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phoenixcatch7 · 8 months

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Dp x dc twin au where Danny and Damian were in fact conjoined/siamese twins, but the most dangerous type - one head, two bodies.

Their early removal from talia being because their shape would not have allowed for natural birth, they were written off but talia begged for the chance to send them off in the lazarus pit.

By some bizarre miracle, before she turned to leave, two small bodies bobbed to the surface - identical in every way, except for the eyes. The previous blue eyes now split in two, one left, one right, and the new eyes, pit created, a bright green.

She took her child, her two children, and together, they survived.

Being removed prematurely, their early years were tough, but soon they blossomed into promising heirs for the league. In sync with every step, the closest of brothers, the league was certain the old fairy tale of twins being telepathic had been granted by the pit that separated them, the remnants of being born as one mind, one brain, one skull.

But then Danny had to flee, and leave his other half behind. Stretched by distance for the first time, the bond grew thin and stretched, and Damian grieved his brother as dead. When he started being sent on public missions, he hid his distinctive heterochromia, choosing the green in memory of the pit that had given him and his brother life.

Danny, hiding his pit aura in the ocean's worth that was Amity park, took to blue, the colour that he and Damian were born with.

Damian moves to Gotham, and continues to mourn his brother as dead, right until one day when he is twelve, when he learns what the death of your other half truly feels like.

Their reunion is a thing of family legend. Violence runs hot in both bloodlines, ghosts are highly emotional and prone to fighting a the drop of a hat for bonding, playing, testing, every reason under the green sun. Their training and play often consisted of friendly spars, competitive spars, furious spars, venting spars. Both have been exposed to unhealthy amounts of ecto since before their birth.

There is a long, long minute of staring, before they rip themselves away and lunge at each other like wolves.

The bat family are horrified by their brutally efficient youngest suddenly barreling towards a clone (?) and trying to claw his throat open with his bare hands while openly sobbing.

It ends with them wrapped around each other crying into the others shoulder as their minds finally meet again and relax from the painful stretch for the first time in years.

But nobody else has any idea what to do.

#Idk I just really like slightly codependent twins #Talia and ras had to put so much work in to prevent them from developing separation anxiety like dogs from the same litter #Also I like Damian thinking Danny is dead until he very abruptly finds out he is now via soul mate agony. Someone did a fic with that idea #It was really good. Let's dial it up to eleven #Danny and Damian having different eye colour and it being the fault of Damian's extra exposure to the pit is awesome too #But I wanted to see if there was a way they could both have the same eyes. Well. Close enough.#Same eyes + twin telepathy + the birth complications people like to give Danny = siamese twins #Also the portal accident happens two years early so there's that #I can't decide whether I want the first meeting to be alive Danny or dead Phantom #Or whether it be a summoning or something #I just need Damian and Danny to lay eyes on each other and immediately go feral #They still don't want to share a room though #dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc #dcxdp #danny and damian are twins #twins #twin au #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc prompt #dc x dp prompt #dc x dp crossover #It's not like telepathy it's more if one twin has seen it so has the other #It's not conscious on their part. They don't choose to share things usually. It's been that way since they were born.#That's what they think twins are for the longest time until talia realises and explains #Ras genuinely thinks Danny died because of how devastated Damian was and how he stopped knowing things he shouldn't #1k

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writer-room · 6 months

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Honestly Rayla is equally 100% ride or die for Callum too.

That's so true I almost mentioned it in that post. They're so ridiculously feral for each other it's hilarious to watch. Callum's the legitimate "we ride AND die together" whereas Rayla is the "I will ride and die FOR you" sort of deal yknow?

Could be literally any situation, no matter how dangerous, and she's already decided she will die here. Does it ensure Callum lives? Then batter-up buckeroo we're going in swords blazing! Everyone cheer and clap for her human or she'll blow this whole place up. Kinda person who says "even if you hate me I'd still lose everything if it meant you were okay". She thinks they're in a tragic love story where she's always at risk of losing him but that's okay as long as it keeps him safe and happy like y'know Viren parallels, she'd risk losing her very self for him over and over. Except Callum would wait until the end of the world itself, and even beyond, and she wouldn't even have to ask.

The difference between them, really, is that Rayla will die for Callum on any given day. Callum will kill for Rayla on any given day. Something something matching sets

#tdp #the dragon prince #asks #rayllum #tdp callum #tdp rayla #talk #someone in the tags of that post said 'raylas self loathing works hard but callums devotion works even harder' and they own that post now #its theirs. they summed it up beautifully. they own it #'yes hes cringe but hes MY cringefail loserboy!!!!! get your OWN'#everyone else would say the 'hes a 10 but--' except for rayla. shes just 'hes a 10. hes just a 10 striaght-up'#he is not. he is so not a 10 i love him but hes not a 10 shes just so ill for him #so insane that the girl who has issues abt not being or being wanted by anyone or not good enough for ppl to stay/want her #proceeds to find maybe the 1 guy in the entire world who will choose her no matter WHAT #and even when SHE was the one who left & he was pissed he was still 100% sticking by her. hes staying #oops she showed him affection. now hes stuck forever! shame. welp guess thats how it goes!#and its partially bc of that she'd die for him. she needs him to b okay even if shes not there. mix of that loathing like #'he could still b happy without me so i need to ensure he lives so he can STAY happy at my own detriment. he means more than me'#girl if you died he would literally crumple into dust. fold in like cardboard in the rain. lay face-down in the sand & just die there #same w callum hes like 'i can hurt myself over & over for her if shes alive. if the danger is dead then she can live longer. i will live bu #tear myself apart so long she is safe'#bestie. if you reach the point of no return she will sacrifice herself to get the old you back WHAT THEN

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rqg179 · 1 month

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i will say though that brennan revealing last episode that kipperlilly has been going to guidance counsellor for anger issues since freshman year has absolutely ruined me for seeing her as actually evil. i cannot believe that a teenage girl with anger issues is irredeemably evil i just can't

#i believe that she's an antagonist and that she kind of sucks as a person but i just don't think she's evil #yes i know she killed another teenager this episode but like. still #if aelwyn 'kidnapped 7 teenage girls killed the former elven oracle and helped bring a dragon back to take over elmville' abernant can have #an incredibly touching & emotionally resonant redemption arc then so can kipperlilly 'killed at least one possibly two clerics' copperkettl #currently i'm choosing to believe that the ratgrinders have been manipulated into this by someone else #(jace stardiamond and porter cliffbreaker i'm fucking watching you)#i mean cmon you can't tell me 'this teenage girl has anger issues that she has been getting help for for 3 years'#and not expect me to think she was a prime target for manipulation by agents of a dead god of rage and justice #kipperlilly copperkettle get behind me i'll protect you #i still think she sucks and the bad kids have every right to hate her! especially after this episode jesus fucking christ!#it's just that i will simultaneously lay down my life in her defense now. brennan cmon don't let me down #my post #d20 #fantasy high #fhjy

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mydeerfellow · 4 months

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Ye Mighty, Lay Down Your Arms

synopsis:

Rosie, as a professional fixer-upper, just wants to fix up Alastor. Inside AND out. Alastor just wants a few stitches, not the Spanish Inquisition. Vox just wants to play N64

AO3 link

It took a special sort of stupidity to cross into the Cannibal Colony with an open wound, where even the youngest child had a nose as good as any dog, and the populace was prone to swarming any potential meal. Yet, Alastor didn’t have much choice, and so he hurried his pace as well as he could without spraying blood everywhere, which would be problematic on a number of levels.

Truthfully, the wound itself was something Alastor probably could have handled on his own with a mirror and steady hands. The problem was his current lack of steady hands, and the fact that he couldn’t look at the damage without hearing his own heart pounding in his ears.

The problem was that Alastor did not want to be alone at the moment, but he also didn’t want to put on airs for the rest of the night in front of a group of ecstatic fools.

He needed to exist without a facade for a few hours to lick his wounds and compose himself, and for that, he needed Rosie.

“Ugh, I smelled you coming from half a mile. What are you doing, walking in the rain? You and the drama, I swear.” The door opened before Alastor had reached it, and he didn’t protest when he was hauled into the darkened emporium by the elbow, then led diligently up to the living quarters above. “In, in, come on. Take off your jacket, I’ll get it cleaned.” He was herded through the familiar-feeling kitchen and straight into the bathroom, catching a glimpse of some fresh hands sitting half-chopped next to a stock pot. “Now, don’t be a baby.” Rosie scolded preemptively.

Alastor tried to ask why, but he was interrupted when she yanked his dress shirt off his skin, peeling the half-dry blood that had been holding things together. He uttered a muffled shout and pulled back, which apparently fit Rosie’s definition of a baby, based on her thunderous expression.

Defeated without a word, Alastor sat on the edge of the old-style tub, balancing a bit precariously on the rim of it. He stared at the ceiling, practically relishing in dropping the act, even for an hour. Of course he continued to smile, but it was flat and unaffected. After a few seconds, he blinked hard and refocused on Rosie. “Hello.” He laughed sheepishly.

“Hello to you, sweetheart!” She replied warmly, raising her brows. “I guess it all worked out in the end, didn’t it?” As always, Rosie didn’t pry, even though she was clearly interested and had a stake in the whole venture. Alastor loved her for it.

Alastor flexed his fingers and uttered a laugh that was more of a heavy tsk. “It did, as far as I can tell. I had hoped it would.” He replied curtly, uncomfortably aware that even his voice was flat and tired. The radio effect was too hard to keep up when his body was trying to stitch itself back together and the primary catalyst of his power was in pieces.

“Alastor, darling, only you would pick a fight with an angel and have the absolute gall to come back alive and still cry about not winning.” Rosie laughed. “Is that all this is? Embarrassment?” She poked playfully, and Alastor felt his ire rising like a viper, catching a light in his eyes even as he caught himself before snapping at Rosie, who stilled immediately. She gave a sympathetic smile. “Not just that, then. Are you gonna tell me, or do I have to guess?”

Both were plausible, because Rosie was better at putting feelings into words than Alastor was. Whenever he tried, he ended up flustered, or trying desperately to dance around talking about the actual issue.

“I can’ttell you.” Alastor said flatly. There was a crack in the ceiling that was going to drive him to madness.

Rosie tutted. “Ugh, of course you can’t. Always with the secrets. And the mystery.”

There was a fork in the road that Alastor hadn’t anticipated. He had the opportunity to blissfully brush Rosie’s questions off as he usually did, allowing her to believe it was simply for the sake of drama. Or this was one of the few opportunities he would ever get to confide… withoutconfiding at all, thus maintaining the damnable deal. “I can’t tell you.” He repeated.

“Yes, you said that.”

“I can’t tell you.”

“I know, sweethe— oh.” He didn’t bother looking at her face, mostly because he didn’t want to see her expression. It was humiliating enough for the knowledge to be shared at all. “Oh, I see.” There was a rustle of fabric and then Rosie was sitting beside him on the edge of the tub. “Well, let’s address what we can fix, shall we? No sense crying over spilled blood.” She tutted, taking in the ugly wound. Most of the bruising on his back and shoulders had faded to sickly yellow skin, but the open wound was still festering, bleeding in spots.

Alastor sensed that Rosie was on the cusp of saying something else before she reconsidered and merely set about pouring hot water into a shallow dish, muttering something about her sewing kit. That was what he liked best about Rosie - she was smart enough to glean what she needed to know from what Alastor was willing to say, and she was, unlike most, content with her answers rarely being answered directly. “You know, you won’t like hearing this, but you really are lucky you didn’t end up in two very cute pieces.” Rosie pointed out, moseying around the overlarge bathroom, which was so unnecessarily decadent it was nearly comical. She started to rummage in a cabinet on the far side of the room. “Lucky for you, I always stock up before Exterminations.” She canted her head with a beaming smile, brandishing several small mason jars.

“I know.” He smiled back, feeling slightly relieved already by the weight off his shoulders, knowing there was at least one person aware of his predicament. “I’m surprised your contact is still alive.” Alastor admitted with some interest, taking the first jar from her and sniffing it. The paste inside was pungent, but distinctly fresh-smelling, and when he scooped some out, it was a pleasant forest green color. It stung the shit out of his chest when he applied it, but Alastor knew better than to doubt anything Rosie advised.

“Oh, no! The first one’s been dead for years, darling. Ugh, bless him. Frederick. Sweet boy, very tender.” Rosie corrected with a hoot of laughter. “If you paid any attention to politics outside the Pentagram, you’d know that plenty of hellborn demons are happy to help!” She held out the second jar, which smelled like the ocean… or as close to it as Alastor could remember. “They’re always flicking back and forth to Earth anyway, so it’s not hard for them to pick up some ingredients! Especially hellhounds - their noses are perfect for this kind of thing.” She noticed the way Alastor’s lips curled at the mention of hellhounds and absently slapped the back of his hand. “Oh stop. Keep your biases to yourself.”

Alastor rolled his eyes but didn’t reply, because Rosie was correct and it was a personal bias that kept him from wanting anything to do with hellhounds. Alastor didn’t like the way they looked, or the way they smelled, or the way they sometimes made doggish sounds when he least expected it. “Are you not going to pry even a little?” He asked instead, sounding amused.

“Would that make you feel better?”

“Not particularly.”

“Would you be able to answer anythingI asked.”

“Probably not.”

“Well, then that answers your question!” Rosie chirped, clapping her hands down on her lap as she sat next to him again. “I do wonder what in hell would possess you to do something so stupid, but…” She patted his shoulder fondly, and Alastor had no desire to rip out her throat for touching his bare skin. In fact, he amiably leaned into her side. “Well, stupid is as stupid does, as I always say! You’ve always got your reasons, even if they’re shit.” Rosie chuckled, then gently squeezed him against her side in a loose hug. “I suppose the only real question that matters is if you’re okay.”

Alastor was abruptly brought back to his first meeting with Rosie, when he’d been in Hell less than a week and practically crawling between hunger and pain, having stumbled from one bad situation to the next for days on end. Frankly, Alastor attributed much of his current success to Rosie’s kindness in those first months when he had nothing to offer her and she still chose to house him and feed him.

Rosie was good. Rosie had his trust.

“No.” He admitted softly, after enough time had passed that Rosie looked surprised. “No.” Alastor shook his head, feeling his heart speeding up and starting to skip a beat or two along the way. “I don’t want to die.” He elaborated in a high, panicky tone, dragging a hand through his hair as his ears flattened against his scalp. The room felt small and airless. Wasn’t there a window in here? Why was it so hot? “I don’t want to die. I don’t want to be at a disadvantage every single time.” Alastor added, speaking faster as his panic finally caught up with him, feeling like he had a knot tied around his throat, cutting off his breath. “I’m weak like this! I’m— they— I don’t need—” His voice crackled with interference and his eyes took turns ticking.

Rosie, who knew what to do in every situation, patted his hand calmly and was content to sit and wait as seconds crackled by. Eventually, when she seemed sure he wouldn’t sprint out of the room like a hunted animal, Rosie spoke up. “Well… I think that’s the risk you took, sweetheart, doing what you did. Aw, now don’t look at me like that.” She tutted when he wheeled on her with unprocessed anger brewing in his face. “I’m not saying what you’re feeling is wrong! It’s not! You think you’re the only one who’s probably scared to death with all this going on? Hah. Honey, please.”

“I’m weak.” He repeated hoarsely.

“To who? Some two thousand year old angel? Honey, we’re all weak next to that!” Rosie chided gently. “Or do you mean your deal?”

He couldn’t confirm it even if he wanted to, but his sullen look seemed to speak volumes.

“Hmm. Well, I guess that’s a little trickier…” Rosie sighed, standing up and pulling a small stool over from the corner so she could sit in front of Alastor. “What are you going to do about it?”

“I don’t know.” He said tightly, lifting his chin so she could start sewing his skin together without his nose in the way. He sighed at the ceiling. “I don’t know. I can’t find a backdoor.”

“Mm, well, you know what they say: Every deal’s got a backdoor.” Rosie reminded him as she set to work. “I’m sure yours is no different. You just need to find it.”

Alastor winced at the first poke of the needle. “And what if there is no backdoor?” He wondered bleakly.

“Then you’re stuck, and you might as well learn to live with it.” Rosie laughed. “Not what you wanna hear, I know, but you could be doing worse for yourself, Alastor. Look where you are. Who you’re there with!” The needle dipped a little deeper than before and he hissed softly. Rosie didn’t seem to care as she chattered on. “That Charlie’s a little peach! A bit naive, maybe, but she’s got a good head on her shoulders. Stick with her, and I think it’ll work out.”

Alastor sighed, because Rosie was right (as usual), but that didn’t make her advice any less grating on his nerves. “Well, at least that won’t be a struggle” He muttered bitterly, then dragged a hand through his hair again, anxiously mussing his ears. “Maybe.” Alastor added as a brooding afterthought, knowing better than to try predicting the mind of any demon besides himself. The one holding his leash could change their mind on a whim, and he wouldn’t have any say in the matter.

Rosie hummed thoughtfully as she knotted the last stitch and nipped off the thread. “I see.” She suddenly had a third jar of something-or-other in her hand and dabbed it on the stitching. It smelled spicy. Foreign. It made Alastor think of some far-flung desert. “It’s interesting that you would say it like that.” Rosie laughed softly, taking his hand in hers before Alastor could think to pull away. “It’s so odd to see you worried. You really are fond of that little hotel, aren’t you?”

He immediately bristled, taking offense at the suggestion that he was blinded by misplaced affection for a plan that was, at best, wildly unrealistic. Alastor tried to yank his hand away, but Rosie had a grip of iron when she wanted, and he had a better chance of cutting his hand off than getting it back from her. “Oh stop, sweetheart. You’re so dramatic!” Rosie sighed irritably. “I wasn’t insulting you, so you can put your incorrigible male pride away for the time being. It’s not a sin to be fond of people you live with!”

“I’m not—”

“Dear.”

“I do not—”

“Darling.”

“I just—”

“Sweetie-Pie.”

“I’ve never—”

“Alastor.” He looked up at her sudden shift in tone. “Shut up, honey. You know how much I hate it when you lie. It’s an insult to our friendship.” Her smile was an unpleasant, jagged, and anxiety-inducing thing. Alastor deflated rapidly, ears flat against his head and shoulders sinking. “Thank you, sweetie.” She patted his shoulder warmly. “I think we’ve got you about as patched up as you’ll ever be.” She added as an afterthought, standing up and wandering out of the bathroom for a few moments, giving Alastor a chance to catch his breath, eyes pinched shut and expression pained by more than just the searing wound on his chest. Out in the main room, Rosie was talking (mainly to herself) about how happy she was to help.

“Of course, there isn’t much I can do for your silly little stick.” Rosie was still chattering away as she came back with his shirt and jacket, both meticulously cleaned.

“I didn’t expect you to.” Alastor laughed curtly as he pulled on his dress shirt, grimacing when the stitches strained against flesh. “That’s the next stop.”

“Well, best to get it all over with in one fell swoop, isn’t that right? No need to drag out your own suffering.”

Alastor shuffled his arms into his jacket, adjusting his clothes until he felt presentable enough to leave the sanctity of Rosie’s luxurious bathroom. “Oh, I don’t know. I imagine it’s going to be dragged out whether I like it or not.” He raised his brows at her significantly and she had the decency to at least appear sympathetic. “I continue to suffer for the fact that I have ever agreed to any deals.” He couldn’t help whining one last time as he was shuffled towards the door.

“Oh stop. It’s what, twelve hours? You can handle that! Look at you! You survived an angel, I think you can handle a television.” Rosie pulled him into a tight hug that Alastor reciprocated after a pause. “The door’s always open if you need it. Tell Vox I sent him kisses.” She added cheerfully.

Alastor grimaced. “See you in twelve hours.” He muttered, sucking in a long-suffering breath as he nudged open the door with his hip and slipped out onto the street, begrudgingly making eye contact with the stupid drone that was eagerly floating around in the pissing rain, one red light flashing rhythmically, just in case he needed even more confirmation that Vox was being, as the children would say, a fucking creeper.

“Well, you’re going to have to wait. I’m not tolerating you until I’ve eaten.” Alastor bared his teeth at the floating camera in what was more a snarl than a smile. “And I am not going to that ludicrous eyesore of a tower.” The drone, of course, didn’t speak, but Alastor was more than capable of having a one-sided argument with the fool on the other side of the camera. “You maycome to the hotel in one hour. Assess the damage and we can go from there.” He pinched the bridge of his nose irritably, unable to fully comprehend that he was still forced to adhere to a deal he’d agreed to almost sixty years ago.

Frankly, the fact that Vox still held onto it was pathetic… though Alastor had togrudgingly admit that he had no idea what he would do if he was left to his own devices with the tangle of wire and magic that was his microphone.

“You can go now.” He waved his hand at the drone, which made an unbearably happy trill with its motor as it followed him down the street. “Do you think I’ve forgotten how this works? You fix my cane and I go along with whatever absolute idiocy youforce upon me for twelve hours.” Alastor pointed angrily at the drone, which continued whirring cheerfully until a tendril of darkness crawled around it, sending it clattering onto the pavement. “That twelve hours starts when I say it does. Not when you feel most aggravating.” The drone blinked a few more times as the tentacle overcame its sensors and Alastor’s shape started to morph into something lanky and dark. “You may come to the hotel in one hour. Any earlier than that and ł’ⱠⱠ ₥₳₭Ɇ ɎØɄ ⱤɆ₲ⱤɆ₮ ł₮.” He snapped his teeth at the drone just before it disappeared into the void, then pulled back with an aggrieved sigh, losing all his ponce and drama immediately.

It was going to be a very long night.

#hazbin #hazbin hotel #hellaverse #hazbin hotel fanfic #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin alastor #hazbin rosie #hazbin vox #Rosie is here to lay down some truth sandwiches #Alastor would rather be dead thanks #Alastor has a panic attack RIP #Vox just lives in his drones #like a freak #Rosie still calls them friends even though it's been 40 years and they're on sight

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brother-emperors · 11 months

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liciniicrassi >> sforzesco

#to be clear im still absolutely fixated on crassus im just. feeling. some kind of conflicted way about it #and the url was taking the fun out of objectifying him by peeling him like a banana #like i want to get back to drawing pompey fantasizing about (redacted) not sliding out of my chair and laying down on the floor #the dead romans are staying but i want a sforza url again. sforza family i have missed you dearly.#anyway! as always. the rule of whatever this is. if it's not fun anymore: kick it to the curb #(that said i did like the liciniicrassi url. i might go back to it. or save it for a Future Project i have been thinking about)

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epicmarshmallow · 7 months

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Okay but imagine that Reggie finds out Peter is a spy and that he's going to betray James and Lily. He goes to tell them but it's Halloween and they have no time to run.

So James tells Lilly to take Harry upstairs and hide. She doesn't want to leave them but she knows she has to protect Harry.

They're frantically trying to figure out how to beat one of the strongest wizards of all time. There's a knock at the door.

Reggie opens the door and Peter and Voldemort are faced with a fucking huge stag.

Peter obviously knows it's Prongs but Voldemort is so surprised that Prongs gets the upper hand and just fucking gores him. Like gallops full speed and just rams into him antlers first and then stomps him for good measure.

Reggie full body binds Peter.

The Potters live.

All is well.

#obviously voldy still has the horcruxes so he's not dead dead #imagine Sirius showing up and its just Voldys body on the floor looking like #well like a stag fucked him up #and his brothers there and peter is laying unconscious #James is upstairs making sure Lilly and Harry are okay #Sirius is like wtf has happened here?#idk why my brain thinks of this shit but i cannot stop laughing #harry potter #marauders #james potter #lily evans #lily potter #regulus black #jily #jegulus #sirius black #hallowen 1981

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bones-of-a-rabbit · 1 year

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One day, you comes across the staffbot in the abandoned theater.

There is a fine layer of dust to them, just as there is on everything else in the room. You are hesitant to even walk in, at first. You climb the stares from stage right, approaching with enough time to let them back away if they wanted to. They don't. You come up so you are face to face with them. Though frozen in an empty, static pose, their eyes are dusky, lifeless. You stare for a while. It's odd, seeing your reflection like this.

You take the time to lower their suspended hands to a more relaxed position. You straighten their hat and adjust the front of their vest, dusting off the shoulders. You stand, looking at them for a while.

You don't check as you leave and carefully, noiselessly, close the door behind you, but you know their head turned to follow your silent departure. Both you know it will be a long time before you return. Hopefully, they do not blame you. No one ever likes coming to a silent theater to look upon the long-cold corpse of themselves.

#small moments #short fanfic tidbit #fic tidbit #story tidbit #fnaf fanfic #fnaf x reader #after everything was fixed #readerbot au #repairbot reader #staffbot readre au #tw dead body #tw death mention #imagine a distant slightly slowed or out of tune but still soft and sad but soothing music box lullaby over this ok #thats the vibe #how could one ever explain what its like to meet the death of the best friend youve never known #to come across the only one that might have been like you long after they are cold and still #a loneliness untouchable unknowable i think #you leave flowers beside them. fix their hair and lay their head more comfortably #and then you must carry on #and so you do #sad fic #hurt no comfort #sort of #idk i just been having some vibes n brain itch #rlly wanna get back into writing #ok goodnigt now lol love u guys

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in-tua-deep · 3 months

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had some very plot-y dreams last night!

I was an alien who was disguised as a human. I think I had come to earth as some kind of invading force years and years ago - my lifespan was pretty long actually, so I was only about the equivalent of my early 20s still but I'd been on earth long enough that I looked more middle-aged.

Which was appropriate, because the reason I had bailed/was in hiding is because I had fallen in love with my beautiful wife. She had died, so I was raising our half-alien son by myself and was probably the definition of Overprotective Parent

I never saw what I looked like, but there was a point in the dream where my son was in his alien form. It was actually very beautiful - he looked like he was made of colorful gemstones or glass rather than flesh and blood

But the whole dream's plot hinged on me finding what was apparently some kind of like, alien rehabilitation program where they took someone and made them human and made them experience life as a human as some kind of penance/rehab?

And there was a dude who I recognized as like. a Big Bad species, that I was CONVINCED had a) no ability to feel remorse, b) would indiscriminately kill everyone, and c) was very very dangerous and also in the same town as my son

so I started like, hanging around?? To try and catch this dude being Evil and also making sure everyone was staying The Fuck Away from my kid, right? except this dude just kind of. didn't do anything evil. stone cold poker face and no showing emotions, but no like, killing or anything

at some point into this dream, we find out about a bomb that is under the chair of one of the group, which consists of me, This Guy, and some squishy humans. My goal is to make sure that if the bomb goes off, it goes off with the other alien bc his species is very invulnerable to things like that

long story short, I ended up with the bomb and driving away and got. really really hurt. and the evil alien? he ran over, covered my wounded body with his own, and someone transferred half of my wounds to him and in doing so he saved my life

so... not as evil (or as emotionless) as I thought, clearly

The rest is fuzzy, but I know I let him see that I had a son at one point, though I didn't directly introduce them.

Honestly the whole dream kind of felt like it had a vague enemies to friends to lovers plot going on as we both explored more of his background and history and emotions, and as we revealed the fact that I had once been kind of a bad guy honestly before falling in love with my wife.

something something, second chances

then i had an entirely different dream where I was a princess who accidentally defeated a dragon and bound him to me in human form lol

#my dreams #dream journal #second chance dream #like honestly the peak of this dream was him throwing his body over mine as i lay dying #and then transferring half of the wounds #like i was still hurt and now he was too #and i don't think either of us had known his species could do that tbh #i was such an overprotective middle aged dad honestly #i don't think i let my son really leave the house #because of the whole half-alien thing i was so worried he would be like. experimented on or taken away #my dead wife haunted the narrative #she made me a better person but without her i think i was regressing to old (bad) coping skills #the only reason i know about my age is i complained about the body the evil alien got #sometimes a love story is a 26 year old in the body of a 40 yr old man and his enemy-to-love the 40 year old alien looking like a 26 yr old #and that's okay #shoutout to the dragon and princess story bc no one realized that 'twas I who was bound to the dragon for like. ages #bc nobody realized i was the one that killed him i guess?

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slutdge · 4 months

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somehow while ive been going through the unbearable torment nexus ive still been able to keep up with my album-a-day-for-a-year thing so far

#like yeah brother i wish i was dead right now but im not. somehow i havent killed myself so i keep checking out albums #but i dont wanna undermine that im in unbearable pain rn lmao #my therapist said that wasnt good for me to pretend #im very much still in a torturous life and i feel helpless cause i dont think i can ever escape #but at least ive had the motivation to keep up one thing yknow #or im just crazy and psychotic and this made no sense whatever im going back to my suffering hibernation now #at the very least being honest cant hurt even if it doesnt help all that much but im really at the lowest ive ever been my dudes #ive never been lower than this #im failing at all the aspirations of a healthy person but at least im keeping up on the album thing #i know that maybe doesnt seem significant to other people #but when the only thing i can do when i get off work so i dont die of starvation is get in bed #but i still make an effort to hold myself to this commitment #thats at least a tiny bit of light im trying to put in my life no matter how hard i just wanna lay down and die all the time

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radioactivepeasant · 11 months

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Snippets: Jak and Daxter Thursday Part 2

(As promised, the Less Angsty Part.)

The onlookers all seemed to think Jak had slipped out of the Precursor craft at the last moment. That was just fine with him: it meant no one had seen him teleport out, carrying Damas into the tower. Leaving him there had been terrifying -- even if the monks in the Convalescence Ward had believed him to be a Precursor himself, and vowed to care for Damas with a reverence that made him sick, it was hard to trust his father's care to others. But he had appearances to keep up, just as his other self had warned him. All he could do was focus on his next steps.

Sig had taken the throne as interim regent in Jak’s place, as while he was more than capable of satisfying the battle requirements of a Spargan king, he wasn't yet of age. That was a mercy, but Jak knew Sig loathed the role. Damas had been like an elder brother to him from the moment he staggered through the gates of Spargus seeking refuge. Sitting in his place felt as wrong for him as it did for Jak.

Jak turned a tired smile to Daxter, who met it with a knowing look. Tess raised her brows at Daxter, but he tiptoed to whisper in her ear that he'd explain later. Jak clapped a hand to Keira's shoulder in camaraderie as he passed, and she returned it in kind with a light squeeze.

There was a pain in her eyes Jak remembered too well. Everything had come out in bits and pieces from the moment Haven had traded Jak to Damas, and Keira almost regretted digging for answers. Learning that a beloved parent was capable of such thoughtless cruelty to someone else's child "for the greater good"- well. They'd had their fights, but Jak wouldn't have wished that feeling on her even if she'd joined the Krimzon Guard.

"J- sorry, Mar."

Jak managed a bittersweet smile. "For you, I can still be Jak."

Keira bit her lip and looked skyward for a moment, blinking rapidly until she had her facial expression under control.

"...okay. Jak, I'm...I'm going to denounce him. To think that all that time, he knew- I. I don't think I'll ever- it's like I woke up and someone replaced my dad with a complete stranger."

"We never blamed you for any of it," Jak answered earnestly. "Spargus won't hold it against you if you don't denounce him. We all answer for our own choices."

Keira blinked hard again, and nodded. "And this is my choice. I'm choosing you and Daxter this time. Like I wish I had before."

Jak reached up to squeeze her hand. "...thanks, Keira. We...I missed you."

"I missed you too, Jak." Keira let go to fold her arms across her middle. "Can we start over?"

Swallowing down a lump in his throat, Jak nodded. "I- yeah- yeah we- that sounds good."

Keira offered a wan smile, then let him go. It felt like torture, climbing the last few platforms to the balcony. Sig was there, but so was Samos. And so was Onin. And while Jak knew they were only there because Sig wanted them within firing range if they tried something, it made him hesitant to continue forward. He didn't want to be anywhere near the people who had known about Veger's plot and blithely co-opted it for their own uses.

"Jak, m'boy! Well done!" Samos chortled merrily, wearing that grandfatherly air Jak had always fallen for before.

Not anymore.

"I'm not "your" anything." Jak stepped past him in a hurry. He didn't trust himself not to snap if he remained within arm's reach of the sage.

Sig rose from the throne and held an arm out to him with an understanding look.

"Mar," he said softly.

He clasped arms with Jak, and nodded solemnly.

"I'm proud of you, kid. Your- Your father would be proud."

"He is," Jak answered softly. Then he pulled Sig down to his level by the shoulder to whisper in his ear, "Dax is going to take over the diplomacy stuff down here. Meet me in the C-Ward upstairs."

Sig straightened and frowned down at him. "What'd you do, cherry?" he murmured.

The smirk Jak gave him in reply was so grim he could have sworn it was Damas who stood before him once more.

"I shaped my own fate, like my father taught me."

For a long time, Sig just looked at him. Then he shook his head. "Boy, if I didn't already know you did impossible things-"

The Convalescence Ward was a hive of activity the instant Jak stepped through the door. He frowned. The light eco should have rewound the crushed bones and organs almost perfectly! Doubtless his father would be sore a while, and Jak hadn't been able to fully repair the broken leg before running out of eco, but that wouldn't warrant this much fuss, would it? He opened his mouth to ask what the problem was, and a senior monk rushed to him.

"Young prince! Your father-! He- he-!"

Irrational thought it was, anxiety twisted in Jak’s stomach. "What about my father? What are you talking about?"

The old woman took him by the hand, a slightly disturbed awe wavering in her voice.

"He lives! Your father lives, Mar!"

Relief washed over him, and with it, the events of the last 48 hours that he'd been shoving to one side.

"Let me see him," he said urgently.

"I...must warn you first, Mar," the monk cautioned, and Jak's stomach flipped again.

"He is...changed. The Precursors returned him from the edge of death -- by hand! No mortal can experience such a thing and remain unaltered."

Ah. Just the normal "Mystical Whooo Crap", as Pecker called it.

"I've seen that kind of thing before. I'm not afraid," Jak assured the monk. "Please. Just take me to him, Ruma."

Damas was awake now -- he hadn't been when Jak had seen him last. One leg -- the still broken one -- lay propped up where monks could splint it. Dark blue shapes twisted and curled under the skin, as if lights were shooting through his veins. The rest of him looked strangely normal for having just been yanked back from the edge of death. The monks not splinting his leg quickly backed away from the bed as Jak approached.

It had worked. The timeline was closed now, and Damas lived.

Like a puppet with its strings cut, Jak dropped to sit in a heap on the edge of the cot. He fumbled for Damas’s hand and held it to his chest as he let out a shaky breath.

"You're here," he croaked.

"I'm here," Damas repeated, almost confused. Then his face split into a wide smile. "I'm here."

Jak blinked. Something wasn't quite right about his father's face. Something about his eyes was a little brighter than he recalled. And the teeth...Too many? Too few? Too sharp? His mind couldn't decide for a few seconds before the bones in question seemed to settle into a fairly standard -- if unusually sharp -- set of human teeth.

A memory of his own face, saturated with both light and dark eco, rose to Jak’s mind, and an uncomfortable thought followed on its heels.

Had he altered his father's physical form by healing him in the Precursor craft?

Further speculation was cut short when Damas pulled his hand free to tap playfully against Jak’s cheek.

"You once pushed a chair in front of the door -- a toddler's chair, mind you now -- because you thought it would keep me from going to work without you. You never could stand being left behind, could you?"

He sounded like he wasn't certain whether he was more amused or annoyed.

So much pain, so much loss, and here they all were at the end of it all, still standing. So to speak. The exhilaration of not being the only one left to tell the tale filled him with a heady feeling he would later come to recognize as joy.

With a giddy laugh, Jak threw himself forward and into Damas’s chest.

"We did it!" he crowed, "We did it, we did it!"

Damas’s arms folded over his back, and his chest vibrated with a soft chuckle.

"So it would seem! Though how I'm to explain this, I'm not certain."

"So just don't explain," Jak snorted, "and let them come to their own conclusions."

He ducked away from the hand tweaking his ear with a laugh.

"And let someone start some crackpot theory about our already bizarre bloodline?" Damas feigned offense. "That sounds like a terrible idea!"

"Terribly clever, I agree."

Damas lightly thumped Jak over the head. "Impudent little- When I get out of this cast, I oughta-"

Finally seeing an opportunity, a monk gracefully interrupted. "My lord, your leg requires time and watchfulness to heal correctly. You must leave it immobile for at least two weeks until we know what the eco is doing in your bloodstream."

She turned and nodded respectfully to Jak. "I trust you will keep the injury well tended-to?"

Jak slid over to occupy the space between Damas and the small nightstand. He leaned back against the wall beside his father and nodded back.

"Don't worry, he's not going anywhere. I'll make sure of that."

"This is elder abuse," Damas complained, just as lighthearted and almost giddy as his son. "You can't make me stay in bed! That's mutiny!"

"No," Jak retorted with a broad grin, "That's what happens when Sig gets here and finds out you're alive!"

"Argh, you're right!" Damas slipped an arm around Jak’s neck in half a hug, half a headlock. "And then I'd have to contend with Daxter!"

Jak gently poked Damas in the side with a smug grin. "Daxter? No no, Tess is the one you should be afraid of."

Damas flung his other hand into the air in mock exasperation. "Rot me, it's a conspiracy! I'm outnumbered!"

When the monks had finally taken the hint to leave the pair alone to catch up, Damas sobered slightly. "You know we'll probably have to make a plan for if the Precursors choose to retaliate for this."

Jak's eyes danced with mischief. "What're they gonna do without their technology? They're as powerless as Veger!"

Damas raised a brow -- no, Jak hadn't imagined it, there was something weird about his eyes now. The pupils weren't supposed to have little points of light like stars, were they? Not for humans.

"Alright cub, what did you do?"

"What did Daxter do," Jak corrected, deciding to deal with the possibility of his father gaining a Light Form later. "He confiscated the old one's staff, and then made them drop the ship with the Precursor we hatched from the Stone last year. Because they weren't being responsible with time and space."

Considering the young Precursor had been sitting on the beach that would one day hold Sandover Village, happily building elaborate sandcastles in lieu of blueprints, Jak had a feeling the new owner of the time machine would have fewer agendas to push. And given how the glowing being had greeted them as "My friend Mar" and "little Scout-brother", perhaps subsequent timelines would be kinder to his family. The other ottsels' horror and chagrin boded well, anyway.

#jak and daxter #fic prompts #writing prompts #prisoner exchange au #got a little Eldritch Dad in there but that's fine #keira hagai #keira gets to reconcile with jak #Damas lays low for a bit to let enemies think he's dead #Jak formally cuts ties with Haven but many of them still feel entitled to his service #Damas accidentally earns the nickname Damas the Undying because of Jak and he thinks its really annoying #Tess takes to Wastelander life like she was born for it and it's a little terrifying #and if Kleiver doesn't watch out Keira will stage a coup and take over the garages entirely #if you remember the last scene of the old disney robin hood with prince john and co in striped prison uniforms breaking rocks #that's what ottsel veger and the minor Precursors are up to #jak and daxter thursday #free day thursday #dadmas #king damas

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