#albeit all disjointedly but like. .. i Expect it...

[pickleking8]

8 - Adoption Isn't All It's Cracked Up to Be - Chapter 8

Words: 770

Ao3 Link

Previous - Next - Masterpost

Tw: death, guns, bombs, fire (?), let me know if I missed anything

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    The whole world burned in a thousand shades of bright green fire. 

     The air was hot and carried the rancid smell of melted plastic and charred flesh. It hung heavy in the air, the slightest of breezes letting tattered lab coats flutter slightly, a clinical white flag of unconditional surrender. 

    It was loud, too. The fires crackled and popped and sizzled, building into a constant, unceasing roar that accompanied the shrill ringing that seemed to stretch on and on, a sordid reminder of the bomb that had gone off in a flash only moments before. 

     They were probably screaming, but she couldn’t hear them. Even if she had, she doubted she would be moved much by the final shrieks of those damned long before she ever even arrived. They had taken her brother from her. Again. This base hadn’t held him. None of the meticulously organized, glaring white bases that she had searched and razed had held him. She would keep going, though. She would destroy everything and everyone standing between her and Danny .

     Even as she watched, a shriveled body, still blazing with a horrid green fire, stumbled disjointedly out of the wreckage. She traced the man’s (the monster’s) slow, unorganized path as he pitched and lurched all of, one, two, three steps before he fell. His body hit the ground hard, a bony and scorched hand stretched out before him in what, she didn’t know. A plea, perhaps? It wouldn’t be answered. She wouldn’t answer him. 

     In languid, loping steps that crunched over scattered glass, she smoothly crossed the distance between them, and with a swift stomp, she shoved his hand back down into the dirt. 

     The fire burned, and she stood there, gazing with cold, detached eyes over the wreckage. Slowly, slowly, the fire died down, shrinking into glowing green embers and leaving only air clogged with smoke and white ashes. She kept standing, and only when the world had finally faded into oblivion and quiet, burdened still by a layer of smog and desperation, did she move. 

As she turned, black boots grating upon the littered ground, she saw a flitting shadow out of the corner of her eye, and within seconds had a large gun pointed at it. It was dark, though. Black. Not white, so she didn’t shoot quite yet. It remained in the shadows.

     “Come out. Now,” she commanded, with a rigidness to her voice that spoke to the idea that she expected her orders to be followed. And they were. Confidently, the figure stepped forward, and now that it was in the light, albeit obscured by the remnants of flame, she could make out the form. Batman. 

     Keeping her gun expertly trained on his chest, she quickly drew another one and pointed it at Robin hiding against the other wall. He looked startled, like he wasn’t expecting to be seen, and to be fair many, if not most, would have missed him. Her eyes narrowed, and her chin jutted out, ever so slightly. 

     “And the rest. Come out or I’ll shoot,” she said, clipped and clinical, with a jab of the guns at both targets. 

     The rest filed out, begrudgingly, annoyed, from rafters and from windows. They wanted to attack, she knew, she could tell, she could feel the rage simmering underneath their masks and the protectiveness over their own. Good, she could use that. 

     Batman took a quick step forward, only to scrape to a halt when she readjusted her grip on the gun. He quickly regrouped.

     “Who are you? Why have you done this?” he said, his voice a low growl, arrogant and hubristic, as if he was not standing amid a testament to her power. She holstered the gun trained on Robin. 

     “You don’t need to know any more than to call me Aconite. And as for why I’m doing this… well, I’m looking for something,” even behind her mask, the hatred and resentment were clearly heard as she spat out the next sentence, “Something that they took from me.”

     She clenched her fist, and when she opened it, she got the satisfaction of watching several eyes widen behind dominos, as what was revealed was a quickly ticking bomb with garishly flashing numerals counting down the seconds until havoc was wreaked once more. In one smooth motion, she hefted it, lighting fires anew, and when the ringing had stopped and the Bats had all come out from the pillars and rubble behind which they had hidden, she was gone, leaving only a wake of destruction and decimation, and a single warning, behind her. 

     “Don’t get in my way.”

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Next - Masterpost

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Rogue Jazz is my favorite, and I'm not really sure if I did her justice, but hopefully it came across well. I was really trying to make her very cold and detached, just done and willing to do what it took to get her brother back. I also want yall to know that Aconite is a flower that can mean both a warning/caution and death, as well as courage and protection, which I thought was very fitting for Jazz in this. I also want you to know how I envision her costume, I would draw it but I cant draw (I tried drawing Jazz. It did NOT work).

I mostly think of a black outfit, to counter the white of the agents, with her hair free and a full mask. I also think that she has glowing purple accents, to go along with her name, and because I think it looks cool. Just imagine the most badass, coolest thing you can and you're there. If I'm being honest I was also imagining her demeanor to be a bit like Jinx from Arcane while she's fighting, just slightly (a lot) unhinged and willing to do whatever in order to protect Danny.

I also want to apologize for the lack of updates, my grandpa died so it's been kind of tough for me lately. The funeral is in a couple of days, so it might be a while again before another update, but yeah. Or maybe this will spur my writing. Who knows.

Anyway, I would appreciate any constructive criticism you have to offer, and I thank you for reading!

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Taglist: @tkiesai

#dpxdc #dcxdp #dcxdp crossover #danny phantom #jazz fenton #batman #red hood #batfam #rogue jazz fenton #tw death #tw guns #tw bombs #tw fire #my fic #adoption isn't all it's cracked up to be

[goblin-writer]

A New Purpose

CW: Death (first time I’ve used one of these but it’s appropriate this time I guess?)

Death stood before their shelves. Bottles filled with various swirling colours stared balefully down at them. Their work was lonely, and yet through everything they were never alone. The souls they gathered were often spoken to by one of the various afterlives. It was the others that kept them company even now.

Death pulled off their cloak revealing large white wings and a pure red tunic with white collar and epaulettes. They had favoured it since they first came into style and since they left. It was a striking uniform that had represented death for so many, albeit with gold instead of white. Death’s hair was black as jet tied back into a ponytail, leaving their sharp cheekbones and blazing eyes free to those that would look at them after their final moments.

With a thought a new shelf appeared below the current one and death placed their most recent bottle onto it. Even they didn’t know why some souls weren’t spoken for, there was no rhyme or reason. And they did so rarely leave their possession. Still, there was always a purpose in death and they were determined to discover what it was.

With a single push from their wings Death shot upwards to an office that floated disjointedly in the air amidst the shelves and furniture that they kept. Death sat at their desk and looked at the mirror on their desk. Its silver edges radiated a purple glow. Someone was trying to contact them. With a wave of their hand they saw the face of a small cat with dun fur and bright eyes.

“It worked?”

“Did you think I would not answer?”

“No, never, Great Dowager.” It was a title given to Death by many, not one they liked but they couldn’t fault them. Staring Death in the face was difficult, let alone naming them.

“What then is the purpose for our interaction?”

“I have a request,” That was unusual, but cats so often were, they had some kinship with ravens in that regard, “A human that cared for me is doing poorly. Could you help them.”

“Curing the ill is not my remit. You should ask my twin.”

“I know, I know. But – they said they could do nothing.” While cats had exceptional intelligence, they did not believe that humans could die so easily. Nor were they usually so attached. Maybe it was time for an exception.

“Very well. I shall be there shortly.” The connection cut off. If their twin could not help then life was no longer extant. Death did not like being without options. They gathered their bag of tools and, on impulse grabbed a coruscating soul from near the door.

They stepped out and appeared in a living room. A couch and a chair, a coffee table, and a television. The entire house smelled slightly of fragrant teas. It was a drink they enjoyed, herbal and invigorating.

The cat from before sat at their feet and nodded once before walking to and hopping onto the coffee table. As Death expected; the person was dead. Still, they had not taken them and they could not see who had. So, Death took out various devices and turned them on. It took a while to calibrate but eventually they found a trace of one of the Houses of the Dead. Thanatos had claimed this one. They were in for a good afterlife all things considered.

It was one thing Death could not do, and that was bring a body back to life. They had tried with the magic and technology of all ages, and had failed. Still, they dutifully tried.

They might be akin to a deity to some animals and they refused to let them down without honest attempts. Despite all their alchemical knowledge life did not return, nor did Life come to interfere. After an hour they sat back with a sigh.

“You have my condolences. I cannot do more.”

“I was afraid you would say that, but had wanted to believe.”

“The end of life is natural; we cannot turn back the clock.” And as Death spoke the cat walked up to their bag and grabbed the bottle between their teeth, padding over to them and setting it down.

“You haven’t tried this.” The cat murmured.

“It’s a soul, there is nothing that can be done.”

“You haven’t tried this.” The cat said again quietly.

“How would you imagine this would work?”

“You haven’t tried this.” The cat was firmer. Death wasn’t used to being contradicted by cats.

“If this soul is let out and doesn’t do anything then what? Will you be happy?”

“You haven’t tried.” That was too much. Death stood And stalked to the window, looking out, down a long hill along which grew flowers and ancient trees. Birds danced in the air and far in the distance, really specks for human eyes, death saw a family approaching the house. They looked similar to the deceased.

But Death couldn’t put souls into bodies on a whim. They also didn’t like hurting people. Or for that fact breaking the trust that the animals had with them. They had tried, the cat’s accusation was unfair. But had they tried everything?

Death’s wings unfolded as they took off their cloak. Rolled back their sleeves and opened the bottle. Leaning over the person they poured the soul into their eyes. Seeing them shimmer for a moment with that glow that had been in the bottle a moment before. Death watched, in something like a trance as the now second-hand soul made its way through the eyes and into the body. It was difficult to know where a soul resided but this one found its way.

As it took hold Death saw signs of life returning and straightened up, looking at the cat. It bowed its head in thanks. At least they were thanked, that was another achievement for the day. With a pat on the cats head, Death gathered their belongings and headed out the door they entered from.

Floating above them on silver wings was another figure. The spitting image of Death. With a sigh Death launched themselves upwards.

“Hello Life.”

“What do you think you’ve done?”

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Thank you to @flashfictionfridayofficial​ for  a lovely prompt that had me going one of two ways. Really enjoyed this and hope everyone does too :>

#flash fiction #flash fiction friday #original writing #writeblr #death #much love delicious reader

[oflgtfol]

the first time i saw prometheus, it was just randomly on tv one night and i was only vaguely watching it, like only glancing up now and then, but i always managed to glance up right at the most horrifying parts and i think i was like. only 12 or 13 years old and it was like the most horrifying movie i had seen in years. genuinely freaked me out SO badly. just looking up at the screen randomly just to witness some woman with a fucking alien parasite in her stomach and she needs to use a robotic medicine thing to cut it out of her in some fucked up parody of a normal C-section, and then she literally gets like stapled together and is then running around with nothing but staples and pain killers keeping her together and shes still covered in blood and that weird orange surgical stuff and it was just like. holy absolute shit

#THAT ONE SCENE SCARRED ME #and then like a year after THAT i actually started watching it another night but at an earlier point #and lo and behold there were even MORE horrifying scenes #like the fucking. cave worms or whateverthe hell #and then that one scene where the guy's looking in the mirror and he has that tiny worm parasite thingy on his EYE #LIKE WHAAAAAAAT YTHFDSGHN #theres way more scenes that were fucked up i just think my brain's blocking them out #ANYWAY LIKE. I KINDA WANNA WATCH THIS MOVIE PROPERLY FROM BEGINNING TO END NOW LOL #and hopefully it isnt so fucking scarring now that ive seen the worst bits several times #albeit all disjointedly but like. .. i Expect it... #meanwhile the first time i was Not.... like #i did NOT expect to see that lady's stomach being distended by a fuckin alien baby trying to eat her from the inside out OMGGGGGGG #LITERALLY I JUST REMEMBER BEING LIKE. 12 AND STARING AT THE SCREEN UNABLE TO LOOK AWAY FEELING NOTHING BUT ABSOLUTE SHOCK AND TERROR #like i think i just switched the channel to that one bc the channel that was on before was annoying #so i just changed it without checking #only for me to glance up and see THAT 5 minutes later.......... #brot posts #LIKE THE MACHINE TOOK THE ALIEN OUT OF HER AND EVEN THEN ITWAS TRYING TO ATTACK HER #LIKE ITS BAD ENOUGH THAT THING WAS /INSIDE YOU/ AND U HAD TO GET A RANDOM SURGERY FOR IT WITH MINIMAL PREP #NOW ITS GONNA KILL YOU AND YOURE TRAPPED INSIDE THE TUBE THINGY WITH IT LIKE OMGG #THIS WOMAN CANNOT GET A BREAKKKKKKKKKKK

[land-under-wave]

As I’ve said, I’ll post the draft of the Red/Green sort of Scott Pilgrim AU in its entirety, but while trying to clean it up, I realized that, well, some of the sections are so unpolished it’d read pretty disjointedly. For a more coherent reading experience, I’ve decided I’ll individually post each section that at least had its rough draft finished. 

This is the first part of the fic and serves more or less as the introduction. Please mind the content warning. I’m still very uncertain about putting more of this fic out, and the reason I’m even posting this draft is because, as I mentioned, I feel kind of like I created a contract by posting all those snippets, and doing this is the closest I can come to fulfilling the contract right now. 

The next part is Brock’s section. 

Content warning: some amount of creepy old man behavior which I did my best to mitigate but was somewhat unavoidable given the premise. More details (albeit with an ending spoiler) can be found here. Also, I think Green gets slightly close to panic attack territory near the end?

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A year after Red finally comes down from Mt. Silver, Green gets his head out of his ass long enough to ask Red out on a date. 

Surprisingly, Red agrees. Even more surprisingly, the first date is actually a resounding success. Sure, Green panics for half an hour about what to wear, and it gets off to an incredibly awkward start — Red’s mother is hovering anxiously in a corner because he insisted that it be at his mother’s diner, the douchebag, so they spend twenty minutes in stilted conversation while Green makes attempts at small talk and Red gives monosyllabic answers — has he mentioned that Red is a total douchebag? But then Green loses his temper and starts shouting, which gets Red fired up at last, so they start bickering over training regimens, Green’s childhood dickishness, and that time Red vanished up a mountain for four years, and by the end of the meal, they’ve hashed out most of their issues. 

On impulse, he grabs Red’s hand on the way out, and Red lets him. His fingers curl around Green’s in response, and it sends a jolt of electricity right up to his spine.

This is . . . good. It’s new and unfamiliar and a little terrifying, and sometimes Green just wants to bury his head into a pillow and scream angrily to deal with the confused tornado raging in his chest, because what the hell are emotions, but it’s good.  

A month after they make it official, Green brings Red to a gym leader meeting. Red gets a couple of surprised looks when he walks in, but it fades quickly, and Misty waves him over to the usual corner where she, Brock, and Green sit. If anyone asks, Green is prepared to point out that Red’s still technically champion, but no one does. Everyone must like him enough that it doesn’t matter. 

They wait till after the meeting, when everyone’s milling about and talking to each other, in order to announce that they’re dating. That’s when all hell breaks loose.

“What? Green?” Misty shrieks, while Sabrina looks at him with silently judging disapproval. 

“Oh my,” Erika says delicately, bringing her hand up to cover her mouth.

“Red, no!” Brock wails.

Green is pretty sure he should be offended. These are his colleagues, after all. He’s been working with them for half a decade — when’s the last time Red even talked to any of these people? Why are they all on his side?

Surge snorts, arms folded. Just when Green thinks he might restore some sanity to the proceedings, he declares, “Think again, boy. You’re not tough enough to make the cut.” 

Green bristles immediately. He and Surge have always had a slightly contentious relationship, because Surge is all hard-nosed discipline and Green is — well, he can admit that he’s a cocky bastard. “And why do I need your approval to date Red anyways?” he sneers, with the full disdainful force of all his teenage attitude. The contempt is not hard to muster up. Nobody here is related to them, and even if they were, he and Red are both adults who can make their own decisions. 

As expected, Surge stiffens at the implicit taunt in his voice, but just as the tension is about to boil over into an argument, Erika steps in with a raised hand and a warning glare to silence him. “Surge,” she says, and that one word is all she needs to restore order. 

Before Green can feel grateful for their calm, sensible supervisor, she turns to him and resumes the thread of conversation. “We have a league,” Erika informs him, serene. “You may not date Red until you defeat all of us.”

Green’s jaw drops open. “Are you serious,” he says, and looks to Red, who just shrugs. 

Great. Big load of help he is. 

“I’m afraid not, my boy. And I’m afraid you’re no match for me,” Blaine says, before laughing at his own stupid pun.

“Why the hell are you so concerned about Red’s love life anyways? What are you, his possessive loser exes?” Green demands. 

He’s expecting a response like, “Don’t be ridiculous,” but instead, to his horror, Erika merely smiles. “What do you think?” she says.

Silence.

Green stares at his colleagues, the seven elite trainers who have been charged with safeguarding all of Kanto, and wonders if he’s losing his mind. Has his hearing gone? He doesn’t think he’s that old, but maybe it’s hereditary. God knows how many times Gramps has misheard his name.

He knows Misty had a crush on Red at one point, but all of them? How the hell did that happen? Red’s never exactly been Kid Casanova here — some days, Green can barely believe Red seduced him — and when did he even have the time for that? He’s spent most of the years since he’s met them alone on a mountain! And hold on a second, Blaine is at least four decades older than him! For that matter, how old is Surge? 

Green is about to have an aneurysm.

He holds his head in both hands as he struggles to wrap his mind around the concept. “Okay. So you’re saying all of you have dated Red, and now I need to defeat you to date him,” he says slowly, hoping that saying it out loud will make things sound more reasonable. It doesn’t. It just makes his head hurt even more. 

What’s worse, Erika doesn’t correct anything he said. She just smiles and nods. “That’s right,” she says, and as if that’s a cue, the others fall in line behind her in a perfect V formation, sliding into battle-ready stances with smiles just shading into predatory. All traces of friendliness have evaporated, turning them into consummate professionals. Even Brock has dropped the doofy attitude for something serious. Surge’s grin is a little too maniacal for comfort, exposing both gums and teeth, and combined with the glint in his eyes, it’s downright feral. 

Green takes a step back, almost involuntarily, and sees Surge’s smile widen in response. Out of spite, Green squares his shoulders and moves back in place, pretending he’s not as uneasy as he actually feels. He scans the seven faces before him, hoping to see a sign of their normal collegial acceptance, but their faces are as solid as stone.

He can’t say he really expected anything else from them. This pose is familiar and well-rehearsed, and they’re all beyond the point where they let the mask slip during official business. Still, Green was hoping that there would be some sign that things would be different for him. After all, this isn’t official business, and in any other situation, Green would be there too, flashing one of his trademark smirks while staring down whatever poor schmuck who Erika decided had earned their ire. But this time, it’s not some hapless criminal or an interfering bureaucrat. He’s the schmuck, and for once in his life, he’s feeling the part. 

Green knows he shouldn’t feel this rattled by a battle stance. As a fellow gym leader, it’s easy to notice all the work that went into constructing it, and the flash of eyes and tilt of head that Erika used as a signal is all too familiar. But it gnaws at his stomach anyways, and it’s not even because all his colleagues have turned against him at the drop of a hat. It’s the space. Or the lack of it. Because the spot where he would be standing has already been taken up. Misty and Brock closed the gap without so much as an exchanged look, and in doing so, they’ve erased his years as Viridian Gym Leader like it was nothing. 

He didn’t think it would be so easy to replace him. 

Green looks at the inch-wide gap between them and swallows, hoping he can swallow down the uncomfortable lump at the bottom of his chest along with it. He’s always tried to ignore it, but sometimes, he gets this sneaking suspicion that they haven’t fully accepted him as one of their own. They’re civil, of course, and sometimes even kind. But kind is different from warm, and that’s what he thinks they lack.

He can’t nail down exactly what it is that separates him from the rest — in terms of join date, Janine’s less than a year his senior, and he doesn’t think any of them except Surge would hold his old, immature attitude against him, since he was mostly grown out of his bratty stage by the time he took over Viridian. But none of that has banished the sinking feeling that he’s on the outside, just a little.

So he’s kept his head down like an animal exposing its belly, and every time the doubt rears its ugly head, he redoubles his efforts to earn his way in. He had a hard road from the start, with the stain of Giovanni’s legacy seeped into his gym’s very foundations, but over the years, he’s earned fantastic evaluations, the loyalty of a cohort of talented trainers, and an official commendation here and there. He’s even got a sickeningly gushy page in the Viridian guidebook that made Red laugh at him for twenty minutes straight after one of his challengers showed it to him. When you’re on a mountain with bad reception, those twenty minutes count for a lot.

Green carries all his accomplishments with him, close to his chest, but they don’t do much to dispel the doubts that hang like ghosts in the back of his head. And he thinks that if he stays quiet and still for too long, they might eat him away until he’s nothing.   

He sucks in a breath, but his lungs don’t feel like they’re absorbing air. He presses his hands against his thighs, but that doesn’t do anything to ease the trembling. He tries to count in his head. One. Two. 

“Wow,” says Red’s voice from behind him. “I didn’t know that all it took to defeat the great Green Oak was dramatic posing.”

The sound of that innocent tone sends Green whirling around on instinct. “Oh, shut up, like you can talk!” he shouts, and it comes out as easy as breathing, so easy that he doesn’t notice how much lighter he feels at first. “All it took to defeat you was realizing Mt. Silver would never return your love!” 

“The mountain and I have something special. You’ll never understand, Green,” Red says, very seriously. If it were anyone but Green, they might’ve believed he meant it, but you don’t grow up with someone and not know when they’re just yanking your chain. 

“You know, the only thing I got out of being your childhood friend is the ability to tell when you’re being a dick,” Green tells him sourly.

“Love you too,” Red croons, and okay, he’s definitely doing that on purpose. But if he’s doing it to be a distraction, it’s working. 

He brushes his hand against Red’s. “Thanks,” he says, low enough so that only Red can hear it. Red curls his fingers around the palm of his hand and looks him in the eye, unspoken question burning in his gaze. 

In response, Green draws a breath, takes one final glance at his erstwhile colleagues, and nods.

He can do this. 

#Fanfiction #Pokemon #OriginalShipping #Green Oak #Red #Crack #Scott Pilgrim AU