you can see al get more and more concerned and confused

for a video they went to some supposedly haunted building and it was practically shane and ryan from bfu. race tried to be as respectful as possible and al told a ghost eat his ass

race tried to prank al by asking him to open a jar that he superglued closed and al tried for a solid thirty minutes. race was cracking up until al got it open

race took a video of al kickboxing and it was like a simp grenade went off on social media and suddenly al is trending again

i honestly really love it off anon cause i feel like i’m having a convo with you and it’s very chill. i promise i’ll continue to love your stuff on or off of anon cause it’s g r e a t

- they’ve both been late to streams because they other fell asleep on them at least twice. race will join 2 hours late and be like “sorry i was helping al with something” and not give any context. al will join like “sup fuckers race fell asleep on me. i’m not ruining that and i don’t have a death wish, but what’s poppin” cause he’s just like that

- i actually think it would be the opposite! race would read the question and albert would just get this annoying smug look on his face and race would smack a hand over al’s mouth and shout “MOVING ON” while albert laughs at him. depends on the context though, in a video it would probably be albert tackling race but on stream albert’s usually much more comfortable and open ngl.

- i have absolutely nothing to add to this headcanon it’s perfect. WAIT ok and race edits albert’s 15 minute rant and speeds it up really fast and it just says across the screen in massive text ‘this nerd talked for 15 full minutes about why he hates butterfly knives. full rant at the end of the video” and the full rant ACTUALLY is at the end of the video and everyone watches it

- albert has two reactions to this statement:

*calmly* “really? i had no clue. thought they would wash off” *shrugs*

*dramatic as fuck* “what are you- OMG WHAT ARE THESE? ARE THESE STICKERS? WHAT THE HELL?”

- he chose option 2 that day. race had to sit down in the aisle for like,,,, 5 minutes cause he couldn’t breathe he was laughing so hard. albert just holds the camera and asks “are you done?” every once in awhile until race gets up

- the only reason it was convincing at all is cause they know race wouldn’t kill albert intentionally, so they just automatically believe him cause al was dead. albert was loosing his fucking mind cause nobody caught his lie and race ended up winning. the first thing albert said after his mic was unmuted in discord was “you fucker” and then race yelped cause albert threw one of the fidget things on his desk at race. race is usually a garbage liar in among us unless he’s imposter with albert but when he accidentally kills albert he manages to pull it off cause they’re all like ‘there’s no way he would kill al though’

- i like to think race does it and as he gets closer to the end the camera starts slowly zooming in on albert’s ‘confused-and-slightly-disgusted’ face

- THEY SO WOULD. race is definitely pretty paranoid about ghosts and totally believes in them, and albert thinks it’s total bullshit and does crazy shit to scare race. basically the entire premise of buzzfeed unsolved (honestly red and racer as buzzfeed unsolved quotes is another idea)

- i like to imagine race has tried this prank more than once. first he used regular ass glue, then hot glue and al is stronk so he just broke right through it and didn’t notice and race pouted about it. then race does super glue and it takes like,,, 20 minutes? then albert just tweets ‘people of the internet: how do you get a jar open?’ and then he just hits it on the edge of the counter a couple times and it pops right open and race is still mad about it.

- basically race will randomly post albert doing another random athletic thing and a simp grenade will immediately detonate. so far the craziest reactions are to kickboxing and that one time albert chucked a round off back handspring back tuck on the beach and landed it. twitter forgets how to function for at least a week both times and albert is like “have i not mentioned this shit before?? c’mon guys catch up”

so many thoughts 👏👏👏 they’re all so good i love this entire thing

#newsies #livesies #racetrack higgins #albert dasilva #never not read the tags #ralbert #chaotic red and radioactive racer #youtuber ralbert #youtuber!au #spam ralbert gang #MY BOYS #they’re so good #i have so many ideas for entire new posts now #they’ll happen at some point #DONT LET ME FORGET

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katewaliss · 3 years

Text

! write with me or fight with me!

you either die by my sword or the most painful head canons imaginable! *merida vc* choose yer fate

just kidding!

hey there gaymers, i am crissy! i am 22, live in pst, go by she/her pronouns and honestly would very much like a distraction from life -- preferably in the form of 1x1 and rp in general. i am currently doing online school plus trying/failing at adulting, being a crazy pink haired college student living on microwave dimsum with my crazy fluffy demon cat, but that still leaves me with a lot of time and what better way to spend that time then crying and dying, am i right, boys?

so without further ado ( adieu? idk gusundheit ) here are a list of discomboblulated plot things that have been floating around in my head that i might be fun to do ( plot fragments, ideas, ocs, fcs i like, settings, genres etc )! i’d prefer a message if u liked any of these in the inbox or dm form, my tumblr ims are open and my discord user is mr. worldwide#2918 ( pitbull supremacy ) but if ur shy i will message u and be annoying!

lastly: i prefer hcing in the dms to replies, however i will do replies/ask memes slowly, i don’t really like making blogs and prefer google docs/discord and i ask ( gently and respectfully ) that minors do not interact.

thank u and happy hunger games! xx

COLLEGE TOTALLY SPIES -- i was really obsessed with this picture right here and i thought that the picture would be a good premise for a little four person group based on totally spies. i was thinking that these three college students/young adults some friends maybe not some enemies or just on completely different ends of the social agenda get bonded together when they accidentally end up roped in a top secret spy organization that is fronted by a record store. the details and flesh of the plot i think would be cute to figure out all together maybe in a google doc or a big discord so we can make the rp to perfect world building specifications. right now i have two spots open!

my friend lexi over at comradc has taken the cool goth asian girl and is using lyrica okano

i am playing the freckly backwards hat lesbian in the red polo named aj mccallis and i think im using diana silvers ( not sure might switch to tati rodriguez )

we also have the cute blond girl w the dyed hair who is giving me kind of like sydney sweeney energies, blonde girl maybe like lalisa manoban/jinsoul,

and we have the rad black girl with the bandids who i would only accept black fcs for for such as diamond white, ryan destiny, salem mitchell,

i’d prefer if this stayed kind of sapphic and female and enby friendly. we can def make make npcs and characters but i’d prefer if the characters looked like they do in the picture ( minus the white girls who can be racebent as long as there are vibes ) mostly bc i want the poc people to stay the correct poc! but yeah! if u like this message me specifically!!!!! seperately and hit me w a role ud like maybe an fc an idea anything < 3 im working on a google doc and discord sever

- i really want to play a himbo skater boy evan mock like its my dream i know nothing abt him other than he probably goes by something like mouth or juice or tris or dex or dante but !!!! he has buzzed hair he buzzes designs into, does stick n pokes, hates cops, will kiss anyone, likes to mosh at house shows, smokes a lot and sounds like crush from finding nemo, probably ur parents worst nightmare if im honest rodrick heffley energy -- adopt him for any plot

- i also really am obsessed with simay barlas who is my mascot rn -- i want to play her in some sort of dark academia setting with like gossip girl blair waldorf energies lu from elite and have her be really mean and cold and pretentious and play the cello and probably have secrets and be uptight idk the name mallory is resonating hard w me ( we could even do a gossip girl the secret history type group if people liked that )

-ok i also really really want to play streak aka silas montgomery who is like very like sidekick best friend to the golden boy main character, does a kick ass goat impression, class clown, relentlessly hits on like the most difficult person in school, does crazy things for laughs and attention, just wants to make people happy, only wears hawaiian shirts, finger guns, is going nowhere in life, his dad is probably the dean at whatever prestigious school also he is very very depressed and drinks often! love u! a I Feel Like Im The Worst So I Always Act Like Im The Best electra heart baby PINTEREST

also yes his hair is pink reg verse he did it on a dare but hp verse he did a potion wrong and it never came out

SOMEONE DO A LADY HANNIBAL WILL GRAHAM RP KILLING EVE RP W ME! i made this will graham adjacent gal for a genderbent hannigram rp her name is bisexual disaster enida johnson and sometimes goes by needy or will bc her middle name is willamena! has basically all the will things wears flannels is a mess but has a bunch of cats instead of dogs in her woods log cabin and im using crystal reed bc it fits perfect in my head idk if u like her hmu hit me w a lady hannibal PINTEREST

other stuff

ok i really want to do a princess and knight plot but with knight zendaya and princess anya taylor joy ???? ALKHALKSHALK LITERALLY HELLO literally modern or like dnd style i do not care but know i love dnd! we could make it like them goin on some skyrim quests like hi

speaking of dnd and skyrim if anyone wants to do like anything based in dnd stuff or skyrim stuff i am DOWN

jennifers body plot!!!! maybe set in college!!!!! sounds spicy i will do a f/f or m/m version leggo leggo

UNTIL DAWN UNTIL DAWN!!!! i wanted to do a little like 6 person or mumu until dawn thing where everyone either makes new characters or characters based on the existing six! i made a girl adjacent josh character named riley PINTEREST who i love very much ( fc might change im thinking maybe medallion rahimi ) pls hmu if ur down

i looooooove breakfast at tiffanys!!!! like i really love breakfast at tiffanys we love a call girl broody author ship and i want to play a mishti rahman holly golightly type character so so bad

pygmalion plot!!! basically like an author and the main character of their book comes to life and the book character is probably from a different period of time or realm so doesnt know how to do modern 2020 stuff like microwaves and the tv! and then maybe they get sucked into the characters book world thats written by the author and have to navigate that! enchanted! w the kdrama! energy!

GOSSIP GIRL PLOT ENERGIES

any sort of the secret history murder society until dawn ahs horror type setting i am on a kick rn

i still really want a deaf sailor and siren plot bc that is so spicy or even like anything involving sirens like maybe one thats like vegetarian and doesnt like to eat humans so it ariel rescues one and keeps it safe!! or like only men are susceptible to the sirens song but aha! i am a woman! Romance!

anything in the realm of percy jackson i love mythology lets go i kind of want a echo narcisuss plot and i want it to hurt me so bad

i will do harry potter stuff but only if its completely removed from the current canon like years in the future no existing families also maybe beauxbatons salem and drumstrang plots bc thats what matters

iiiiiiiii really like anime so i will do anything kakegurui, soul eater, ohshc

i kind of like grew up on the hunger games so i will gladly take any hunger games plots like young effie and haymitch is spicy or like a career tribute and one of the weaker poorer distracts enemies to lovers leggo

i have a kind of oc that had their parents die in a factory gas leak that was the governments fault and it turned them into a vigilante assasin that is slowly picking off bootlicker government people one by one pretending to be one of them until bam! gets attached to the rich asshole son or daughter of the head hauncho or one of the higher ups ... drama

rich little celebrity fussy wussy being held captive by the mafia and the tired stoic mafia guard but they fall in love

i kind of like any plot that involves one person that is really loud or angry or dramatic or whiny and the other one is kind of sweet and gentle or does not talk much idk make brain happy

speaking of!

no nonsense law student studying abroad in a european country and an artist there falls in love w them and is all romantic and gush and is like ur my muse!!! and they are like Go awAy and they explore the city together and themelseves its nice!

i want to be an avan jogia super villain idk why i need to but i do

not to be a disney adult bc i am not but anastasia princesses dont kiss kitchen boys

rival cheer captians? best friends brother? pop princess celebrity singer and like antiestablishment really angry rockstar in a publicity relationship? broody detective and sunshiney diner person that works at the diner they eat at everyday?

idk i will think of more hmu these can all be made f/f or m/m if they arent

#1x1 #1x1 rp #1x1 roleplay #plots #this is so long and messy and weird idk it repeats a lot hit me up im emabrrassed already

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goldenkamuyhunting · 3 years

Note

Thank you for your analysis of Ch 274. You keep calling your theory crazy, but the more I think about it, the more plausible it sounds. We know that Ogata was “liberated” after he left the hospital. Could it be he found out the truth about Yuusaku? To my recollection, we have never been shown his complete face so that would make sense. If true, the big question would be whether or not Hanazawa was a part of the lie. Did he “replace” his son with a fake rather than accept Ogata his other son? Or is this all Tsurami’s doing? Also, I know that the theory of how Ogata survived his fall was that Kiro helped him. But I have wondered if maybe its Kikuta? Since they appear to be working together, perhaps it was Kikuta that he was meeting. I find it plausible that Kikuta infiltrated Tsurami’s group while Ogata infiltrated Hijikata’s and Kiro’s. Maybe that was the plan all along. Sorry for the ramble....🥴 Thank you for all your hard work with your analysis and theories. Always love reading them 🌟

I’m glad you like my analysis of chap 274!

Well, it’s a crazy theory.

There’s little I can use to support it, just small hints and the general theme of fakes being better than originals, yet easy to destroy/damage.

I’ve been wondering a lot about Yuusaku with other friends at Discord, we’ve been trying to understand him but his image is always filtered by Ogata’s vision, by his confused feelings for his brother, who somehow seems so perfect yet hollow.

Ogata believes Yuusaku’s nobility comes from coming out of a family who loved him, but it seems hard to imagine Hanazawa, who spoke in such a way to Ogata, encouraging Yuusaku to connect with his brother, Hanazawa who sacrificed so many soldiers without a blink wish for his son to live in such a way he wouldn’t make soldiers feel guilty as if he cared about their psychological state.

Of course we know little about Hanazawa as well so maybe he was a better person than he looked like but Noda had no problems showing us his face, which usually means whose were Hanazawa’s true colours.

Yuusaku’s face instead was always shadowed, to hint that either we didn’t know him or Ogata couldn’t face him.

So well, when Sugimoto jumps in and Kikuta tells him he has to ‘forget everything about Hanazawa Yuusaku’, as if what had happened was something bad... well, it makes me wonder how’s possible that something bad is tied to Good Boy Yuusaku.

We’ll have to wait and see though.

As I said I might be completely off track.

We know that Ogata was “liberated” after he left the hospital. Could it be he found out the truth about Yuusaku?

That’s the text in question according to @piduai‘s translation

Q18: What made Ogata grow out his hair after hospitalization, thus becoming the one and only sexy Superior Private he’s known as?

Noda: He felt liberated.

After the scene in chap 243 that shows how Ogata escaped from the hospital my interpretation is just that Ogata’s hair grew while he was in the hospital (in fact as he talks with Tsurumi we can see his hair is longer under the bandages) and since Usami revealed Tsurumi knew of his betrayal and he escaped, he didn’t have to cut them anymore to play the role of good soldier. His feeling ‘liberated’ means just he wasn’t anymore forced to obey to Tsurumi, to play the part of the good soldier (good soldiers were supposed to keep their hair cut short, as Tsukishima, the Nikaidou brother, Tanigaki prior to his desertion, Noma, Okada, Tamai, Sugimoto when he was in the army, Toraji, Komiya, Mishima, Maeyama and even Yuusaku himself).

Ogata is no more in the army, he doesn’t have to obey orders anymore, he’s free to do what he prefers, so I think in this sense he felt liberated and as a proof of his rebellion, let his hair long instead than cutting them short again.

To my recollection, we have never been shown his complete face so that would make sense. If true, the big question would be whether or not Hanazawa was a part of the lie. Did he “replace” his son with a fake rather than accept Ogata his other son?

I’m not the best person to ask about Hanazawa as I really don’t like him, but on a general note, I think the chances of Hanazawa’s involvement are possible only in few circumstances and actually extremely low.

I mean, if Yuusaku died prior to the war, I can’t see Hanazawa hiding his son’s death and replacing him with a fake. Losing a son happened, it was nothing to be ashamed of, hiding his death and replacing him with a fake, if discovered, would have pushed on him such a huge amount of dishonour it wasn’t worth it, especially considering he could easily replace it with Ogata with no dishonour whatsoever or adopting someone he could deem worthy openly.

Japan had absolutely no problem whatsoever with adoptions, even when those adoptions involved adults... but had a lot of problems with deception.

Now, let’s say, Yuusaku escaped instead than taking part to the war.

This is dishonourable for the whole Hanazawa family, even if Hanazawa can disown and strike him out of the family. Still, placing a fake in his position and giving him the role of the flagbearer so that it will be quickly killed off with honour and he could bury it claiming his son died with honour seems a bit over the top... and such a deception would have probably brought dihonour to Hanazawa’s ancestors and such. In short, no, unless there’s a reason I can’t think of, I don’t think Hanazawa would have done it.

Besides, Tsurumi would have surely discovered it quickly and would have used it to blackmail Hanazawa. He was keeping his eyes on Koito senior from prior the war started, surely he was doing the same with Hanazawa.

In this case there would have NEVER been a plan to kill Yuusaku, keeping him alive would have been much more valuable right from the start.

Or is this all Tsurami’s doing?

I would say, if Yuusaku is a fake, it’s Tsurumi doing. That or it’s a third party doing, like the real Yuusaku died and the new Yuusaku was a Central spy... but it feels a bit hard to assume this because they placed him in a too risky position. I mean which use a spy has if it gets killed easily?

Also, I know that the theory of how Ogata survived his fall was that Kiro helped him. But I have wondered if maybe its Kikuta? Since they appear to be working together, perhaps it was Kikuta that he was meeting. I find it plausible that Kikuta infiltrated Tsurami’s group while Ogata infiltrated Hijikata’s and Kiro’s. Maybe that was the plan all along.

We actually don’t know how Ogata survived that fall and the more the thing remains unexplained the more I wonder if it’s just that Ogata, like his name implies, is as ‘immortal’ as Sugimoto and so he simply survived such fall same as Sugimoto would have done (it’s something I discuss more in deep in my reply to this post if you’re curious).

The problem with Kikuta being there to save Ogata is, first of all, that Kikuta was recovering at Noboribetsu at the time, so quite distant, along with Ariko.

I’m pretty sure Tsurumi was keeping an eye on his so if he had moved Tsurumi would have noticed.

Then we’ve all the sort of technical problems involved in the rescuing.

For start if Ogata and Kikuta were working together they both would have been lead there by the smoke of the fire Asirpa and Sugimoto had when Asirpa was drawing the tattoo of their prisoner, not just Ogata, and would have cooperated in dealing with Sugimoto.

I mean, Ogata faces Sugimoto alone and is almost killed by him, hadn’t it been for Asirpa. Kikuta is good with his guns, I would have expected him to shoot Sugi to save Ogata if the two were partners.

Even if Kikuta hadn’t noticed the fire, it wouldn’t make sense for him to be too distand from Ogata and when Ogata and Sugimoto started shooting he would have rushed there.

Plus, in order for Kikuta to notice Ogata has fallen and rescue him he should have been close... but Sugimoto and Asirpa stood over the cliff looking down. They would have noticed him.

Also when Ogata escapes he doesn’t think he has to reach his partner, just that he has to escape because he’s no match for Sugimoto.

If it was weird for Kiro to rescue Ogata and then leave him there to freeze to death while the 7th search for him, it’s even weirder for Kikuta, who either would have to alert the 7th he was there or just abandon him there to his fate and hope someone were to find him before it’s too late.

So, although how Ogata survived his fall is still a mystery beyond his ‘immortality’... or if you prefer his many lives as a cat I don’t think Kikuta could be involved. Said so as there’s no a canon answer I might very well wrong so take my answer with a grain of salt.

Thank you for enjoying my analysis and theories and for your ask!

#Ogata Hyakunosuke #Hanazawa Yuusaku #Hanazawa Koujirou #Kiroranke #Kikuta Mokutarou #Tsurumi Tokushirou #Sugimoto Saichi #Ask #Other people's posts #Arsfantasia89 #Usami Tokishige

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nonbinarytriscuit · 3 years

Text

Aged up South Park Roleplay. Everyone will be seventeen years or older in this. Looking for someone to play Kenny!

So I had an idea. You know how Kenny always dies and comes back and no one remembers? Well I was thinking what if one day Kyle remembered every single time that Kenny died? Like they're once again in a dire situation and this time Kyle sacrifices himself to keep Kenny safe? With that sacrifice he got the memories of Kenny dying all those time which of course would mean a mental/emotional break down. If you can handle that and are interested message me on here or discord 2tiredboi#1321! Also it is up to you whether Kenny and Kyle are already together or are just in a very close friendship.

Headcanons for Ky are his eyes are two different colors, his right eye is brown and his left eye is green. His skin is milky pale and he has freckles scattered all around. He has them on his shoulders, cheeks and across the bridge of his nose. His ears are pierced and secretly his bellybutton is pierced too (he lost a bet). He gets up to be around 5'6ft. He starts to wear his hair back in a ponytail due to him growing it out so it wasn't big and poofy anymore. His sexuality is pansexual since I see him as more focusing on someone's personality than their looks or gender. He is still is a smart kid but because of all the shit that they went through as kids he is somewhat mentally unstable, has PTSD thanks to their childhood.

Personality wise he's still the same. Intelligent, slightly naive, hard-headed, but he can be a huge sweetheart and caring guy. He has gotten a hit more violent in the last couple years due to Cartman messing with him more. He easily gets into fist fights with Cartman and usually they both end up pretty beat up.

He usually wears baggy hoodies that are usually dark green, black, or grey. His t-shirts usually vary on how he feels that day. Ripped dark blue or black jeans, and most of the time he wears black high top converse or worn black combat boots unless it's cold as shit and snowing then he wears dark brown lace up snow boots.

Look Reference Pic- https://i.pinimg.com/originals/c1/26/c8/c126c8335fb9ada2ea2730e6bf4ae352.jpg -----

How the hell did they always get these situations? He seriously would have thought they would have stopped getting into this crap once they reached middle school! There was a crazy person holding a gun, pointing it at them. They had just walked into a gas station that was getting robbed. All they wanted was some snacks! What the fuck man?! Kyle was tense as he stood between Stan and Kenny. This guy was definitely on the verge of shooting someone and where his gun was pointed he knew who it would be.

Something told him to move in front of Kenny and he did without hesitation. Protecting those he cared about was something he didn't hesitate to do. He heard the gun going off and then an extremely sharp pain exploding through his chest. The pain rocked him to his core, making him drop to his knees with a loud pained cry. He barely got a glimpse of blood bleeding into the fabric of his green jacket. Faintly he could hear his name being called and hands grabbing onto him. The last thing he saw before everything faded out was Kenny's (eye color) eyes staring at him in shock in disbelief.

Kyle now stood in front of the Grim Reaper when he reopened his eyes, darkness surrounded the two. The death bringer moved closer to him before reaching out and touching his head. All he could hear was, 'Remember' in a deep raspy voice. And remember is exactly what he did. Memories pooled into his head like a tsunami. Every single time Kenny died was now shown to the ginger. Every gruesome bloody one, every instant one.. All of them flooded through his head.

He jolted awake with a sharp gasp, head absolutely pounding and heart aching like there was no tomorrow. He remembered things that were absolutely fucking horrifying. He remembered every single time that Kenny had died. In every way possible. Instant, torture.. It was awful! God, he could see and smell the blood! He chocked out sob as he covered his mouth. How was it possible for Kenny and to die so many times and somehow come back the next day? It made no sense! Oh god he felt like he was going to puke! His breathing and heartbeat started to pick up as he started on the verge of a mixture of an anxiety and panic attack. Okay Kyle, just breathe before the alarm went off! Everything will be okay. Right? He'd just have to talk to Kenny about this.. Wait. Where was he exactly? The ginger blinked out of his shock and finally got to look around his surroundings. Oh. He was at the hospital... He glanced at his chest and everything came back to him. He had gotten shot. He had protected Kenny and got shot. Was everyone okay? Was Kenny okay? His head jerked up when he heard the door to his room open. When he saw who it was his panic immediately melted away. "Kenny, you're okay."

#South Park #Aged Up #K2 #roleplay #sp k2 #kyle broflovski #kenny mccormick

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izupie · 4 years

Text

Izu’s Unfinished Projects 3/?

Izuku x Ochako (My Hero Academia)

The Izuocha Discord server is currently running a big bang event collab between writers and artists using the prompt of ‘Thank You for Always Saving Me!’ and I was pumped to join until the idea I had ran away with me and I realised I should be focusing on my current projects and not putting too much on my plate so I can still start packing for moving too (phew.)

------

But the idea was that I would take this prompt as literally as it could be taken ahaha.

It would start with the 1-A kids fighting a villain that can teleport things. (This bit is kind of vague, but the whole story needs you to switch your brain off so just roll with it). So every time one of the heroes comes close he just teleports them away, or if they throw something at him or fire something at him he just teleports that away too - back at them! After some trial and error and mumbling and considering, Izuku realises that his quirk must make use of the large TV antennae looking spokes on top of his head. He gets Jirou to agree to use her quirk to ‘jam his signal’ and says he’ll go in and grab him once he’s restrained. But it goes wrong and instead of incapacitating his quirk it just makes it janky as hell and the teleportation starts glitching stuff whenever he teleports it. The villain reaches out to teleport Izuku away but Ochako leaps in to take the hit instead.

She just feels like she’s blinked a little too long but when she opens her eyes she realises she’s somewhere else. No longer in the battle at all. The villain must have teleported her away from the battle! (but at least she’s alive, she thinks, checking herself over but not finding anything out of place or wrong.)

She’s desperate to get back to her friends - they need her! So she sets off in the direction of UA (where the battle was taking place) but she notices people staring at her and she’s confused. Is there something wrong with her? When she gets to where UA should be... there’s a library in its place?!

Eh????

Ochako enters and realises people really are staring at her. She asks someone what happened to UA and they’re like ?? “Um. This is UA. The library. Hey, are you okay?”

She hears someone muttering about her ‘costume’ and she’s really starting to freak out.

Guess who she meets in the library?

That’s right! It’s Izuku!

Essentially you (and Ochako) slowly realise that she’s in an alternate universe.

Izuku is nice to her even though she’s desperately trying to get him to ‘remember her’ because she’s confused over what the heck is going on. But of course, this universe’s Izuku has never met her, so he has no idea what she’s talking about.

They’re talking on a balcony of the library while she tries to explain in a way that doesn’t make her sound crazy, but when Izuku goes to lean on the balcony railing in surprise to her story it gives way beneath him and he’s about to fall when she reaches out and uses her quirk to keep him in place. (Oh, she still has her quirk!) She quickly pulls him back to safety and before he can even thank her properly she blinks too long again and finds herself in a large field.

A dragon flies overhead and she pales. What the HECK is going on.

(Now she’s in a fantasy AU. But again she meets Izuku - though this time he’s confused because he already knows an Ochako and she’s a mage?? So we find out that she’s falling into these universes but the ‘her’ that already exists in them is still there too.)

In each universe she saves Izuku in some way - y’know, because whacking the readers in the face with the prompt constantly *finger guns*

But I was going to make a couple of funny ones, like she finds herself in a mermaid AU or in the Beep Beep Beep universe. She meets him at various ages, and sometimes he already knows her and sometimes he has no idea who she is. But she saves him every time they meet.

She just wants to go home.

Ochako has no way of controlling when and where she goes and she gets TIRED.

Eventually she’d realise that the one constant is Izuku.

She appears in one of the AUs and is weirded out to see that he’s not surprised to see her and she freaks out when he knows about her being a hero. He actually tells her how to get back to where she needs to be is to go back to where it all started.

She thinks hard about when they met in her universe and appears outside of the school, hidden from sight, but still able to see herself and Izuku meet when he nearly falls on his face. From her position she can see the whole situation play out and she realises that this whole time she’s been saving him, right from the very beginning, and she would save him forever if she had to.

Because she loves him.

And BAM, she’s back in the fight. She reaches up and snaps off the villains antennae, throwing him to the ground and grabbing his wrists behind his back in one motion. After the villain is apprehended the others are like “Ochako are you okay??!” but she just smiles and a glances at Izuku with just, “It’s a long story.”

#phew this got long lmao #I wish I had time to write this #izuocha #izuku x ochako #bnha #Izu's Unfinished Projects #long post

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misterbitches · 3 years

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Hello! @flootweed replying to the post from before. the long format was killing me. why does tumblr look like this...

I haven’t watched episode 8 yet...or have I? If it’s the most recent one. No.

Is the hornbill a bird? It probably is but I have a terrible memory and I’m dumb so. I skipped the last few weeks because I’m scawwed. How are you liking it? I did see someone say that the hornbill makes sense (without knowing what it is...at all) bc heart transplant patients only live like 5-15 years after but someone in those comments pointed out that he was so young when he got his and that’s pretty rare so he has a higher likelihood of survival. Frankly, this is the only way I will proceed. Since when did shows ever care about the heart transplant health? Never and it needs to stay that way!

What did we think of ep 6? LMAO. I need opinions! And omg it makes me feel special when I can point things out to people because I so...rarely get to LOL. Editing is like one of my favorite things ever so I can be super particular about it but I try to do the thing you do when you’re supposed to see if it works within its context. I’d like to go in with scissors and glue but alas.

THe mic covering....the rustling....it’s like guys...please. Ironically the audio today wasn’t great. I don’t know why. IDK if you watch c-dramas but I am not even sure what’s worse between them because they dub their dramas. But actually no it’s best to have the dubbing because even tho it is painful they have to put a lot of effort into it. LOL.

Right? @ Aey! It’s just weird if they would show us more about what he’s done instead of saying he’s done sth bad and not even explaining that....like you could even do some shitty exposition. I think if he is to be a true villain then we really need to be privvy. All the warnings make it seem like he’s a fuckin’ serial killer so when we get the scene of him at home it’s like....actually this is really serious? Maybe his pain is like...for a reason. Althought you won’t even TELL US WHAT HE’S DONE WRONG BESIDES BE JUST FUCKING WEIRD AND ANNOYING! So from what we have it’s just a realllllllll fucked up sad person lol. god i forgot about the dinner! and i totally agree. he really needs them to succeed. i like your theory because it would make the scene where he like blocks the twitter user make more sense. he also says they dont really know each other etc so it’s realllllyyyyy probable that he just sees it as a way out. if not then we shall pretend u wrote it :)

god yea i wouldnt say it is art but i also guess we technically have to since it is technically. in the way that technically performance artists are artists but mostly i uh technically ignore them. Also one of my fav BLs is called the best twins. If you do not know what it is I will not elaborate further.t

i want to know more abt poli sci majors lmao but they sound DRAMATIC/ hopefully most ppl in ur cohort arent losers!

hahahha i understand. there was just a thing on twitter about DSA and then the day before about reading discourse. the same thiings. over. and over. and over. and over. we are our own worst enemies but also our own best friends? but i hate tankies and that wont change. but hasan’s a decent guy. he said sth abt black ppl during biden’s primaries in GA or whatever and i was like chill. but he’s insecure and has adhd which means ur more open to being wrong and changing otherwise u will suffocate and die.

and totally about hiding fuck ups. i’ve tried really hard bc of organizing IRL to like...be honest, question, etc but also like...approach it naturally? because if you’re trying to be perfect and so worried you’ll fuck up you don’t realize that puts more stress on you, makes you seem like a robot, and could potentially not make you realize the mistkaes you made. also if we’re privileged in certain spaces there is just no possible way we won’t get something wrong. im light and i know that honestly any way to speak up on colorism is going to be difficult and that’s a space where i have power so i just have to figure it out. we should be uncomfortable because we have to sit with unpleasant feelings and sort through our own whatever. that just makes the next time even better and people can trust u more. i think some people sweat it sooo much or maybe they think their personal life and what theyve been through is more the norm? on the other hand people can be sf reactionary in the worst way and idk what their issue is. there was also a user who said sth very inch arresting about tankies which i thoroughly enjoyed (how like violent lefitsts or tankies / ppl who are like ooh a gun whatever just want to be violent in another space so they have shit tendencies from jump and nothing of substance which i think i agree with tbh fo ra lottttt of ppl. like their anger is actually like “no im about to beat that ass” instead of what we actually want to get done)

sort of in the same vein re: taking it easy...we coudl all be more understanding too. to slow it down like you mentioned about not being privvy to fucking eveyrthing and saying anything on our mind. i saw this person talk about y2k which was a huge deal while happening bc it was the turn of the millenium (bruh were u even alive?) but this twitter user grew up in a super super SUPER religious household and was like why do ppl make jokes about Y2K it was insanely traumatizing? though my first instinct was confused ive tried hard to like look more before i judge especially thanks to a friend of mine. turns out that with the further reading the more we found out he was just really traumatized; it was very common in religious households to be afraid of 2000. so we could have come at him with no understanding and he could have thought that everyone had the same experience with that year that he did. his feelings sit precedent though but i think it was just very hard for him to fathom.

i didnt reply bc he didnt need that and what could i have said? he’ll see what the truth is with exposure and unfortunately this was something he really did go through.

and that’s what makes most people think others could be over the top. because it sounded ridiculous but then it was this huge traumatic thing that we could have never known about. so maybe when someone sounds like actually crazy they have an explanation? of course some ppl are just batshit or annoying but that’s anywhere not just leftists it’ just means more i guess when a ~~librul is annoyed~ but it can be easy to want to make fun of ppl too. lmao. basically what i am saying is the internet? especially twitter? for leftists? in this economy? bitch it’s the wild west out here.

i am 29! idk if i said it or not. i am OLD u probably werent even born in the year i was talking about wah. i know not old-old or old at all but compared to you i’m due for a colonoscopy.

omg i hope u can get vaxxed soon! are you wfh rn? i hope ur also not in a bad state as in state state not state as in ur being :| bleh what a fucking time. it sucks that you have to fucking do work. well unless u like school. which i hope u do. i just assume everyone hates it cos i did lmao

was it the lindsay ellis drama? that bitch is dumb. if there was other drama oh wait the drama i was referring to it all happened on the same day. idk book twitter that well but i saw something from someone who was abt that shit and wowie! the american people are not that.....intelligent to put it lightly.

i’ll get better. ppl tell me they miss me and im like aw. i have insanellllyyy bad insomnia and a lot of stuff happened this year HOWEVER I SLEPT FOR TWO DAYS FOR 8 HOURS AT A REASONABLE TIME. im a new woman. anyways you too! i hope ur not too burnt out with school. we just dont know when the burnout is or we just dont know we are burnt out until we are. the panaramiciccici hit and all the things i was ignoring kind of just fell on me and sooo much happened at once. and frankly it’s hard to take care of ourselves. lord.

Like if you aren’t interested in expanding on the issue in a way that hasn’t been done before all you gotta do it like… spread resources and donate if you can. I dont see the point in having to say something about every issue especially if you (not at you specifically just in general) aren’t immediately impacted by the issue. Like is the 14 yr old white marxist named sarah on twitter really gonna have meaningful insight on anti-asian violence ?

this is part of why i cannot telecommunicate. i dont want to do shit on the internet. i am able bodied so i know that this time has been of such ease for other people. but mentally i just can’t. i don’t have a comment on hand like that and i hvae no desire to engage with ppl that way. i am a super super super solitary person but thats bc it’s MY time so when it’s like all this effort with other people i dont ever want to be alone. it’s the same with the way i approach filmmaking. it isnt a sole thing so i hate it not together. that’s part of how u can get so sucked in and repeat doom scrolling. i was in this webinar last may after [redacted] and this black woman prof said “read with a community and talk” because otherwise she said we are torturing ourselves. you can’t carry that weight all on your own. unfortunately i hate zoom, discord, slack, signal, whatsapp, facetime. you name it this panera has made it evi.. L

you make a really excellent point. i think the young young gen zers are really really just interesting because it’s like this whole new world for them with leftist politics and they just can’t grasp the horrors of the world and the kind of freedom being a leftist can bring. and so many people don’t grow out of it. those people so happen to be the “least productive” in terms of how much time they spend IRL withe these issues. naturally, younger kids are gonna have a harder time. they are not as mobile as well so the internet becomes this place. but then it’s this echo chamber. and many times just things posted without sources. and social media NEEDS that to exist.

i think of the irony of leftist kids on tik tok and while i am happy it’s reaching them it’s just....different. very different. the growth of social media is so good but also so fucking sad, it’s too much! i think the point about not writing everything is major. even i have to do this which is part of the disappearing.y ou need to detach and make sure your head is on straight again. but when you think eveyrone has to be privvy to every thought and you can’t just sit back....which twitter and social media doesn’t encourage. you have to join in. that’s often why when i have something to say it is dense because i don’t feel like repeating it. ever. lmao ust ever. i cant pay attn. social media is a fucking minefield for my brain u can get so lost in it and absorb it but once u start talking you may not be able to stop.

i think a big part of that is it not being a leisurely thing but sort of just in our lives always. this sounds like a grandpa rant but ykwim. We dont have to see the same thing over and over again. And eventually it gets sincerely diluted or its diluted bc of capitalism or whatever. Or if theyre very young or maybe they don’t have like the greatest way of sharing the knowledge? then it can be butchered. I hope this is making sense...i’m talking beyoond the boring surface-level milquetoast shit. i see really ahistorical stuff on there from leftists (like this thing about NK + africa and it being a beneficial rship as opposed to a um not beneficial one. and it isn’t. beneficial but this young black girl was talking abt it and noname rtd and i was like it’s just too complex. there’s no good/bad here just bc it’s not america. dont get me started on this.)

but Lol that was kinda off topic but I think what I meant in my last reply about not turning off the voice in my head is about when I consume media, not necessarily when I’m online talking about. Even if I have criticism for something, I’m usually pretty chill when consuming fandom content bc I think being serious online all the time is kinda boring. Like sometimes I’m analyzing theme and shit but really most of the time im memeing.

exactly.........gotta laugh. thats why sometimes im like i cant think lmao. unfrotunately i have been ARGUING with ppl on the internet for rly no reason when i could have replied to ur very nice fun wholesome message. i love torture. i miss memes.

“ i think the people who get the least enjoyment out of that are those so obsessed with getting upset with anyone thinking outside of their lines as if it equates to them “ EXACTLYYYYY

kekekekeke im glad u got it. it’s like with conservatives throwing around snowflake. now im beginning to question who the real complainers are.

LMAO exactlyyyy. i posted a screenshot of this writer from twitter saying that exact thing. Like first of all, I’m...an adult? and if you are as well uh? i’m sorry for you but are we 12? But how is it affecting u this viscerally? And if it does why dont u...do...research? pihgofuaipoajghou but honestly everything u said. we’re trained to go into it with nothing. i was only around ur age when i started to get more serious about this stuff but you’re like lightyears ahead of where i was at 21. did i say this but i’m in iww and literally i can tell u in 2016 i did not think 2019 me would be in a union bc i told my friend in a train station that we don’t need unions. i was 23...but the thing is i didnt know what i was talking about. at all. and i knew i didnt know and she knew i didnt know and now i am the clown.

also yes at critical engagement. i had to learn so much through experience and this is tuff that i coudlnt be shielded from. there’s an empathy you kinda have to develop and this understanding that you move through the world as this person who is “nowhere and everywhere; nothing and everything” so i’ve always had to think about things differently just to survive. that’s also what can drag a lot of people towards it like theres so many black kpop fans bc i think a lot of the pain in SK can be mirrored (sort of) through our history. and theres currently a history now but it had to be forged. uh what was my point oh yea however i wouldnt have been able to move further if i didnt have my background to go off of bc i knew something was off when i started getting into all these things (ill give u a hint) but if i had no prior knowledge and didnt have to think about it then the critical approach is either stale or stupid.

i had to research but i dont understand how ppl are so bold with little to no research and understanding? thhey just inherently know with also like ZERO experience in what they need experience in. engaging critically means “how i see the world” with dashes of trying to be open adn understanding or whatever. actually that’s another thing like being afraid of criticizing things bc theyre foreign to you so u give it a pass (like we discussed) but it doesnt hAVE TO BEEEE JUST REAAAAAD and then take all the info ur teensy brain and apply it. be a normal human being and dont be fucking rude and racist. thats it! u can complain abt literally anything without being a dick.

as we start with LW and end with LW.....what do we think (i asked this already) omg please share wbl thoughts i THINK i know what ur talking about. well it could be two things; their rship when they came back and the physicality and then pei shou yi. i almost dont even want to use my brain to fucking look at that. i think wbl can get away with more bc of visual~*~*~* reasons (like literally, the look of the show. there’s more space to get lost in the frames. many thai dramas are a lot more literal? this isn’t the right word but it’s very heavily character focused particularly bc of $ i think) though good production also underscores flaws so i am also wrong. but like do u know what i mean? u have to kinda focus on it? or maybe it’s just cos like.....ur so used to it in thai bl idek. i’ve seen tw bl ofc.

look i swear i will justify this forever bc there are some things we miss right but if u feel like someone’s a bad actor....theyre bad. it’s about tone movement etc etc etc and since most thai bl productions have 0 interest in that....well. they take these newbies and put them in these situations. we dont understand thai but if we see them and we’re like “wow this is really bad” then they’re bad lmao. IDC i will never be like cos idk what theyre saying NO WHY HE LOOK LIKE A ROBOT???????? DOES HE EMOTE? why is he CRYING WITH NO TEARS? and it’s not even a total requisite to cry with tears(i mean for me it is) but it’s just like what is happening on ur face right now young man????????

painful.

the inflection stuff is very valid ooh good point tho but that’s only a part of the piece. plus we get used to the way they communicate. like the ppl from sotus were prtty bad. i dont like that show but thats an ex of ppl liing the actors and the person i thought was better other ppl dont think that? well apparently hes a shitty guy but. um. so when theres decent acting its so glaring.

although i must say even tho i dont care for 2gether anymore and would never like to be reminded about its existence (only bc i just cringe lol) i honestly....didnt think bright was a bad actor? but people keep saying he is and i am much more inclined to believe them than myself. though i am not often dickmatized that could have been it. until he opened his mouth and ruined it and then i stopped paying attn.

although honestly i’m so much more critical than i could be positive. i have ben stumped for the last day about how i wasnt mad at his acting in the show. is it me? is it him? who’s......the wrong one.....(me)

oh shit they have been denied? i haven’t been paying attn to whats been going on recently. i just got into it on MDL because of snowdrop. sometimes i literally cannot engage bc ill just be like alright well im black so this power button in my head is going off when ppl talk abt that shit. back in the day when kpop jawns were saying some real outta pocket anti black shit (now everyone is slick with it) it’d always be THEY DONT HAVE GOOGLE THEYVE NEVER SEEN A BLACK PERSON but really it’s like no...maybe they are just racist? that’s ok too.

also the past 2 weeks have been um atrocious bc how fucking easily people fell into the pit of white supremacy and started to turn their ire towards black people and making a competition between our groups just like they wanted. it’s not about the women who are dead anymore, who were sex workers, their womanhood, being asian, being poor anymore. it’s about how much black people get attention and why people only pay attn to us. i am not feeling very generous this week for ppl to excuse that hsit.

on a lighter note, ppl say that abt the whole husband and wife thing. i dont know how to explain how angry that shit makes me but maybe it’s because i do not want to think of my body in relation to a fucking penis at all hours of the day. if bls could kindly not do that it would be nice lmao

yes there are a lot of those. who are only there to gawk lmao. and just idk worship bc of the cult of personality thing bc of how weird and open they have to be as actors. some of the others are people who /think/ theyre really smart (i think im asmart but i also think i am very dumb and i have adhd to prove that MEDICALLY!!!) but are actually not? or their observations arent great? or idk if they are they arent interesting? but i think well..........we have more refined palettes :P

jk also theres just different personalities. you and i mesh more bc we have a lot of the same beliefs and are coming from the same place. that makes it easier to understand as well. i really try to remember that but some people are really weird so. again just...the perception of certain things even down to acting skills. but i also dont like.......believe this genre can really do anything at all. on one hand i want them to do it right bc it’s a piece of work so they should. be proud of it. cos most things arent advancing us bc representation and culturalism are a lie bla bla. it’s just that when the depictions are negative or not done well it adds to the problem as opposed to the things that are well done are fairly benign and can’t really pull us back (perf example is the black panther film. i woudl definitely not say it was transgressive as a literal work but visually it’s just stunning. and it’s sad that it’s stunning and surprising but still with basically an all black cast of mostly dark people abd like what it means in the zeitgeist yes. it’s also just a good movie. but it’s still imperialist prop and unfortunately and this is fucking pathetic to say it “opened eyes” in other countries where they hate black ppl and ignore their own racialized minorities HENNYWAYSSSS a better ex is moonlight except moonlight isnt mainstream and is indie tho...still thru a funnel of capital bc a24 but who cares bleed the fuckers dry is my motto. my point is moonlight is both a great work and doesnt bring any failures to the table and its existence helps in ways outside of art but they arent the defining things giving us material advancement sooooo i mean it’s complex (this is my conclusion to everything um guys it’s complex)

er i had one more point in conjunction to above. oh yea so i like dont need all these extra things to make it progressive. like people really want more women in the show and i am honestly like i really dont. i dont want them to actively do this. if they cant do it naturally then let someone else do it. i am not asking for more bc i dont want it from them. when something comes along i embrace it but i do not see why women should be represented when the genre RELIES on patriarchy. there is no complete satisfying existence for the women in these series. i dont want it. i dont ask people to show us~*~* or respect~* like fuck no the people who make it make it and hopefully more will make it in the future but i will not beg bc THEY DONT WANT TO DO IT SO WOULD FORCING IT MAKE IT BETTER? just fucking leave them out entirely. that’s the answer if theyre gonna make nasty female characters then those bitches can geaux. we have other plcaes to be. booked. and. BUSY!

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smokin-gun · 4 years

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LFRP - Nyx Ashkala

The Basics ––

Age: 35

Birthday: 27th Sun of the 3rd Astral Moon (5/27)

Race: Seeker of the Sun, Miqo’te

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Hererosexual

Marital Status: Single

Server: Mateus/Balmung, Crystal Data Center

Physical Appearance ––

Hair: Golden blonde with a long, loosely tied ponytail, right side is braided with a bit of a side shave/fade

Eyes: Amber

Height: 6”1’ (About 185 cm)

Build: Broad shouldered and overly tall for a Miqo’te. His upper body has a distinguished V-shape and his waist is rather trim. Powerful legs round out the well-trained look.

Distinguishing Marks: The first and most obvious marking on his body is a scar that runs down a good portion of his right eye. As for the rest of him, his entire body is almost covered in tattoos with a very unique design. Each one bears a similarity to patterns found on Garlean technology and some may even be of Allagan origin.

Common Accessories: You will never catch Nyx without cigarettes, a lighter, and some sort of firearm, usually his gunblade with the words “Saving Grace” etched on the side of it.

Personal –––

Profession: Originally, Nyx worked as a weaponsmith with his father when they relocated to Gridania, but it wasn’t long after he’d left his family for Ul’dah that he took on the very common job of mercenary. He still holds that title now, but his jobs are varied and not quite as traumatic.

Hobbies: Smoking, people watching, climbing the highest shit, and building firearms and adaptive armors.

Languages: Common Eorzean

Residence: Nomadic, but lives temporarily in an apartment above a bar in the Brume, Ishgard.

Birthplace: Southern Thanalan, Sagolii Desert

Religion: Atheist

Patron Deity: N/A

Fears: Dying before redeeming himself, getting innocent people killed, drowning in two inches of water.

Relationships –––

Significant Other: N/A

Parents: A’jakab Tia and A’shandra Ashkala

Siblings: A’ria Ashkala •

Other Relatives: Unknown at this time.

Pets: Lily, a small, Magitek bird with various uses.

Traits –––

Extroverted / In Between / Introverted

Disorganized / In Between / Organized

Close Minded / In Between / Open Minded

Calm / In Between / Anxious

Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable

Cautious / In Between / Reckless

Patient / In Between / Impatient

Outspoken / In Between / Reserved

Leader / In Between / Follower

Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic

Optimistic / In Between / Pessimistic

Traditional / In Between / Modern

Hard-working / In Between / Lazy

Cultured / In Between / Uncultured

Loyal / In Between / Disloyal

Faithful / In Between / Unfaithful

Additional information –––

Smoking Habit: Nyx smokes like a chimney and is unashamed by it. In fact, he’s been known to light up near people and received many looks from it, unaware that he was even being rude.

Drugs: While he’s tried pretty much everything under the sun, he’s much more partial to keeping his wits about him and not relying on the crazy stuff to get his rocks off.

Alcohol: Having been a bartender for many seasons when he wasn’t working his actual jobs, Nyx has been known to imbibe on occasion. He could probably even be considered an alcoholic due to his reliance on the stuff when he’s in a shit mood. His favorites are rum, whiskey, and ale.

RP Hooks –––

Mercenary: At 35 seasons, Nyx has been a mercenary for quite a while... starting when he was just 19 seasons. His experience is rather varied and expansive, but most interesting is who he’s worked for in the past. Perhaps when offered the right information in return, he’d be willing to divulge more information.

Adaptive Armor: Nyx has recently begun a development on what he calls “adaptive armor”. So far he’s managed to create a weapon system that allows his gun to shift into not only a piece of armor, but other weapons as well. While not as strong as their original counterparts (yet), his designs allow for a great degree of mobility and versatility. Because of the nature of the weapons, he has a great deal of experience with Magitek armor and prosthetics, as well as creating weaponry for persons lacking the aether to power their own weapons of choice.

Tattoos: This Miqo’te is bone too shy about sharing his love of getting his body inked. Often going sleeveless with fitted tank tops, it would be easy to see them at basically any given time. If one is observant, they might recognize the importance of these tattoos and what their actual purpose is... and those geometric patterns might not just be for show... one could say they almost flicker with energy.

Garlean Influence: While usually reluctant to admit it on any level, there is something about Nyx’s behaviors and fighting style that are reminiscent of a certain Empire. With enough trust and prodding, it’s possible he might divulge these reasons to the right person.

Heavy Accent: If his mouth is open, this one is incredibly obvious. While many Miqo’te hailing from the desert have an accent of their own, Nyx’s own came from an amalgamation of voice heard while staying in Ul’dah. When angry or irritated, it grows thicker and sometimes unintelligible. (It’s Scottish. Think Gerard Butler!)

Contact Information & OOC –––

Discord: Wanderlust#6174

Ingame: Nyx Ashkala - Mateus

Twitter: OutOfManaStudio

IG: OutofMPFFXIV

I would love to meet all sorts of IC contacts for character development! I’m less of a small RP event type of person and more of a “Hey, let’s write together, ok?” kind. Darker/Mature themes are great, but I can also go for light-hearted things as well.

Making friends while RPing is a plus! So is meeting other artists!

Please be 18+ when approaching me for RP. While I have RPed around minors, I prefer to not have to censor myself or avoid darker themes. It’s just a topic I would rather not have to deal with.

RP is never strictly just in the game since I have many friends that can’t afford subs at times or simply work and cannot spare moments to log in and do so. However, I’d love to meet ingame a few times before immediately going to Discord. Game is always preferred but not necessary.

I ask that my real life gender and marital statues be respected, and for all people reaching out to never expect to gain any sort of romantic leverage over me IRL. I detest cheating and will drop anyone that attempts to use RP as a means to destroy IRL relationships.

IC will remain IC! I have a zero tolerance policy when it comes to people taking things personally from RP and bringing them into an OOC setting. If you find yourself confused about something, ask ask ask! I am more than happy to discuss RP and will always warn someone and talk about something if I feel it’s a theme/action that could come across badly.

That being said, I would really love to make friends and expand my RP circle. Also, if you’re an FFXIV artist, bonus points to you as well! I love meeting other artists.

@ffxiv-crystal-rp

Art by me and @cactusgarrus.

#nyx ashkala #ffxiv #mateus roleplayer #balmung #crystal data center #crystalrp #crystalrpffxiv #crystalffxiv #ffxiv roleplayer #mateus #miqote #miqo'te

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cruezins · 4 years

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☣ ; ( KIM TAEHYUNG , 24 , HE/HIM ) coming up next on rebel radio is OPAUL by FREDDIE DREDD . this tune goes out to SIWON RYU . rumor has it they just rolled into town and are fightin’ for the GHOULS . they’re AFFABLE , INQUISITIVE but also AIMLESS , MERCURIAL so watch your backs out there . we wish them the best of luck here in our golded city of light . stay vigilant , stay dirty rock ‘n rollers and we’ll catch you for the next one .

𝐎𝐎𝐂 : hello ! i’m deni and i don’t know what editing is . i use she/her pronouns and live in the gmt+9 timezone . i’m terrible with ooc chats and half the time just want to vibe a connection or plot idea , so please don’t hesitate to throw a half-formed thought at me because i swear i’ll do the same . my discord is gay fairy#6371 . anyway , here is siwon , someone i’ve been work-shopping for a while ! looking forward to writing with you ♡

☣ ; 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐁𝐘𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐇 .

cw : drug mentions ; stop me if you’ve heard this one before------

his dad’s a junkie and he hasn’t seen his mom since some fatcats bought their restaurant for a steal a few years before , but that’s the way of life for a lot of people in the underground . young , bored , and desperate to hear and smell anything that wasn’t the rottenness of his own childhood home , siwon found himself on the streets more nights than not , spray paint in one hand , painting nights in greens and purples until reds and blues chased him away . makes his first steal before he can tie his shoes . creates alliances with the neighborhood kids , sneaks around to watch how the haves live with their pretty , pretty screens and their ugly , ugly words . school isn’t anything special , either , and while siwon can’t remember shit that he reads from a page he can work with his hands . fast and efficient , nimble fingers whether they’re flying across a keyboard or fucking around with some screws . you can make something of yourself , some of his teachers tell him while others can’t stop bitching about homework or tardiness or the way he falls asleep in the middle of class . but what’s siwon supposed to make ? he and his ragtag group of weirdos he calls friends . when he gets older and nights get hungrier , siwon learns to stop relying on the benevolence of neighbors and finds a job --- he’s fast , after all , with a sweet face and wide eyes , makes a helluva getaway after years and years of running .

thieving’s a natural grift . he’d been training for this his whole life . then he catches the eyes of a boss man who isn’t nearly as mad as he should be catching some kid with his wallet in his hands . courier comes next , ferrying messages from a bunch of suits all over the city . siwon never opened the packages , never second guesses the credits that start bloating his account . desperate , he does what he’s told and does it well ------ and that’s the real kicker , isn’t it ? that after a year and some-odd months of dedicated service they leave him high and dry with some bullshit he doesn’t have any involvement with . after years of running , boys in blue finally catch him and he’s left to take the fall of some dumb fuckery , man , and he’s pissed . steaming in jail , it’s a wonder some other gang didn’t get to him first . the longer he sat and talked with that ghoul member , the more he grew to despise the rich , the ones who left him to rot after all the shit he did for them . what was even the point anymore ? dog eat dog kind of bullshit , no sense of loyalty or shit anywhere . the law and all that money was out to get him from the beginning and siwon had enough of it . a few months locked up but he learned and leaned and learned , only able to get out on a technicality . the second he stepped back out into the sun , siwon followed the map given to him and signed up for the ghouls . city of light be damned . the only lights he wants to see are flames eating this hellhole alive .

☣ ; 𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 .

➤ full name. ryu si-won ➤ date of birth. january 29th ➤ hometown. city of light ➤ gender. cis male ➤ affiliation. ghouls ➤ primary occupation. drug runner , pickpocket ➤ secondary occupation. network manager at an internet cafe

➤ sexual attraction. pansexual ➤ romantic attraction. panromantic ➤ character alignment. chaotic neutral ➤ personality type. enfp ➤ temperament. sanguine ➤ wants. power , family

stands around 5′11 . broad shoulders , slim hips . floppy , messy hair and sun browned skin . half legs . a few pieces of silver in his ears and a small hoop on his bottom lip . dresses somewhere between a washed up rockstar , your college weed dealer , and a miami vice reject . style’s a whim with a closet’s chaotic mix of anything he thrifts or patches together . most of the time he’s sporting cuffed jeans , vintage blouse , a denim jacket or tweed blazer and thick ass boots . keeps all that hair back with a bandanna or a headband , hair ties on his wrist . nothing in his closet’s technically new and he loves looking for a bargain steal —— or simply just a steal . likes colors just as much as he likes his neutrals . wears a black air filtration mask and fingerless gloves . considers his floral button-up shirts fancy material and his trousers cut off at the ankles . likes the smell of old leather and the breathing of fringe on a jacket , the weight of heavy rings on his fingers and sunglasses swooped low on his nose . wears a monocle because he can’t be fucked with reading glasses . his hair’s been every color of the rainbow and he’s always changing it up thanks to temporary dye .

☣ ; 𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐎𝐍𝐄 .

hustles at arcade halls , scarfs down ramen and burritos like they’re gonna disappear , looks as comfortable in a dark , dirty alley as he does standing under all those lights in the neon district . pockets full of candy and a lollipop between his lips . likes cheap beer and cigarettes , fast talking and smooth smiles . gets up when the sun goes down . who knows if he ever gets a full night’s sleep , but you can find him taking a nap just about anywhere . seems to live for the dark hours and stays busy as a bee , at the internet cafe one moment and grabbing fried cheese sticks in the next before crossing the bridge to watch the street races and venturing to the tunnels for the fighting rings . complains about being broke but puts down bets faster than anyone . lives for the feeling of wind in his hair so the window of his top-floor one bedroom shit hole stays open all the time . feels the rain on his skin , plays with matches . learned how to assemble a gun in less than sixty seconds and stays packing nowadays though he can’t really shoot for shit . spray paints boobs on the sides of government buildings and dicks on malls . looks like an angel under all those holographic lights .

rides a motorbike and his skateboard . can do crazy math in his head and spot fake bills with incredible accuracy . can barely stand to sit still , always moving except when there’s a computer screen in front of him . gets addicted to things so easily it’s scary --- people , food , liquor , feelings . craves that intimacy , craves that closeness that’s always been denied to him . has a loud as fuck laugh and a love for sneaking into places where he doesn’t belong . catches extra cash on the side by fixing up broken-down machines and can figure his way around a motor with a bit of elbow grease . still sees his family . not as much as a good son would , but he sends cash when he can and looks after his younger sister , makes sure she stays well and clean . they don’t know half of what he’s gotten up to since he was let out of prison , but they might have some idea --- after all , who’d pay a crooked boy with a record as well as he seems to be ? when the sun starts to come up and he crashes into bed , siwon stares out the window and thinks about how in another world , or in another time he probably could’ve been something . could’ve made something great . but for now he’s just got a whole lot of anger , raw like a fresh wound he can’t stop picking at .

☣ ; 𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ?

➤ bonds. my loyalty to my friends is unwavering ; i owe everything to my mentor --- a horrible person who’s rotting in jail somewhere ; i fleeced the wrong person and must work to ensure this individual never crosses paths with me . ➤ flaws. once i pick a goal , i become obsessed with it to the detriment of everything else in my life ; when I see something valuable , i can't think about anything but how to steal it ; i have a weakness for the vices of the city .

he’s friendly , but he doesn’t make friends easily --- the ones that he has made , he’d do anything for . because that’s how he’s gotten this far , right ? all those people who looked after him when others tried to stomp him out . he’s still close with his teen friends who threw a few grifts with him , gaming buddies that he knows only through a screen . little escapes from all the other bullshit going on in the world . even though he isn’t a club guy , he runs into more than a few faces on his rounds . maybe they’re bad influences or sweethearts who help that touch starved affliction that comes from living in a city so wired . on the flip side , there’s some enemies --- competitors in the runner world , antagonists he meets at the races or rings for whatever reason ( insane bets make tempers run hot , who knows when they’ll flare for good and siwon’s learning the hard way how to keep his mouth shut ) . he’s fixed up a few cars or weapons for people recently because he misses working with his hands . y’know , making nice . then there’s people he’s caught in a crossfire with , where they’ve met something nasty one too many times before over turf , territory and clients . a newer face to the ghouls , he’s bugged someone into mentoring him , and gone on a few runs with someone he loves to call a coworker .

eager to prove himself as more than a green kid with a keyboard and an eye for detail , find him cutting deals and making trades in smokey barbecue houses , hole-in-the wall ramen shops or by taco tents . a full bellied class of clients are happy clients in his opinion , and siwon isn’t above not making deals with the other groups who’s names aren’t violent delights . speaking of which --- there are definitely some skeletons there he aims to confront , some old demons to fight from that class of people that fucked him over . there’s an ex lover in there somewhere , probably met in that pre-prison childhood phase when he mingled past class lines more ( ~1.5-2 years ago ) . someone he’s healthily fearful of for whatever reason , and maybe a vendetta against the family that scammed his parents out of their business and basically sent his life spiraling . there’s someone who isn’t what they seem --- he doesn’t know who they really are , and maybe they don’t know who he is , either . they’ll learn eventually . someone he’s protective over , someone who protects him in ways he doesn’t even know , and those he looks after because they grew up on the same side . desperate for connection , desperate for a place , he finds it all in heaven and hell .

#neongraves:intro #. 𝐒𝐈𝐖𝐎𝐍 𝐑𝐘𝐔 ➤ DEVELOPMENT .#this is A Lot #but i had so many notes for myself #let's see how this pans #chaos reigns always

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ithinkthingsaboutstuff · 4 years

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Tip of the Iceberg

Did this for the Arkham Garlley Zine which is free to download here

or check them out at @arkhamgalleryzine

Oswald is preparing for a bi-annual auction at the iceberg lounge and is inconvenienced by the thrills and spills that gotham has to offer and is own mind. For a man who has control over everything, he has more under the surface.

By H.T.Vitols

Gotham is rather unique, in that most places with rotting infrastructure and corrupted governments don’t tend to lean so hard into that aesthetic, usually places like that tend to keep up a facade as to hide its own putrefaction, in a half-hearted attempt to delude anyone who comes across them that there are civilized. Gotham has never hidden how ugly it is, to a point that its almost beautiful in an ostentatious sort of way. Not to say that there is nothing alluring about Gotham, quite the opposite. Gotham has a way of claiming the hearts of many, sometimes literally, but the lost and forgotten can always find a home in Gotham, their still lost and forgotten but so is the city itself.

The Iceberg Lounge was the closest thing to elegant that Gotham had to offer. The outside was, and forgive the prosaism, Gothic. The doors where lined with white heavy steel and where shaped like umbrellas, if umbrellas were sharp, metallic and had an ominous amount of cleaning done. The doors themselves were wooden, polished and painted indigo blue. The doors were about 4 feet wide and were as strong as enforced steel which coincidentally was inside it, you could drive a car into it, and you would need a new car and a paint job for the door. The top of the door frame which was about 6 to 8 feet upward had a blue and white neon sign that spelled out the name of the club and blue lights that moved around the top of the roof, signalling, daring anyone to enter making an announcement to the police, the city and the Batman, I’m right here come and get me, if you can.

The inside of the lounge was far larger than the outside could have prepared anyone for, the ceilings were high, the main floor was laid out like a ballroom, with blue, purple and white lights slowly dancing across the floor as if they were patrolling lights, that most if not all the patrons were far to used to. The centre of the main room had as the name of the club suggests an Iceberg, it was a rather fitting piece of décor and not just because of the predilection, but also what could be a more apt metaphor for the men and women who dwell here, then a clandestine place that has a chilling and unstable piece at its core and the magnitude of how vacillating it truly is, is hidden under the surface.

There were purple curtains that lined all the walls of The Iceberg Lounge, what was behind them was anyone’s guess, a room, a door, an alarm, a wall, a way out, a way in, who’s to say. The Iceberg Lounge is home to many in Gotham, the bad, the slimy and the straight up crazy. It is a place to go and to hide, from whatever animal themed hero is on your ass that week. The Lounge is a strong hold and a neutral ground to any who enters.

No fights, No guns, No deaths.

These rules were enforced to the highest measure, not out of any moral obligation but simply to make things easier for business, after all, people are more willing to meet and make deals with you if they know within a reasonable assumption they are not going to be shot. This peace of mind comes with a small price though, any deal made in the lounge has a fee to go with it.

Negotiations: $100 (per person)

Trade-offs: $200

Drug deals: $400

Gun sales (unloaded): $1000 (per every 10)

If you were caught trying to make a deal in the Lounge without permission, well let’s just say no one ever does it twice. This level of meticulous control was possible due to the work and obsessions of one Oswald Cobblepot. The man thought rather highly of himself, more so then he should, which is easy to do when you are barely above most door handles and wider than some doorframes. Not to say he did not have class or rather his own definition of class, hand tailored suits all with tails, the most beautiful fabrics and of course a shining monocle that never left his face. And today Oswald donned an indigo blue jacket that had black fathers around his neck so today he looked more vulture then penguin. And in a place where a man with a rodent facade is more productive and less corruptible then the police department and the mayor’s office combined, being larger than life is not only common but a necessity. Oswald had many enemies, in fact if you weren't his enemy, he was less likely to trust you. Having enemies was more repute then having friends as he liked knowing what people wanted from him, it was easier to control the situation and easier to turn the situation in whatever suited him best.

Today, much like many other days, Oswald was in his office at his desk with a small glass of fine port wine at his side. Unlike many other days, he has not allowed anyone to disturb him (other than for an unexpected rodent infiltration). He wrote with a quill tip pen; the pen was white with a black line that matched up with a black swan feather that was connected by a small metal penguin pendent. He did not write with this pen often, as it was as impractical as it was beautiful. He only ever used this pen for one reason.

To my dearest, Penelope.

I write to you in good health, my dear I have been having a quite the week, however, I will not plague you with the details as I fear your heart or indeed your stomach may not be able to take them. However, my dear, what I can tell you is that today is a big night for the Lounge, for it is the Biannual Bat Bunker party. I do not believe I have told you the full story behind this party and that will be a story for another letter, but simply my dear, some years ago there was an incident, that lead to certain events, that lead to a great number of my associates to take refuge in my lounge, and since then it has become so what of a tradition for a rather long party to take place here twice a year.

The party is to be quite the sceptical and I do believe you would enjoy yourself, but I would not be much of a father if I allowed you to attend such a thing with the calibre of characters that indent to come. But any money is good money if you understand the price. Speaking of, Edward Nygma will be stopping by at some point before the party, I have mentioned him to you before, and as much as he can annoy me I can’t help but enjoy our conversations, for it is one of the rare times that learned discord is actually of value, though I could do without more of his foible, idiosyncrasy's.

As Oswald wrote at his desk, the door opened silently and a man walked in and slowly made his way to the desk, the man than sat on Oswald's desk and crossed his legs like he was a femme fatale from a noir film.

‘Oswald, how are you, you old bird, you.’

‘Edward, you better have a very good reason for disturbing me. Who let you in here?’

‘You’re working under the assumption that I would ask.’

‘Good point, but you also know my tolerances for your antics only goes so far.’

‘True, but since I’m still alive, safe to say I have not irritated you too much your lordship,’

‘Sarcasm is beneath you Edward.’

‘To hell it is, it’s one of my best survival instincts and I’ll have you know Oswald, the only things beneath me are invalids, the wilfully ignorant and my silk sheets when I lie my weary head to bed for most earnest of rests.’

‘Why don’t you put your vanity to bed for a moment Edward, and tell me, why exactly you have disturbed me.’

Edward clapped his hands together, his leather gloves gathering as he did.

‘Well, Oswald, I have come baring gifts, for our little shindig tonight,’

Edward pulled out a note from his pocket.

‘Here,’

‘What is this, Edward,’

‘A list of inventories, from all of our friends, the supplies and donations they will be making this evening.’

‘Well thank you Edward, but you could have had some else send this up to me.’

‘Oswald, I’m a praise whore and you know it.’

‘Yes, I’m aware of that, but that is no reason to interrupt me.’

‘Oh, come now, I came all the way out here to do you a favour and I’m treated with such hostility.’

‘Edward, my boy, you are very much aware that this is me, not being hostile, but if you would like to see it, then by all means, continue.’

Edward then slid off the desk and adjusted his jacket.

‘Very well, I will prepare myself for tonight's debauchery elsewhere.’

Edward went to the door.

‘Oswald,’

‘Yes, Edward.’

‘In all the years we’ve know one another, I have only seen you use that pen for one propose and yet I have never seen you read a letter in return,’

‘Your point, Edward.’

‘No point, just observation, I just don’t know why you still bother, if she’s never written back.’

‘Get… out… Edward.’

‘Alright, alright, I’m gone, give her my best.’

Oswald throws his glass of port at Edward as the door closed behind him, missing his head and shattering on the door. The wine dripped down the door slowly leaving a trail of red residue, like other red fluids that have dripped down this very door and will no doubt do again in the near future. Oswald leaned back into his chair and picked up his white and black pen.

Penelope dear, I sometimes envy that you have never meet any of my associates, Edward is one of the most insufferable men I have ever meet, and I have discussed politics with the mayor of Gotham. Not to say I don’t respect the man, in fact Edward’s capacity to anger anyone he comes into contact with has never failed to impress me. But charm and showmanship can be mutually exclusive my dear, as I know all too well.

Are you happy where you are dear?

I have found I can be content, but I have also found happiness is not on the cards for me without you here, Penelope.

In any case, I have been keeping myself busy. The list Edward handed me some moments ago will help with tonight’s proceedings, you see dear, the list is inventory being put up for auction. Now you must be wondering why this is of any importance, after all you are a clever girl and the Lounge has an auction monthly. This auction is a special one, you see unlike the usual fanfare that comes through here. This list has items that are more exclusive and the most sorted after then any other in the city, such as some of Doctor Cranes Fear Toxin, a rather deadly pair of hydrangea’s curtesy of Doctor Isley and Edward has donated one of his masterplans that contain everything from blueprints of the job, to the riddles to leave.

Now my shrewd child, you must be asking why we are doing this, the answer is the reason any of us do anything in Gotham, entertainment, profit, and to cause chaotic shenanigans , but most importantly nothing brings us all together more than trying to one up the Bat and his Birds. You see my dear, these items are sold at these times as to have a level of mutually assured destruction. You see, by having these items you can set someone up at your own discretion, I for one like to know the cards others are holding. But it is mostly used to throw The Batman off the trail. The Batman won’t investigate my shipping lists if fear toxin is in the air.

Truly mad, is it not.

Oswald continued to write as there was a knock on his door.

‘What.’

A man slowly moved his head into the room leaving the rest of his body outside. He was trying his hardest not to look at red liquid that is at his feet, as he wanted to maintain some level of ignorance in his line of work.

‘Mr Cobblepot.’

The man paused and waited; Oswald tapped his pen down hard on the table making the man in the frame flinch.

‘Yes, well, spit it out lad, I don’t have all day.’

The man’s voice jumped as he found the words.

‘Mr Wayne is here, sir.’

Oswald slowly put down his pen, he lifted himself out of his chair and moved behind it to push it into desk. Mr Wayne did not often frequent the Lounge but when he did it was a sign of fortune if it was good or bad was up to Mr Wayne’s mood, but what can you expect from a man who could buy up all the city if the whim ever hit him. Mr Wayne and his horde of children were almost as annoying as the Batman and his Birds. Oswald made his way downstairs to the main floor where Mr Wayne was leaning on the bar talking to one of the female bartenders.

‘Mr Wayne, to what to I owe the pleasure.’

‘Cobblepot, I have come to see you about tonight’s auction.’

‘Mr Wayne, I fear the guest list is full for this evening.’

‘I’m sure you can make an exception.’

‘Now, Mr Wayne, I am sure that you are used to that being the case, but I am afraid I am going to have to use an unfamiliar phrase to you, No.’

‘Well now I have to be there. Is there anything I can do to change your mind?’

‘I assure you, there is nothing you could say or do to change my mind, Mr Wayne.’

‘Nothing?’

‘Nothing, you would be willing to do, Mr Wayne.’

‘Such as?’

Oswald paused before slowly letting out a coy smile.

‘As amusing as your antics are Mr Wayne, I am going to have to ask you to leave, as I am preparing for tonight’s festivities. So, I bid you adieu and if you wish to join next month’s auction then you are most welcome, provided you make the proper arrangements.’

For the first time since the younger man came in, he dropped his smirk as though a mask had trickled away, but the man put it back as quickly as it went, making Oswald question if he saw anything at all.

‘Yes, of course, then I will be seeing you Cobblepot.’

‘Yes, a good evening to you Mr Wayne,’

Oswald waved three men over to them,

‘Will you gentlemen escort Mr Wayne off the premises.’

As the two of men walked Mr Wayne out of the club, he held on of them back.

‘Make sure he stays out, the last thing I need tonight is Gotham’s golden boy finding something he shouldn’t, I don’t want the hassle of killing him. The body disposal alone would be a logistical nightmare.’

Oswald then set the man after them, Oswald made his way to the centre of the room and put his hands on the railing to look at the icy mountain that floated in the frozen water. The lounge was being set up for the auction, people moving around him as quickly as possible, as Oswald stood still looking at the ice mountain that was swaying in the water. The ice was towering and the cold from it could be felt all throughout the lounge. Oswald looked harder at the chilling structure; he saw a small steady stream of water was trickling down the ice. Oswald’s mind floated elsewhere, think how something with such presences and intimidating high could be melting away slowly and unnoticed by all around it.

‘As much as I have always liked this glorified monument to your ego, it’s always come off a little more …. Subzero, then was intended don’t you think?’

Oswald jumped, snapping his head around, and snarled.

‘Edward, I swear. If you ever do that again I will throw you into the water and I will make sure everyone here watches you, as you’re drowning.’

Edward gently twirls the green drink in his hand and takes a light sip, he then leans his back on the railing and faces Oswald. Edward lingered on Oswald, his face void of any hostility, silently staring at Oswald waiting for a reply but Oswald just turns his head back to the ice in front of him, his hands gripping the railing tighter.

‘Rough day, Oswald.’

‘It’s going to be a long night.’

‘Oswald this is Gotham, every night is a long night.’

‘Edward, leave me be.’

‘Heavy is the head that wears the crown, are you looking upon your kingdom and weeping, old friend.’

Edward took a long slow sip of his drink.

‘Oh, how very apropos of you Edward, and what is it exactly that I have to weep about.’

‘Oh, who knows, Oswald, you have never once been satisfied with anything.’

‘Perhaps not.’

‘Oh, perhaps, perhaps, is that what you are going with, ok I’ll play, Oswald you have more money, territory and respect then you have ever had, and yet here you are gazing like Gatsby. So, riddle me this Oswald, a turn of phrase, to be sage and yet mindless, what is at its lowest when it’s on top, and how can less be learned and more be dim-witted?’

‘Edward, I don’t, I can’t, do this today, I have not the strength nor the temperament.’

‘My, my, Oswald, I dare say we are dangerously close to having a heart to heart.’

‘Please Edward, don’t insult me.’

‘Yes, your right, we would actually have to have hearts for that.’

‘My boy, you have no idea how badly I wish that to be true.’

‘Tut-tut, we can’t let the other degenerates know such unsightly things about us.’

‘Yes, I suppose it would be quite a blow to the reputation.’

‘Indeed.’

Edward took one last sip of his drink.

‘…Have you figured it out yet?’

‘Edward.’

‘Alright, fine I’ll drop it…. for now.’

Oswald loosened his grip on the railing and looked at Edward.

‘My boy, I believe there is still work to be done.’

‘Indeed.’

Night fell and crowds grew as the auction came closer. Item after item was moved into the lounge, the air was filled with cigarette smoke, gunpower and opportunity. The items were counted by a heavily motivated Mr Wesker as Mr Scarface watched him from a nearby shelf. The auction could now get under way, Oswald was by no means a showman that was one of Edward’s games, but he was at times diplomatically inclined. Oswald went to the stage and tapped the microphone.

‘Good evening, lady’s, gentlemen and twisted creations of the night,’

Oswald raised his glass gesturing to Killer Croc and Man-bat.

‘Right, now, we all know the rules, but for those of us who need to be reminded.’

He tuned his gaze to Harley Quinn, who was at the bar drinking three different cocktails through three curly straws all at once.

‘One item per customer, so choose wisely. You may inspect the product, but it cannot be opened in the Lounge. And most importantly this a silent auction, so do not go around boasting and giving away the tonight’s secrets, so in short keep your mouths shut.’

Oswald looked over to the side of the stage where Edward was standing. Edward then put his hand over his chest like a Victorian woman who just saw something unseelie.

‘Now ladies and gentlemen and others, to tie you over while the auction is underway, I give Edward Nygma,’

The crowd collectively groaned.

‘Now, now, I promise this is only his musical stylings.’

The crowd mumbled in agreement, as Edward walked on stage.

‘Oh, gee, thank you everyone, for that dazzling display of comradery.’

‘Sing, Nygma or get off.’

Growled Harvey,

‘Wooo, Eddie. Take it off.’

Harley cheered.

‘Give 'em the hook.’

Yelled Crane.

‘I am going to ignore that Johnathan. Now without further ado, Duke Ellington’s It don't mean a thing hit it boys.’

The band started to play. The patrons started to put their names in for items, Harvey pulled himself from one side of the room to the other, well it seems Harvey and Harv were having a disagreement on what to buy as his ashy left hand kept slapping is right whenever he tried to write anything down though oddly enough there was no coin in sight. Jonathan was sitting off to the side letting his slender frame trail up the wall, his head down letting his glasses slide down his nose. As laughter and small talk flooded the room. A loud crash came from the roof, when the Batman comes knocking it’s never on the door.

Now what is that old saying about glass ceilings.

The Batman comes bursting through the roof, the patrons scattered to the wind like glass being through onto the concrete. The Batman grabbed Jervis by the back of his collar and Edward was still on the stage.

‘Well now, we have a Bat in our belfry.’

As Batman pushed Two-Face down, still holding on to Jervis, Two-Face pushed Batman onto the bar counter.

‘Oh, you who Bat’s.’

Harley had grabbed poured alcohol all over the bar and lit it on fire.

‘Oh, and it is getting a little hot in here for the dark knight.’

Edward said calling into the microphone. A glass bottle flow in his direction and he ducked to avoid it.

‘Shut up, Ed.’

‘Make me Crane.’

‘Fine.’

Jonathan yelled as he throws another glass. Oswald then runs on stage pulling the microphone out of Edwards hands.

‘Enough! All of you, Enough.’

The room settled under Oswald’s voice, Batman still holding onto Jarvis.

‘Now, I dare say Batman, that you have made it abundantly clear, that you want something or rather someone form here this evening. Yes?’

The room was silent, flames still burning on the counter dancing on top of the alcohol.

‘Yes. Now, why don’t you take Mr Tetch and leave post haste, before I change my mind and burn this place down along with everyone in it, myself!’

The last words died in is throat from the screaming. Batman looked around the room he took a moment and then silently started dragged Jervis by the scruff of his neck, taking him out of the club as Jervis begged and pleaded to everyone in the room as he was struggling but all of them were still looking at Oswald on stage none of them moving.

Oswald then screamed at the room again.

‘Get out! Auction over, out now, all of you, out. Be gone, go back to whatever place has the misfortune of having you as a resident.’

Not ones to out their welcome, the room began to clear. Oswald headed back to his office, he shut the blinds and sat in darkness, he pulled out his pen once again.

Well my dear, today had just about everything, thrills, spills and arson. Not that I am ever sure what these nights will ever bring. I am only ever sure of what that they will never bring, and that is you, Penelope.

I have done monstrous things my dear, I have robbed, killed and betrayed many men. I have seen vigilantes rise and the old ways of Gotham fall. I have built all that I am on the bones and ashes of other men and yet the only regret I have is and always will be that I never got to see you grow. That for all my transgressions and all the immoral measures I have taken in my life, the blood that was spilled for all of it, was yours. Even though I have buried the ones who are responsible and entombed them so deep into the earth that their own souls can’t find a way out.

But the emptiness I feel by your absents is one I can not fill, no matter how much luxury, power or control I obtain.

Truly, Penelope, my love, my sweet Penny, there is only one thing that could appease that void and that would be for me to hold you in my arms again and to tell you that,

The door swung open.

‘Well that was a disaster.’

‘Get out, Edward’

‘It’s a big mess out there, and you through a fit on that stage, mind you that’s not unordinary behaviour for you or any of us. But there seemed to be a little more to it this time as compared to your usual screaming fits of rage.’

‘Edward, I swear, if you don’t leave right now, I’ll.’

‘Kill me? Please Oswald, empty threats are unbecoming.’

Oswald the reached into his coat and pulled out a gun.

‘Are you sure about that.’

Edward flicked up his hands with a light flourish and spoke dryly.

‘Oh, no, I have been bamboozled, please sir, leave me with my shillings and silk robes.’

Oswald cocked the gun back.

‘Edward, out, now.’

Edward leered at Oswald with his hands lowering to his sides.

‘You really mean it this time don’t you.’

Edward said steadily.

‘What gave it away, dear boy.’

‘Oswald whatever is happening, you need to keep a level head, lest it be chopped off.’

‘Edward, I am going to tell you one, last, time, get, out.’

‘Oswald,’

Oswald’s hand was starting to shake rattling the gun. Edward then slowly moved to go out the door and looked out to club’s centre piece.

‘Our love for the dead, like a floating iceberg, can only be measured by the depths of our resentments.’

‘Rosario Ferre.’

‘Rosario Ferre. Just something to think about, Good night Oswald.’

When Edward closed the door, Oswald still held the gun in his shaking hands. After a few shuddered minutes Oswald placed on the table. He picked up the pen once again.

Penny, my dear child, you were taken from me to soon, you shined so brightly you could block out the sun. and even now after all these years I think of you always.

And perhaps Edward has made a point, though he has done so in a way that made me want to shoot him. My love for you has fuelled my fury, my culpability and solidified my wrath over these long years without you. So even in death you are my hidden strength. Sleep well my child and know that I have not forgotten you. For you are forever a part of me and as long as I am etched into the walls of this city, where my name is held in respect and the city’s life blood flows through me, you will live in its bones with me,

until my bones rest next to yours.

Happy Birthday my dear, With all my love,

Your father.

Oswald then put the letter in an envelope and signed it, he then closed it and went into the ballroom, it was empty, a mess, and small ambers still danced on the bar counter. Oswald made his way slowly to the iceberg, he moved around the ice mountain until he reached a platform that lead out and was attached to the iceberg, Oswald walked onto the platform until his noise felt the frost from the monument. Oswald then placed his hands on the ice, moving down to a small block that had been carved out and he removed it and then he put the block at his feet, the hole in front to him was no bigger then a sheet of paper. Oswald then held the letter in his hands. Moments stretched out into hours in Oswald’s mind, he then reached out and put the letter into the hole, it landed onto a pile of older frozen, frosted over and twisted together letters. The frozen graveyard has received another body. Oswald them puts the block back into place, he then adjusts his coat and walks off the platform.

For the morning is upon him and light is on its way, so it is time for Gotham to lay itself to rest. As everything worth doing in Gotham is done in the darkness and hidden below the surface.

Oswald the put the letter in an envelope and signed it, he then closed it and went into the ballroom. Oswald then made his way slowly to the iceberg, he moved around the ice mountain until he reached a platform that lead out and was attached to the iceberg, Oswald walked onto the platform until his noise felt the frost from the monument. Oswald then placed his hands on the ice, moving it down to a small

The end

#Arkham Gallery Zine #gotham rogues #Gotham #batman rogues #batman villains #oswald copplepot #edward nygma #iceberg lounge #Arkham Gallery Zine full work #yeah i can put this here now

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