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luckyfox3000 · 5 months

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DC X DP PROMT #14

Hello my friends! New Promt! Ps. Pick a dc character you want me to fit in a promt. (I like asking questions)

Dick Grayson had no idea what was going on.

Nor did he want to know.

It all started when Bruce informed the family that a recently orphaned Danial Fenton would be coming to stay with them.

Did it bother him? No! Dick was looking forward to having another sibling (dont say he's not Bruce, for God's sake, he has black hair and blue eyes), the only problem was with Damian.

Dick and the family had worked hard to show Damian that everyone was equally loved and that he wasn't getting sent back to the league for simple mistakes.

Dicks biggest achievement was getting Tim and Damian to get along, though they made a rather terrifying duo.

But anyway, that wasn't the point.

The thing was when the boy finally arrived, other then a scowling Damian, everything was fine.

The boy, Danial who liked to be called Danny, was shy and sweet in the beginning and quite nervous to be around the family, but once he warmed he was cracking jokes and puns like their was no tomorrow.

Dick thought it was a bit odd that Danny was so cheerful after just losing his family, but, everyone has their own coping mechanisms, and as long as he didnt decide to pick up a furry costume and prance into the night to fight crime, Dick would support.

Oddly enough, Tim, Damian, and Danny were the ones to get along best, and Dick found it absolutely adorable (at the time. Never mind, no matter their plans, their still cute), though he heard Jason mutter something along the lines of "God damn it, they've band together, we're all doomed."

Which Dick thought was a bit of an exaggeration.

So what if they smiled when news came of lexcorp blown up, and their funds and stocks drastically decreasing.

So what if they sat together laughing adorably (or in Damians case a small warm smile), while surrounded by sheets of paper detailing plans to destroy the league of assassins (Did Danny figure out their identities???)(they called somone named Jazz for advice, should he be concerned?)

So what if when Dick decided to surprise them and barged into their game room to find several assassins and Slade wilson on the floor, tied up masterfully, unable to move a muscle and knocked out while the boys played video games.

It didn't matter, they were adorable.

So why was Dick so frightened now?

Good question.

"Er... Damian why are you and Tim holding Ra's Al Ghul at knife point? And why the FUCK DOES DANNY LOOK LIKE A DAMN ELDRITCH MON- CREATURE!!! AND OH MY GOD, DANNY WHAT IN THE NAME OF DEMENTORS IS THAT, ARE YOU SUCKING OUT HIS SOUL?!?!?!"

Dick might have miscalculated.

Feel free to use or add on!

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swordsmans · 8 months

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wood is a living creature

They keep her—history’s forgotten hero, the first great ship of the second Pirate King.

pairing: monkey d. luffy/roronoa zoro (implied)

word count: 3363

ao3 tags: no archive warnings apply; going merry; the dinghy gets her own kind of klabautermann

#zolu #op fanfic #opfanfic #one piece fanfiction #ooooh merry.#anyway. back to monster trio angst!#[[jazz hands]]#gyro.rtf

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rbtlvr · 9 months

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so um... @rottmnt-week couldn't pick one fave au so i tried to narrow it down a bit (which. was still VERY hard) to just the main aus that are currently living in my brain rent free

2al by @intotheelliwoods / cas au by @somerandomdudelmao / imbi by @dandylovesturtles / miles to go before i sleep by @bottledovercast

+ individual images under the read more vv

#rottmnt #rottmntweek2023 #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the tmnt #cass apocalyptic series #2 arms left #i may be invisible but i still look good #... idk if the last one has an Official Tag whfklewjlfjkds #anyway uummm. um um. does jazz hands. spent like half the day on this LMAO #hopefully did them all justice augh #i ALSO HOPE THATS THE RIGHT AQUAMARINE....#also dont . know if cjs outfit was ever explicitly described i can remember the tiniest details but NOT things like outfits. ever </3 #anyway umm send tweet #my art #tmnt #leo #donnie #casey jr #<- straight up almost forgor my own tags. lmao

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prince-liest · 2 months

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Ok so I know you haven't officially trans anyone's gender in any of your Hazbin fics, but I lowkey get really trans vibes from Alastor in most of your fics?

Idk, it's a little hard go explain but what really tipped me off was his... distaste? Disfavor? Aversion? To his "male body" in one of the 666 fics. (I think the line was something akin to "the male body being what it is" in reference to Alastor getting hard fairly quickly).

There's honestly a lot of interesting things to speculate in relation to how Alastor views his body. Especially with his relationship with touch, and how he initiates touch and how he actively dislikes it (depending on the person).

Not to mention his feelings regarding his non-human features. How he doesn't inherently dislike them for being what they are, or rather, that they're "abnormal", but more so that they're not what they're "supposed to be", and not "what he was before" (though I do think that his dislike of his deer features is linked to his dislike of how he died, being viewed as something so easy to be put down - an animal).

Which also relates to how dressed Alastor constantly is. How he shields away his body using clothing, a customizable thing that he takes great pride in making sure is up to his standards (notice how when his coat is damaged he immediately goes to get it fixed, even though the ends of his coat is already damaged. He seems to have very complex opinions on how, exactly, his coat is supposed to be damaged)

I do think that Alastor's preference to being so dressed is linked to his dislike of vulnerability, but I also think it's a very trans(tm) move, lol.

(And I also do think that his dislike of vulnerability is tied to his transness, kinda in a weird "chicken and egg" scenario.)

I find it really interesting how Alastor's true feelings are revealed by his shadow, a being that can transform to look different, is mostly hidden, and is internally mysterious. Idk, it's just very trans(tm) to me!

I also think that Alastor's transness is linked to how he views masculinity, how he seems to automatically like woman, while automatically disliking man. How this is also tied to his parents. I've noticed in your fics (and could be completely wrong about) that Alastor seems to relate femininity (and his mother) with "safety" (how he compares the gentle touch in your last fic with feeling like his mother and his like of jambalaya).

I'm not sure if I would say that Alastor is a trans woman, but I also wouldn't say he isn't. Overall I think he has a very complex view of gender, but it's definitely something he doesn't put a lot into. Which relates to him not knowing what asexuality is.

I have a lot more Alastor trans thoughts, but this ask is already getting pretty long so I'm just gonna cut it off here. I hope I made sense, and that you're comfortable with me speculating on a character you've written about gender. (Totally valid if you're not though! If so, then please disregard this ask!)

I'll take "asks that made me realize I'm out here accidentally writing a character as nonbinary" for 300, please! Please prepare yourself for the mistake of letting me have a keyboard and talk about gender after 9pm, so sorry to literally everybody else.

You're gonna get a real fuckin' kick out of the first bit of the next 666 that I'm gonna post tomorrow. ;) It's definitely the point where I finally acknowledged to myself that I have a strong urge to inject some genderfuckery into Alastor in the form of him continuing to use his thing with Vox to explore his own relationship with, like, existing in his own body, and then also threw those feelings all over Angel Dust like a fistful of glitter while I was at it.

Like you said, I wouldn't say that I've ended up writing him as a trans woman, but I think I have seen him from the start as a character who is not exactly cis in a wibbly-wobbly way I have not previously defined but that I think I would perhaps characterize as "gender: monster condescending to play at humanity."

I don't think he eschews masculinity entirely, for what it's worth. He definitely strikes me as a person who aligns himself with the image of a smiling gentleman (if a hellish one) as the proper way for a person like him to be, and for whom that is an important, comfortable, and satisfying part of both his identity and how he relates to both his female friends and to men. However, he also strikes me as someone for whom that part of his identity is what he shows the world on purpose, presented as he would like it to be seen, rather than as something that reflects his bodily preferences. To put it another way, if he'd been AFAB, I think he would put just as much into his presentation, just in the direction of femininity, and it wouldn't make him any more or less comfortable with himself.

You're right in that I've definitely written him with a faint distaste for the mundane physical reality of his body, and a lot of this comes through in how he alternates between short moments of fascination with what new things his body is doing as he explores it and decides whether or not he likes it, and his much longer moments of utter disregard for the same thing. It also extends to the rest of his mundane humanity, though: his physical limits, his adrenaline-rush of fear, etc. He values the coat, the cane, the reality-bending static, the smile - but whatever he sees in the mirror when he gets undressed or whatever doesn't function to his purposes, he can take or leave.

I see Alastor as someone who defines himself first and foremost as the radio demon: not a person, but a monster and an enigma. A voice and a personality. Everything else is more or less incidental, and he would prefer to keep it set aside, thank you. The occasional dysphoria isn't just about his sex, it's about the humanity of his body as a whole.

#ask #alastor #hazbin hotel #personal #vengeful-velvette #vengeful velvette #long post #gender #my writing #meta #anyway I don't think I'll be tagging him as nb because idt he would identify himself that way even if it was explained to him #(unlike the aroace thing I suspect)#but! jazz hands! now you know!#all of this said I would be REALLY down for writing ftm Alastor if I hadn't already committed to him possessing a dick lmfao #but that version of 666 would have even less internal acknowledgment of his body from his narration

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thatthirstyweirdo · 10 months

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JULIE JOYFUL RWAAAAAA

Finally I drew Julie, my baby!! I enjoy her quite a lot and these are the outfits I think she’ll be performing in my au. I mentioned it before in a post that she’s in a band “Joyous!” with her siblings. Might as well say a bit about the lore, basically everyone from the “Welcome Home” cast left Home and ventured into the Real World. Kinda similar to how Barbie leaves her toy world in the movie. So yeah pretty much everyone started their own music career, but Eddie and Frank started a talk show together.

#I think I’m having an art block cause it’s weirdly hard to sit down and draw #Even tho I really wanna #The creative juices are not juicing enough #I’ll still try to doodle cause this au thing is on my mind a lot #ANYWAY I’m thinking about what music genres others would like #Like Julie and her siblings probably pop r&b soul maybe alternative as well #Sally is alt punk rock I thinkkkk #Although she wouldn’t stop at that I mean come on where’s the fun in sticking to one genre?#she would experiment definitely #Poppy is a jazz singer and a frequent guest at Eddie’s and Frank’s talk show #And Barnaby well I decided to stick to hip hop and rap #He would sing in jazz as well #Howdy is a…Dj #Idk why it makes me giggle #LIKE FOUR HANDS AND I AUTOMATICALLY THOUGHT DJ #It’s kinda funny #welcome home #welcome home au #julie joyful #julie welcome home #my art

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salsae · 8 months

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robin (2021) made ra's SUCH a gilf. this is a crack outtake from my wip fic where tim shows up on ra's lil secluded island to stop him from dying.

ofc, where tim goes core 4 shows up so, ra's can kiss his nice silent R&R retreat goodbye.

#batman #tim drake #ra's al ghul #bart allen #ra'stim #dc comics #in the actual fic ra's doesnt put up w bart for more than one second (he tranqs him asap and ignores tim till tim sends bart away)#but my brain wanted to see this #anyways jazz hands i rly hope i can write this fic its very up my alley #canon compliant role reversal w tim at his best and ra's at his worse #they fuck on the beach under the stars :)#'i l-word you bec ur the only person in my life i can trust to not die and leave me but now u tell me ur choosing to die? fuck u'#salsart #ALSO I NEED DC FRIENDS BADLY PLEASE TALK TO ME ABOUT THEM

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preseriesdean · 1 year

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SAM AND DEAN + talking across the impala

#spnedit #samdeanedit #samedit #deanedit #supernatural #*#this is definitely one of those things that nobody but me will care about #but here it is anyways because i love when they do it #*jazz hands*#*sdc #there's no place like home #always you and me

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komafoes · 2 years

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beat did not hear him at all

#twewy #neo twewy #ntwewy #beatneku #nekubeat #neku sakuraba #daisukenojo bito #beat bito #i always run into the issue of tagging them #2022 #may 2022 #ANYWAYS #jazz hands #instinct to kiss neku on the mouth when he does his little smile #EDIT: I SHOULD PUT THIS IN THE SHIP TAG HUH..... YEAH. i should do that

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xjustakay · 7 months

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baby, all i wanna do is coast (with you).

chapter 7 update; sad boy hours + the plot thickens (happy coast friday for the first time in a hot minute though lmao)

#jegulus #wolfstar #the black brothers #jegulus fanfic #wolfstar fanfic #hey so uh this chapter is OVER 20K WORDS #i’m gonna go lay in traffic #not even bc of the word count but bc of everything i’m feeling after this chapter #anyway *jazz hands* coast friday!!!!#kay’s writing #fic: baby all i wanna do is coast (with you).

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arom-antix · 2 months

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Happy birthday to the valentines man himself!

#oh and fuck that post #chris i am so sorry #youre only getting sketch because i am very much not home rn and maybe sorta kinda forgot to draw something before i left #BUT I BROUGHT MY SKETCHBOOK #so heres chris with a tease and a lollipop #because yes he did need that lollipop its such a chris thing i have multiple people agreeing with me #anyway i had so much fun with his eyes i hate his hair and we dont talk about his hand #i couldnt be bothered okay?#huzzah! implied hand! *magic sparkles and implied jazz hands*#also hes no wearing clothes because i couldnt be bothered but its also very on brand for him #happy birthday you fabulous pg18 ass heres to another year #yuri on ice #yuri on ice fanart #fanart #art #arom antix art #arom antix #christophe giacometti #chris giacometti

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mamawasatesttube · 2 months

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this isn't like comics-fandom specific by any means, but one thing i do think about semi-regularly is that like. some people are so insistent on stuff being "for fun" so that they can justify never actually thinking about what they're doing, and that's... idk man. in a world where we are inundated with propaganda and bullshit all the time, media literacy, critical thinking, and reading comprehension skills are pretty important. and yeah like no one can have their brain running at max capacity 24/7 but you still gotta like... put in SOME critical thinking. otherwise you just get people being like SO WHAT if this comic is really racist??? you can't ask me to think critically about how it portrays characters of color!!!!! im just here for fun!!!!!! and it's just like. dude.

#rimi talks #kinda rambly but im thinking about a post i saw yesterday. and also a post i saw a few weeks ago. and a different post i saw before that #comics ''fans'' who go ''there's just so many comics so every single interpretation is valid and i don't have to think about anything--#--bc im just here to have fun uwu'' my beloathed. one of the posts i refer to was about morrison's talia lmao #''dont call me racist for preferring the racist version of talia so i can make manpain for white guys!!!'' is an actual take i have seen.#and like there's a difference between writing shit that's inoffensive but just poorly written vs writing shit that's racist #but if you don't have critical thinking or reading skills. can you tell the difference?#and if you espouse the view that critical reading skills don't matter in hobby spaces. you sound white lol #anyways like i said this is kinda rambly and not about any specific thing #but i am very sleepy in a library so you get my unfiltered thought process. jazz hands

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leupagus · 9 months

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Just in case anyone has high hopes that this will be like, art

More from whatever this is gonna end up being (pt 2)

gus: Mostly I want to lean into the idea that sex would be a lot like other appetites for them

gus: sleeping/eating/drinking/reading

gus: ie it literally has not occurred to them before now to even TRY it

kuwdora: love. it.

gus: basically the vibe I want is two kids working on a school project

gus: where aziraphale is the one who's making the diorama and doing all the research and getting really stoked about how to make volcanoes or w/e

gus: and crowley's the kid who's happy to coast on aziraphale's work but doesn't actually take an interest

gus: (at least until they're actually doing the deed and then he's like "woah wait WHAT" and basically comes immediately)

gus: like, it's extremely mid sex but because it's them, with each other, it's great

kuwdora: :chinhands:

kuwdora: that's like so great tho. like whatever the actual sex part but when you are having a genuinely good time with the person

gus: yes exactly

gus: most of the fics I've read either ignore the "angels are sexless unless they want to make an effort," or they have Crowley and Aziraphale be asexual

gus: which are both completley valid

gus: but not what I want

gus: what I want is them going to the Tate Modern to see the Great Wall of Vulva and arguing about how Crowley should best go down on Aziraphale

gus: with both of them playing Where's Waldo with the exhibit deciding which one's the most like Aziraphale's so he can like, point out the relevant bits

gus: I also really want to convey that Aziraphale's enthusiastic about this because it's what humans do, and they've both committed to living as humans even though they aren't, and it seems to make people very happy (although Crowley has fun pointing out how many times it's made people UNhappy), and he just wants to do something nice with his boyfriend basically

gus: meanwhile Crowley can't honestly see why they'd bother, but he's also happy to do what Aziraphale likes -- he's narrating the whole thing so it's gonna be clear that he's anticipating this like taking Aziraphale out to meals, where he gets most of his pleasure out of watching Aziraphale enjoy himself

gus: and he's totally fine with that

gus: and even when he turns out to be a two pump chump, it's not because he didn't know his dick could feel that nice or whatever

gus: it's because of the kind of gross sweat they're making and Aziraphale's heels pressing against hte back of his knees, urging him closer, and way they're still arguing even while they're fucking

gus: it's the love more than the sex

kuwdora: absolutely

gus: and then afterward aziraphale is like "that was AWESOME, ok do we want to try bondage next time or blindfolds, oooh did you hear about this thing called yiffing" and Crowley just laughs and pins him to the bed and kisses him

#good omens fic #kuwdora #note: Aziraphale tries a vagina first because Eve talked it up one time while they were shooting the shit in Eden #she was like 'it's SO GREAT you HAVE to try it'#and Aziraphale didn't take her up on that but he always like #had that going in the back of his mind #anyway please know that when Aziraphale tells Crowley he's decided on which genitals to try first #he makes jazz hands when he says 'vagina'#ficcage of interest #ineffable motherfuckers #good grade in sex fic

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nonbinaryphantom · 11 months

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happy pride yippeeee

#danny phantom #jack fenton #maddie fenton #danny fenton #jazz fenton #dani phantom #sam manson #tucker foley #poor nerd gets faced with the trials of gothhood bc sam has nothing else. se owes him clothes #never ask me to draw hands ever again #anyways lesbian and transgender solidarity.#my art

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queenburd · 1 year

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I played Zending last night and got to hear lines I’ve literally never, never heard before. It actually hurt.

Anyway here’s Zending fic. Im like. Neutral about it. It feels all over the place. Whatever.

—

He’s trembling.

Stanley sits at his desk, staring at the blinking green marker on his computer screen. He barely sees it.

(“I just wanted us to get along.”)

He stands abruptly. He steps out of his office.

“Where were all of his coworkers? Stanley decided to go to the meeting room—perhaps he had simply missed a memo.”

The voice is steady as ever. It does not waver. It does not whimper. It does not snarl.

Stanley will not be sick. Stanley will not crumple like wet cardboard.

He walks down the hall.

Takes the door on the left.

Goes to the boss’s office.

Turns off the mind control facility.

Steps outside.

Walks down the hall.

Takes the door on the left.

Goes to the boss’s office.

Turns off the mind control facility.

Steps outside.

Walks down the hall.

Takes the—

Both the doors close.

“Stanley, much as I appreciate you playing my game to its proper completion, I can’t help feeling like you’re not absorbing this the way you ought to.”

But—but Stanley is trying to, to play this properly. He’s trying to do what the fellow tells him to.

(“I just wanted us to get along.”)

“Your heart’s not in it, I can tell you that much. No, the story isn’t leaving the impression on you that it’s supposed to. You’re not getting anything out of it, which renders it moot.”

Stanley’s hands are balled up into fists. He grits his teeth tight to the danger of hurting himself. None of this should matter. None of it ever matters, he knows that. It always ends with him in his office, staring down a hall, a voice waiting for him.

“Well if it’s so meaningless, then why are you so adamant to play it?” The voice is offended, it’s clear by how it enunciates its words.

Stanley tries to breathe properly, a boiling anger making itself known.

(“I just wanted us to get along.”)

“And that! What is that, that you keep almost remembering? What in Heaven’s name has you so worked up?”

So it hadn’t bothered him, then? His voice breaking as he begged, pleaded—

Stanley grabs his temples. Squeezes his eyes shut. He doesn’t want to think about this. This is his enemy. It was a ploy, nothing more. He’s fallen for it, sure, but that doesn’t mean he needs to remember the vivid details of his shame.

“I don’t understand. What ploy, Stanley?”

Why was he pretending he didn’t know?! Does he enjoy mocking Stanley for being so gullible and weak? That Stanley would fall for such a cheap trick, some waterworks? Yes, fine! He may not like the fellow, but he’s not cruel and heartless! He—

“Stanley!” The voice interrupts, sounding honestly alarmed. “I’m not mocking you, I legitimately don’t understand. I—you’re starting to concern me, really!”

Stanley clutches his head and tries to control his breathing. The voice carries on, clearly anxious.

“I really don’t know what’s gotten into you. I know we went through the red door, saw the stars—did that ending really upset you so much? Because I—well,” it continues, sounding a bit put out, a bit disappointed. “I thought it was lovely. You didn’t like it?”

What part of throwing himself to his death repeatedly was Stanley supposed to like?

A long silence. Then:

“… what are you talking about? What does that mean?”

Wh—

He doesn’t remember?

“Stanley, what don’t I remember? What am I supposed to be remembering?”

He doesn’t remember.

A weight falls off Stanley’s shoulders.

“Stanley? Stanley, tell me what I’m supposed to remember!”

He inhales shakily to let out a sigh of relief. Okay. This changes things. He hasn’t ruined everything beyond repair.

“Stanley, don’t avoid the question!”

No, he doesn’t want to. He wants to play the game. He wants to move on.

“I cannot believe this! You’re behaving like a child! Just tell me what you’re hiding!”

No.

The narrator seethes. Stanley’s face is beautifully blank.

It’s for the best, honestly, that the narrator cannot remember. It’s a miserable thing, to remember. So Stanley doesn’t want to think about it, and that’s much easier to do when the other party can’t hold it over him.

“Fine. Fine. But you listen to me,” the voice hisses venomously. “I will find out what you’re keeping from me, if I have to rip it from your very skull. You try to keep your little secrets, Stanley. You’ll see. You can’t hide anything from me.”

The doors swing open with a bang. Stanley takes the door on the left.

He behaves all the way to the on/off switch, and then slams the ON button.

Alright, look, the fellow can work out some frustration. Stanley will press buttons in the meantime. They can both work off some steam and do something new. Win-win.

(“I just wanted—“)

There’s a low, dangerous chuckle.

“You don’t have the power you think you do. You never did, and you never will.”

There is no timer. The bomb goes off.

Stanley feels like he is flung into his office chair, and then he feels something—someone—pry its large, sharp claws into the fragile mass of his mind, and tear it open down the middle to rifle through the contents.

—

“If we just stay here, right in this moment, in this place… Stanley, I— I think I feel…. Happy. I actually feel happy!”

Stanley looks up at the stars. He watches the lights drift up.

It…

Fuck, but he has to hand it to the fellow. It is beautiful. Really, honestly beautiful.

But he can’t help how his eye keeps getting drawn to the staircase down to a door. Can’t help being curious.

“No… wait. Where are you going?” The voice is shaken from its reverie when he steps out of the room, like it was so entranced it almost hadn’t realized he’d slipped away.

He just wants to see what’s around the corner. They can go back, he just—

“Oh, no!”

Stairs. Stairs that go nowhere. Stairs that go up and up and up, with no other way but down.

Stanley feels his stomach drop. He steps back, through the doorway into the hall, and then turns on his heel and bolts to the room with the lights.

“Right,” the narrator says, clearly trying to recover, still frazzled. “Where were we?”

Lights. Lights. Stanley is staying here.

“Right. If we just stay here… we just have to stop moving.”

No moving. Okay. Okay.

The voice goes quiet. Stanley stays and looks up at the lights for a long time. His heart rate slows, his breaths deepen.

Okay. He’s feeling a lot more put together. And he can see that the narrator does want to show him something beautiful. He’s willing to try to compromise. He’s willing to play along, to meet in the middle.

The voice says nothing.

Very slowly, Stanley feels himself growing cold.

“We would both be so much happier if we just stopped.”

Oh. Stanley thinks he understands. It frightens him.

There is no story here. There is no progression. There is just this room. There is only the trap of happiness here, like the lotus eaters of the Odyssey. The cursed sweet fruit that keeps you from moving, from progressing.

That’s not a life. That’s not living. It’s only escapism. And all this means is that Stanley will never be happy here.

And, and the voice, quiet, lured in, eating the lotuses forever, will not reset, no matter how Stanley pleads. It thinks it knows what’s best.

Oh, god. He has to—

He has to—

Stanley inhales a shuddering breath and gets to his feet. Move. Move. Don’t think about it. Just move without thinking.

He makes it to the bottom of the stairs before the voice finally seems to come to its senses.

“No! What did we talk about?! You’re risking everything we achieved here!”

Stanley takes another breath to brace himself.

“Please, no, Stanley! Let me stay here! Don’t take this away from me!”

It pleads. It begs. When he doesn’t die from the first fall, it takes shuddering breaths and tries again to coax him to see reason.

God, he wants to. His steps are slow—pain creeps up his body.

But Stanley can’t. He knows he can’t. He knows that he’s not just fighting for himself.

He has to do this for both of them.

“I can’t go back to the way I was before!”

God, he’s sorry. But this isn’t living. He feels like he’s trying to hold an addict back from a drug, and it’s cruel, but it has to happen, it has to.

Stanley… is not this thing’s friend. He’s not. It tells him again and again that he has no power. He’s just a plaything for it. A toy. It keeps him in this unending prison and tries to break him when he does anything it deems a distraction.

But he likes to think he’s a good person. He doesn’t act out of malice. Mischievousness, maybe. It’s a little fun to see the fellow fuss, since he’s so dramatic. But cruelty? Stanley doesn’t act out of cruelty. It never grants him the same regard, it’s plenty cruel to him, but he doesn’t take any sick pleasure from trying to return the favor.

But this is cruel.

The voice cracks. With each fall, it loses hope. It gives up on him.

“I just wanted us to get along. But I guess that was too much to ask.”

Stanley wishes he felt angry. He wishes he could feel a spark of resentment at that statement, when the narrator has done so much to him that would dissuade any sensible person from considering that getting along was still an option.

He wishes it all the way down.

But all he feels is shame.

—

“I—“

The presence reels back, away and out of Stanley’s memories, out of repulsion or horror he cannot tell.

Stanley wants to scream. He covers his head and neck with his arms and braces for retribution, for the rage he expected when he first woke up after those stairs faded from his vision.

He had expected anger. Cruelty. Vengeance. He had tried to play along, to ease his punishment if he could. To maybe show his remorse.

(“I just wanted—“)

Fuck, fuck. It’s going to hurt him.

“I…”

He hadn’t done it to be cruel, he hadn’t done it to be powerful, he’s sorry, he knows he let him down, and he wishes the fellow could have just been happier not remembering. He could have kept this burden to himself.

“Why don’t I remember?”

It’s not directed at him. The voice is asking itself. It seems lost.

“I…”

There’s the rustling of papers.

“We. We go into the room,” the narrator starts haltingly. “We come to an understanding. And then I reset. I—that’s what it says. It says that I—but I didn’t—“

Stanley is shaking.

“But I… I couldn’t….”

Please. He’s sorry. He knows it’s going to hurt him, but please, don’t hurt him too badly.

“Oh, Stanley.”

It seems only now to notice him, his terror. His withdrawal. He doesn’t think it’s ever seen him so afraid, not even in the ending with the bomb. And of course it hasn’t. Because that’s just death. Death is scary, but quick.

Pain can last. When done by experts, it can last a long, long time.

(“I just wanted us to get along.”)

“Stanley?” The voice is small. It’s said the same way it was said when it asked him to please, please go back to the other room. “I’m… it’s. It’s okay. You’re okay. It—it’s going to be fine.” It strengthens a bit. Clears its throat. “It’s just an ending. It’s over, alright? We’re none the worse for wear.”

He gets the sense that, if it could, the voice would be placing a hand so gently on the spread of his back, between his stretched shoulder blades, in an attempt to get him to relax. Try to bleed the tension out of him.

“The lotus-eater comparison was… quite clever,” the narrator offers, a small olive branch. “I’m not angry with you, Stanley. After all, I did just see it all through your eyes. I know you weren’t being intentionally cruel.”

It doesn’t make things better.

“Well, no, but intent does matter.” The narrator sighs. “Gosh, you really weren’t kidding about that being miserable. Ignorance really is bliss, sometimes, isn’t it?”

Stanley chokes on a wet laugh. Understatement of the century.

God. It’s so unfair that the most beautiful place in the game so far is so dangerous.

“You liked it that much?” The narrator’s voice is hopeful and perhaps a bit shy.

Yeah. He had.

The fellow preens a bit, humming happily. “Well, I’m sure I can come up with something just as good. And—maybe—maybe I’ll remember now. Maybe we can go back.”

Stanley shivers.

“Oh, no no no, not now. Certainly not. Mustn’t be too careful. Poor fellow. What I mean is—if you need a break. Since—well, since we dealt with this far from that room, I’ll be able to keep this experience in mind. Maybe then I won’t make the same mistakes.”

Stanley doesn’t know. He’s not up for risking it right now. And the fellow doesn’t listen to him much, so he doubts that his prodding would have much effect, not if the narrator is so deeply entranced again.

The voice heaves a sigh again. “Well. It is your choice, in the end. Lord knows I can’t force you.”

The quiet drifts back in. After a long pause, where Stanley wonders if it’s retreated back into the hall, the voice speaks up again.

“Stanley,” it says, very very gently, as though trying not to spook him, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

His reaction startles both of them—he bursts into tears.

It’s just a release of the tension, he thinks distantly, while his body heaves and shakes. He was so unimaginably scared and ashamed, that the final acknowledgement means all that emotion needs an outlet.

Stanley cries. The narrator stumbles over his words.

“Oh, oh damn it all, I’ve made it worse, haven’t I? Stanley, I don’t know what I’m doing! I’m not good at this!”

No, no. It’s okay. He just needs to get it out. This is a thing he needs to do for himself.

“I. Okay.” The fellow clearly doesn’t understand, but he’s trying valiantly to give Stanley what he needs. “I’ll just, wait outside until you’re ready to continue the story.”

Fine. That’s fine.

Stanley lets it all shake out of him. It exhausts him, hollows him out. He comes out the other side feeling cleaner, if a little raw—like fresh skin under the dry peeling sunburn.

“There you go,” the narrator greets when he finally exits the office. “Ready to continue?”

The fellow sounds nervous, though it’s evident he’s working to hide it. Stanley scrubs at his face one more time, then gives a thumbs up.

“Alright.” He clears his throat. “Where were all of his coworkers? Stanley decided to go to the meeting room—perhaps he had simply missed a memo.”

Stanley takes a deep breath.

And then he hops out the window.

“Wh—“

There’s a palpable befuddlement to the voice, but it persists, working to stay on script. Stanley can’t help the sigh of relief.

He needed to be sure. He needed to know he wouldn’t be hurt for disobeying again.

The narrator huffs, strums his guitar, and insults him sternly, but the protagonist gets the sense that he’s just as aware of Stanley’s fears, and just as eager to provide him the proof that, yes, he is going to be okay.

(“I just wanted us to get along.”)

They are going to be okay.

#may writes #tsp #the sparrow parable #everyone and their dad has written Zending but #I hope this is a somewhat refreshing take #it’s earlyish in their history so the narrator can be capricious as all hell #but anyway. vague jazz hands #tadaaaa.

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