#at least I think they’re pillbugs

[ramshacklerumble]

💬🩵

“Oh, Gia.”

The voice flicked Gia’s attention from the rows of beakers they’d been sorting over their table to Riddle, mild surprise raising his eyebrows. Gia had come to class early in order to score a table and wasn’t expecting anyone to come by for at least another five minutes— though if there were anyone else who would want to be in the first class of the first semester earlier than they had to, it would be Riddle.

“This is the junior class.” He said, “Did you misread your schedule?”

Gia gave the barest shake of their head and as they did so, pulled the paper from their bag and passed it over to Riddle’s already waiting hand. “I’m taking this class.”

They watched his face pinch as he skimmed across it and watched the lines deepen when he read it again. “This…must be a mistake on part of the school. You should go to the Headmage to have this fixed and get you to your proper lessons...”

Had this been anyone else…Gia would’ve been offended. Knowing Riddle didn’t mean anything by it and was just trying to get things moving like they were supposed to helped with that.

Sorta.

“…I asked to be here.”

“Pardon?”

“This is my class.”

Riddle blinked as if Gia had sneezed in his face. “You…You asked to be here?”

Gia nodded, took their schedule back and went on setting up their table.

“Wha—?“ Riddle stood there, totally stunned. “How is that possible? You jumped classes? I’ve never heard of that. Where is that written?”

Gia shrugged then asked, “Wanna sit with me?”

Riddle made a sputtering noise— which Gia guessed was at their initial response and not their question because he moved around the table to plop onto the other seat. “I wasn’t aware you could skip like that. I wasn’t told. Why…I could’ve been taking this very class as a freshman had I known!”

“You never asked.”

Riddle was pouting, staring off at nothing in particular until the statement replaced the look with an expression of realization. “No, I…I didn’t. I’d taken the title as housewarden because the rules said it was possible, but it never occurred to me to…simply ask if I could take higher classes.”

He turned to Gia, “What made you question that?”

Another shrug, “I could.”

“The audacity.” The words came out with a soft huff of amusement, “…Or the imagination, perhaps?”

Riddle sighed, “Maybe it was for the best on my part. If the basic act of asking for other options was beyond my reach, then perhaps I wasn’t the right fit just yet.”

“Mm…It worked out.”

“How do you figure?”

One last shrug, “We’re both here.”

The vague regret that’d settled over Riddle’s features lifted as he chuckled, “Oh…yes. Yes, you have a point there.”

He adjusted himself in his seat— straight, poised and nothing like the half-hunched pillbug imitation Gia favored— and clasped his hands over the table, “Class hasn’t even started and already I’ve learned something new. I’d say that’s a favorable start to the semester.”

The first bell chimed throughout the school. Though nothing in the room changed, there was a shift in the air probably caused by a unanimous groan from the rest of the student body.

“Now, Gia.” Riddle smiled at them, “Let’s see what else you have for us this year.”

—

(technically cheating i guess since i’ve actually had this squirreled away in my docs for months, but i figured why not. this takes place in the beginning of sophomore year. i liked the idea of gia asking to be put in the junior alchemy classes because they’re ambitious as all hell and they DO get in because they prove they’re able to.

i’d also been thinking about their friendship with riddle a lot at the time. i’ll get into it in another ask, but while gia has a friendly acquaintanceship with riddle throughout freshman year following the events of book 1, they become solid friends in the following year after trey and cater leave for their senior internship. this leaves riddle on the lonely side until he ends up being absorbed into the original heartshackle crew.

it’s also worth noting that the last person to walk through those classroom doors is none other than floyd leech. godspeed my friends.)

tag list: @cyanide-latte @inmateofthemind @simons-twsted-children @tixdixl @blithesharem @thehollowwriter

@jovieinramshackle @theleechyskrunkly @skriblee-ksk @boopshoops @the-trinket-witch (lmk if you wanna be added)

#twst oc #yuusona #twisted wonderland oc #riddle rosehearts #gia yugo #gar’s writing

[seemytinyworld]

Random bugs from my house and yard

#bugslife #bug #bugs cw #ant #stink bug #magnification #magnify #photography #natureisamazing #natureiscool #nature #pillbugs #at least I think they’re pillbugs #microscope

[hopeymchope]

I finished World’s End Club

The hardest thing about completing a Kodaka or Uchikoshi game is always that bereft feeling; the knowledge in my heart that there’s nothing out there that will fulfill me as much as these guys’ stories do, and now I’m fresh out of their stuff once more. Y’know? It’s like “Well shit, now I have to settle for something lesser.”

Anyway. I finished World’s End Club. The whole thing took about 16 hours (according to the in-game clock on my save file), and I’m currently redoing a couple of stages for stickers that I missed. I doubt that’ll last me more than another hour, though, so I should be 100% finished at 17 hours. Granted, that’s with me bypassing the first hour because I’d already completed it in the demo... so that makes it around 18 hours long in total. Much shorter than the average Uchikoshi or Kodaka work, clearly!

And man, they sure do pack a lot of twists and turns into those 18-or-so hours. Admittedly, there is time to slow down and talk to the characters to learn more about their backstories or what they’re thinking (typically during “Camp” scenes). But the other two types of scenes — “Story” and “Act” scenes — are chock-full of new reveals or weird plot developments up until like, hour 15. It’s all of the usual twistiness of an Uchikoshi story compacted into a shorter timeframe. 

In addition to this being shorter than Uchikoshi’s or Kodaka’s most notable prior games, it’s also much lighter. Despite somewhat dark themes cropping up at a few points, this is a far kinder and more uplifting game than Zero Escape or Danganronpa ever were. I mean, hey, it’s about a group of 12-year-olds, so it almost necessitates that lighter tone. 

I’ve mentioned this before, but I love the core cast of kids. Sure, there are a few of them who remained thin enough that I never got very attached to them, but I mean, it’s a pretty big cast. Most of the storytelling time is spent on the central plot, so I understand the shorthand of using some stereotypes in there. Some of them do get mined for depth. If there’s one problem with them, it’s that they’re too young for me to feel comfortable shipping any of them. :P They’re BABIES! 

The bottom line here is that I loved the latest Uchikoshi-penned ride. I will remain in the tank for his works for a long time to come. But now, In order to actually list and go off on some of my (relatively few) gripes with the game, I have to get into Spoiler Mode. 

MAJOR SPOILERS BELOW THE CUT!

SPOILER MODE  ACTIVATED

Look; I didn’t love all of the twists thrown at us. I can come up with workarounds for some of the ones that bugged me, but let me go off on which twists most irritated me and why, okay?

 First off, the reveal that all of the strange monsters and creatures were just “illusions” doesn’t make any sense. If they were just illusions, there’d be no physicality to them. So there’d be no way that a giant pillbug could abduct Pai, or that some Yetis could run off with Pochi or Yuki. So they’re very obviously NOT just illusions. Hell, while we’re at it, maybe we should inquire as to how we got “Game Over”’d by a bunch of things that weren’t there. Some of the available deaths are even specific to the exact form of the monsters we see, like if Reycho gets snapped up and chewed up by one of the large flytraps in Kagoshima. You’re telling me an illusion did that?! Maybe they’re some of MAIK’s robots that are projecting illusions around themselves or something? That seems like the best way to accept this. It keeps the basic spirit of what MAIK said to be true while also justifying how it could operate. And yet..... the game even goes so far as to claim that Pielope’s transformations are just illusions. For some, that makes sense, but we clearly physically interact with at least one of those transformations — the kids actually grab onto the Train Pielope and hold onto numerous individual parts of his transformation while riding the train. So again: That CAN’T be an illusion if you can grab onto all the parts of it. So... what gives? If Pielope never physically transforms, then how’d they grab all the pieces of her transformation like that?

The twist with Reycho doesn’t quite work logically, either. For starters, if you go back and read his “inner monologue” dialogue from the game, there are numerous instances where the dialogue doesn’t seem to fit with it being the thoughts of the “Otherworlder” OR Pochi, the two parties supposedly controlling him. The thoughts in question only work if Recyho was somehow thinking for himself already, so I guess we have to fanwank it and just assume that his “self-awareness” was starting to come through early? (I didn’t care for the reveal that Pochi was controlling Reycho either, because it has this whole tone of “You were controlling someone who never mattered because they were just being controlled by somebody else who wasn’t even the player character, ha-ha!” But the later twist that the “Otherworlder” was actually controlling Reycho made it better for me, so I’ll let it slide.)

The other thing that didn’t work for me is the reveal that Pochi is a robot. Even events that come AFTER this reveal are made more problematic as a result of it. First off, it makes it confusing as to how/why certain “X-Type” robots exist. I guess MAIK created the X-Type robots? Because he somehow reached the ability to communicate with another world? If so, where are the other X-Types? We know there have to be some others if Niyan and his gang are already familiar with the whole concept. What was their purpose? Did MAIK also program his own robots to have emotions?  Because Pochi is clearly very emotional. Even though MAIK hates emotions... ? Perhaps this game isn’t meant to answer everything, and they’re setting up for some kind of sequel. I find that pretty unlikely, but I can’t say it’s impossible. However, the big reason I don’t like the Pochi Robot reveal isn’t really the logic problems with it. It’s that they knew we’d like Pochi because he’s an introverted gamer, but then the reveal of his true nature takes all that away. He was never a gamer at all. He wasn’t even all that shy. He was just keeping to himself to hide his true nature... and his “gaming” was just him controlling Reycho. So the things that your players were most likely to dig about him are utterly erased. So in the end, who is Pochi? He’s a compassionate, heroic, self-sacrificing protagonist. Which makes him a lot more generic. 

A closing thought: If, by some miracle, this game ever gets a follow-up sequel or spinoff, I see a lot of potential in how they could mix and match the various characters’ abilities. I understand that the platforming isn’t really the point of the game, and that’s why it feels undercooked... but that also makes it the area that could most easily be improved upon. I was initially excited for the chance to be able to swap between characters so that I could have Mowchan turn into iron, then Reycho would throw him onto a ledge. Or maybe Pai could block an attacking enemy while Tattsun shoots it! Alas, this is a simpler game than that. And while I am ok with that, if they ever take another shot at it, it doesn’t have to be this straightforward and simple. They can have more fun with the platforming side. Let’s go ahead and mix and match our powers!

#world's end club #wec #go-getters club #video games #kotaro uchikoshi #kazutaka kodaka

[scolopendress-tag]

Have some Asra n Muriel disorganized headcanons: animal themed!

Asra's most likely to answer quetzal if you ask for his favourite bird (he had a close up encounter with one his first time in nopal and had never seen a bird like it so it's a special memory), but he also appreciates all others. He also loves dart frogs and his favorite reptile would of course be perfect lavender angel baby fictional fantasy pythons. I'd also see him loving dragonflies as well.

He will see literally any animal generally and always say "they're one of my favourites!", though. It doesn't matter how many times he's said it that day or how many animals he's said it about. It's almost without fail he'll point one out and say it's a favourite.

One of his favorite animals is always the one in front of him Right Now, as a quick reference.

Plus, he loves to point animals out on travels or when out and about Vesuvia, so get used to hearing it!

He may attempt to catch critters occasionally too, or just pick them up, these will be mostly bugs usually. He just likes to cup moths in his hand on occasion and the watch them flutter out and I think he should be allowed to! Or just cradle bugs in his palm and watch them walk around for a bit. If it's a reptile or amphibian somewhere it could get stepped on or dried out or eaten he will still scoop them up and carry them to the brush.

[Cont. after cut]

Nothing he ever handles seems to get too upset or stressed, even when it's an animal that otherwise would. They just seem to be more relaxed if it's Asra who's touching them. Sometimes reptiles just come up to him (or even crawl onto his hand, as a few lizards have,) curiously enough. Though they may still refuse to be touched even then, they're notably not bothered by his presence when for others they'd run away. It's not something Asra's ever noticed to be odd, nor would it be overly noticeable to most people, but it's definitely something you can recognize if you pay attention.

Asra would also love to run on the beach sometimes, namely as a kid, maybe making himself invisible or otherwise undetectable until he's right up on a big flock of seagulls before giving them a hearty boo! And watching them all fly away all giggly. As an adult he may still stir up flocks for fun sometimes, or just to see how pretty it is to watch them all fly at once.

In general he just loves watching birds or bugs or whatever be it fly, always so effortlessly. Maybe he wishes he could fly himself. It certainly would make things easier he would come to think time to time growing up in Vesuvia.

Plus, he likes to collect the feathers that flutter down. Back when he sold masks, they were something he incorporated into them often. Then, too, he would also sit by the river after wearing himself out practicing hydromancy or what not, and a few times dragonflies would perch on him. He'd always gasp n grin all big and goofy when they did.

Muriel doesn't pick favorites really when it comes to animals (barring wolves and bears), but he does mirror Asra's 'one of my favourites' statements by saying "they're one of Asra's favorites," Occasionally.

While Asra's animal encounters or observations are typically brief, Muriel is more than content to just watch animals long periods of time. He can spot or at least know where to find some seriously elusive ones. The only one such animal Asra seems to have luck like that with seems to be foxes.

If you want to see an animal, local to the area around Vesuvia namely, Muriel can probably help you with that, granted he trusts you. This includes dens, hives, and nesting sites of course, things he will stop by occasionally in his forest to check on. His luck/skill in finding these things can't seem to be mimicked by even the most skilled animal trackers, you'd think they were practically just showing themselves to only him.

Muriel is also content to let animals do their thing and not interact with them much. Birds, butterflies and similar may land on him occasionally and he's always enchanted by it though, and will make no move to prevent an animal being on or touching him. Similar to Asra, he will also remove any animals in bad spots and put them somewhere better. He's a bit more effective at this though, as he tends to be looking down anyways, while Asra has probably smooshed a few pillbugs and snails before while doing his own thing- eyes elsewhere.

If Muriel did ever nerf a bug accidentally he would probably feel pretty damn bad, and if it wasn't reduced to a mere smear he would return its poor bug corpse to nature so that it might reclaim it. He'd get over it quick though if he was in a good mood prior, just give him a moment. If he was upset over something else already and he killed one, I could see it even pushing him to tears or rather making it worse if he was already at that point.

Asra would probably be like 'awh.... :( oof, I'm sorry lil guy...' and sweep it into nature if he could, but otherwise he would not be impacted too much.

Asra would purposely kill bugs on a few occasions even, pest bugs namely - like flies or mosquitoes or, of course, plague beetles. He may even instinctively lash out and flatten a bug that simply resembles a plague beetle enough, particularly if something had his anxiety or panic (ptsd trigger from the plague??) going. Otherwise plague beetle resembling beetles he'd be a little unsettled by, or uncomfortable to be around, but not enough to necessarily kill. He'd either move it somewhere else, try to scare it off, or move away from it. Muriel doesn't have many hang ups on plague beetle resembling bugs, though he would probably kill the real deal readily.

Any dead animals not in a wild area (like left in the city or on a road,) Muriel would move as long as it wasn't yknow. Too nasty. Birds that hit windows, starved or sickly scavengers, anything that dropped in a heatwave or was claimed by a flood, things like that, recent deaths. It pains him to see at all, but pains him more to leave them just.... There. Some he may bury, others he may leave out in places where there's animals he know will take it for food.

Injured or sick animals Muriel would try to help best he could, and he's successfully done it a few times. If it's blistering hot he'd also likely leave water out here and there for the animals of the forest, and he may enlist Asra's help with this to replenish water in natural water basins as well in droughts.

Muriel can handle animal death okay, hunting and fishing is a thing he does to some degree, it's just the preventable or senseless ones that hurt, it's worth saying here. It's just sad. He'll be okay after though, unless there's something more nefarious and upsetting at play.

Asra helping unwell/hurt animals would mostly consist of magic healing, but beyond that he wouldn't know what to really do besides bring it to Muriel or any animal experts near him. He doesn't come across these situations too often thankfully, though. Domestic animals he would take in more readily, and would let crash at the shop for a while if he can. If it's a livestock animal he'll ask if Muriel wants to take it in, or even in the case of an ownerless pet animal. If not, he can ask around. See if anyone wants a new dog or cat or... Goat. I just imagine those are the kinds of animals he's most likely to find in need, being in the center of Vesuvia.

Moving on from that....

Animal knowledge!

Asra likely doesn't know a ton about animals outside of ones that feature prominently in magic and myth, he's just good at identifying them and overall tends to appreciate their presence. Identifying animals can make for good pass times on long travels, or if he just sees something particularly neat he may simply want to know what to call it. He also probably learned most the common local Vesuvian species names growing up, probably through reading, though the bulk of his knowledge of the nature he grew up around is probably botanical- foraging can be dangerous! Plus, magic knowledge probably leans more heavily on plants than animals as well.

If Asra can't identify an animal, though, he will simply make up a name for it on the spot. If he finds out it's ID later he will still refer to it as his made up name followed by AKA/sometimes called/locally known as [real name]. He also tends to refer to tons of animals as the infamous, famous, legendary, revered, etc. Regardless of relevance, commonality or obscurity. He just thinks they all deserve such titles, and when has a little flair ever hurt?

"Ah, MC, look! It's an Abramesmerwhymsical Zadithi midnight-billed stilt-wader! Though it's sometimes also known as the famous crab-plover," Kinda shit. He enjoys it.

Muriel doesn't actually know the actual names of a ton of animals species. He knows of a few though, not to mention the Asra-given names that stuck with him. Despite not knowing their names sometimes still, he can tell most all species apart readily, and juveniles from adults, males from females, things like that. He watches animals of the forest regularly and is in tune with the local species life cycles, breeding or rearing seasons, migratory patterns, unique behaviors and everything else. Though his knowledge is probably limited to Vesuvian species, he's able to quickly pick up on other animal's traits and such when outside of Vesuvian territory, and is generally good with animals as is.

He knows what doves/pigeons and owls and vipers and mice and geckos etc are. He may not know that a specific species of such is called like, namaqua doves, omani owls, ocellated mountain vipers, cario spiny mouse, kotschy's middle-toed geckos n shit. It's not like he has NO idea, species names are weird and can be long winded so....

...He just doesn't know that dunnocks aren't actually called stripple-caped tseepers.

But he doesn't need to. <3

If he does learn the real names for them though, he is quite glad and will use the name readily. If you're looking at a Muriel who's in the city more, he will probably read up on this information himself, but otherwise he would of course treasure it if MC told him.

The only reasons he doesn't even know the names to begin with is mostly because the names you'll hear out and about most commonly only cover a fraction of species to start, and everything else youre mostly going to have to study via reading or classes. Neither of those seem to be things a young homeless Muriel would care to pursue lmao.

Annnnd

I forgot what else I was going to add and lost track so, I'll maybe add more later. I'll probably also amend this as I may find I don't agree with my own statements the next day and also I don't proofread so. I hope u enjoyed these feel free to add on or add differing opinions!

#asra #muriel #the arcana game #the arcana #tw animal death

[badacts]

fathers and children

“Daddy.”

Bruce is so sleep-deprived he almost falls back into unconsciousness between the voice and the hand tugging at his shirtsleeve. “Wussit?”

“Daddy,” the voice says again tearfully, “Hadda bad dream.”

“Oh no buddy,” Bruce mumbles, hooking an arm around and pulling the little body up on the mattress beside him. It snuggles into him, warm and sniffling. Actually, maybe a little too warm. “Feeling sick?”

Tim’s head shakes a no into Bruce’s shoulder. He’s got his comfort blanket, referred household-wide as ‘Blankie’, tight in his fist. “I sleep here.”

“That’s okay,” Bruce replies, tucking him under the sheets without dislodging him. It’s the same feeling of impossible tenderness every time, even when he’s most of the way asleep and Tim is distressingly sticky.

He likely falls back to sleep before Tim does, and wakes about what feels like five minutes later to, “Dad. Bruce, wake up.”

The only thing that stops him from sitting straight up is Tim’s weight at his side. “Dick?”

“I think Jason’s upset,” Dick murmurs, rubbing at his eye with a curled fist.

Bruce exhales, and then slips Tim’s fast-asleep body over so he can get out of bed. “Hop in chum. Thanks for getting me.”

“Uh huh,” Dick says, scrambling under the blankets and curling around Tim, cooing at him sleepily. Tim snores in response.

Dick’s bedroom door is thrown open across the hall from Bruce’s, but the one next door is firmly closed still. Bruce pauses for a second outside and hears sniffling, and a single low sob.

He pushes the door open and slips inside. “Jaybird?”

He’s answered by abrupt quiet. Sighing silently, he perches his weight on the edge of the bed. “Did you have a nightmare?”

The lump in the blankets moves enough to reveal a red-rimmed eye. “No.”

“Okay,” Bruce replies peaceably. “Want to lie back down?”

His head shakes. At six, Jason is as stubborn as they come. He makes intractable Dick look positively agreeable by comparison.

“Can I lie down then?” Bruce asks. “Dick and Tim stole my bed and I’m tired.”

Jason takes a moment to consider this. “Okay. I’m fine though.”

Bruce slides across to the side of the bed, rueing Alfred’s decision that the kids’ rooms should have single beds until they physically required something larger. The psychology of it is sound, but when Bruce lies back his feet dangle over the edge of the mattress. It’s lucky Jason is small for his age.

Once he’s stretched on his back, there’s a scratch of moving blankets, and then a heavy little head drops onto his shoulder. Jay doesn’t ask for comfort, not yet, but he’s passable at accepting it when offered. It’s a work in progress. He’s still shivering a little, wracked by his night terrors in a way little Tim can’t quite be - they’re memories, not products over a too-clever overactive brain - but he settles quicker every time. Bruce toys with his hair.

Jason falls asleep after a little while, crashing hard after the swell of emotions. Bruce, still wide awake after the insistence of Dick’s voice from before, is contemplating his future back pain when he sees movement in Jason’s doorway where he left the door open.

It’s dark, and she’s silent. but it’s easy enough to recognise Cass and the movement of a nightgown. She stays so still in the doorway that it’s not quite right in a twisting way in Bruce’s belly, making the hair on the back of his neck stand up, because no one ever tells you that your own kids can freak you out.

“Cassie?” he whispers, unwilling to wake Jason again so soon.

It’s then that the smell hits him.

His whole life has inured him to any number of bad smells. It’s still unpleasant to deal with those things in his own home. At least it’s just vomit, though.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs, hurriedly but gently bundling Jason up and moving him off of his chest. Cass, now sure that he’s awake, lifts her arms in a silent request to be picked up.

“Dad,” she mumbles as he hefts her up. Her chin is marked with sick, and there’s thin trails of it down her front. “Sick.”

“I see that,” Bruce replies, more for her to hear his voice than anything else. Her language skills are still significantly delayed compared to Jason’s, though she’s nine months older, and he’s become used to narrating things to her to help her vocabulary increase. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He whisks her into his own ensuite, stopping briefly to check Tim and Dick are still sleeping soundly on the way. He waits to turn on the bathroom light until the door is closed, then settles Cass on the edge of the sink. Her hand catches in his shirt, keeping him close.

“Does your stomach hurt?” he asks from a crouch in front of her, resting a hand on her forehead. She doesn’t feel warm to the touch, and her eyes are as bright and watchful as ever.

She signs better at him, and then begins trying to wrestle her nightgown off. Bruce sweeps it over her head and uses a clean patch to wipe her face. The struggle is that, as soon as he takes over, her hands go back to clutching at him. Rather than wrestling with her - a battle he knows he would lose - he takes off the cotton shirt he’s wearing and transfers it directly onto her, inside-out and as big as a tent on her. She’s in danger of slipping out through the neckhole, so he wraps it around her and scoops her up.

“Back to bed, wee one,” he murmurs to her, but she slaps at him at Jason’s door with a mostly-free arm, pointing imperiously at her brother’s door.

The two of them are closest in age and seem sometimes like a pair of twins, particularly with Cass’s self-cut short-and-ragged hairstyle (Alfred had confiscated the plastic safety scissors after that, but neither of them have had the mental fortitude to take a wailing, squirming seven year old to the hated hairdresser to tidy it up) and Jason’s overgrown mop. It’s unsurprising that Cass crawls onto Jason’s mattress and flops stomach-down over his feet. It’s a position Bruce has found the pair of them in before during many late-night checks.

Jason snuffles and mumbles something incomprehensible, but doesn’t wake. Cass lets out a contented sigh, tucking the shirt’s hem in like a blanket around her, and closes her eyes.

That’s four children settled. Bruce, accepting the idea that he’ll likely have to sleep on the tufted bench at the foot of his own bed to avoid disturbing a sleeping three- and eleven-year-old, slips through the door of the nursery and peers into the cradle under the window.

Damian blinks up at him, fully awake but silent. His eyes are enormous in his nut-brown face, and his expression seems vaguely disapproving. Bruce is more than aware that it’s a hereditary trait. He’s not crying though, so clearly not hungry or wet - he doesn’t hesitate to make his discomforts known. Just awake.

Bruce lowers the side of the crib and kneels down, resting his elbows on the mattress so his face is on the same level as the baby. Damian reaches out to him with clumsy fingers. Bruce winces at the feeling of nails on his scruffy face - he’s in need of a trim.

“What are you doing awake?” Bruce asks in a low murmur, and yet again he’s warm to his core. It doesn’t matter that he has a board meeting tomorrow, that he didn’t get in till 1AM and that his body hurts with new bruises and remembered injuries, or that the carpet under his knees isn’t really thick enough for him to kneel on it. He’s just warm.

*

Alfred is accustomed to waking early. It gives him time to prepare for the young masters and mistress when they wake in turn. It’s a rare morning when one of them - particularly the youngest - sleeps past seven.

This means that when seven-thirty rolls around without a peep from upstairs, Alfred goes to investigate.

He finds Masters Dick and Timothy asleep in their father’s bed, Dick sprawled on his back and snoring with Tim pillowed on his abdomen. Master Bruce’s bathroom is empty besides a discarded nightshirt left in the bath, haphazardly rinsed.

Master Jason is fast asleep in his own bed, curled like a pillbug with only his hair visible above the blankets. Cassandra, dressed in her father’s shirt which could envelope her four times over, is asleep at the foot of the bed, one of her feet threatening to encroach on Jason’s behind.

The nursery door at the end of the hall is open, sun pouring through the east-facing window and onto the hall floor. In the cot, young Master Damian is burbling quietly to himself, awake but apparently peaceful. The reason for this becomes clear when Alfred steps inside the room - Master Bruce seems to be kneeling beside the cot, forearms crossed on the mattress and head resting on top of them. He appears to be firmly asleep, despite the tiny hand prodding at his loose fingers.

“Good morning, lad,” Alfred murmurs to the baby, sweeping him into his arms. Bruce twitches at the movement, but stills under Alfred’s palm on his shoulder. “Off the floor, Master Bruce. That cannot be good for your joints.”

“Hrn,” Bruce says, blinking into the light from the window. He grunts as he levers himself up, rubbing at his face in precisely the same way he did when he was Tim or Jason’s age. In such a mountain of a man, let alone one precisely as scarred and dangerous as Alfred’s boy has grown into, it’s awfully endearing.

“Into the shower with you,” Alfred recommends. “Then breakfast. I shall rally the troops.”

By the looks of their night, he suspects they’ll be foul at being woken, and likely considerably more so by three this afternoon. Damian will shriek over an upset stomach after his morning bottle, and Timothy will refuse to nap despite being exhausted, and Dick will drag his feet over going to school while Jason cries at leaving the house despite desperately wanting to go to school. Cassandra will be quieter than usual, and terribly willful for anyone besides her father. And Bruce will likely be forgetful and shorter than usual at work, and return home tonight exhausted but determined to venture out onto the streets again.

Alfred wouldn’t trade them for anything.

#batfam #dc #batman #my fic #prompts #that stupid read more thing happened again #anyway i have the solution #yay me #bat babies

[coridallasmultipass]

Motaro and Goro!!!! 🙏🙏🙏🙏 I don't think I've shared any mantis pics since I switched them to semi-bioactive tanks. There are natural guava leaves (which I used to scoop up aphids when my mantises were just little toothpick tip size!), dirt, rocks, reused sticks, rolliepollies, ground centipedes, decorative moss, but no live plants or special UV lighting. Here are some pics from when I just fed them! Motaro is the first two pics, Goro in the last. That camoflage is absolutely amazing! And the mantises are a lot happier being in tanks that are clear and rectangular. I think the 'eye-rubbing' behaviour they had was due to one of them being in a cylindrical enclosure, similar to how fishbowls disorient fish. So. Lesson learned for me. It was fine when they were smaller, but as adults, they needed more space. 🦗 I had the opportunity to buy two of the large critter carrier tanks, and the mantises are much happier and seem way more relaxed and entertained by all the pillbugs I put in there. They keep killing them and then not eating them because they don't taste great or the shell is too thick? But... just an FYI... if you get these tanks, make sure the lid fits before you buy it. I spent so long in the store trying on so many lids and none of them would fit around the rim of the tank part, so I said Fuck It, grabbed two pink lids, and decided to sand them down with my dremel. They're still a very snug fit, but at least I can close the lids without harassing my mantises too much. 🦗🦗🦗🦗 #prayingmantis #preyingmantis #chinesemantis #tenoderasinensis #mantis #mantises #mantids #mantidsofinstagram #bug #bugs #insect #insects #insectkeeping #bugkeeping #insectpets #bugpets #mealworms #feedingtime #bioactive https://www.instagram.com/p/CUY-Lm6L2N3/?utm_medium=tumblr

#prayingmantis #preyingmantis #chinesemantis #tenoderasinensis #mantis #mantises #mantids #mantidsofinstagram #bug #bugs #insect #insects #insectkeeping #bugkeeping #insectpets #bugpets #mealworms #feedingtime #bioactive

[ask-impure-vessel]

why aren't you asking the teacher about us? do you want to? are you worried that harm will come to you if you do so? is asking her about us something of least importance right now?

Quirrel led Hallow into a private room and the knight sat and they put their mask in their hands briefly and take a few moments to collect their head.

They sit more comfortably and Quirrel set stone tablets and one acid tank down. "I think I have what you were talking about. There's not a lot of information, it's fairly suppressed information in Hallownest for a few reasons." The pillbug sounded troubled. "Are... You okay?"

No, the knight is not okay. They write:

[Teacher brings fear/many secrets and locks open now/Teacher is king's eyes]

"She is pretty intense, isn't she?" Quirrel laughed nervously. "I'm sorry she scares you. She is very much wholly invested into knowledge of all kinds. That can look a little odd to people sometimes. But it led to her preserving this information."

He looked over the tablets, running his eyes quickly over them. "Right. The one I could find the least information on were the Godseekers. They were a tribe whose gods died or abandoned them. They have some very powerful artifacts and there's actually a standing order to arrest the one who comes to Hallownest and put them somewhere they can't be found. Nothing more to really be found about them, I'm afraid. I don't think they're in Hallownest yet.

"Ah. Now the abyss, there's actually considerably more information, that is to say, more than two tablets worth of conjecture and a missive the Pale King signed." Quirrel removed the Godseeker materials to the side.

Looks like this Godseeker isn't here. This one can look, but they don't seem to be in Hallownest yet if they are in the future.

"The earliest inhabitants of what would become Hallownest worshipped the darkness. Those who ruled were of some special caste and were users of soul. They built the many soul totems you see across Hallownest and beyond. They had methods of storing information we don't understand. They seemingly built their empire with the help of the god of the void, using some focus for it. However, this focus seems to have changed over time and seems to have been lost when that ancient civilization died out. They were sophisticated, the black egg temple that was going to seal you was built based on their principles since it can preserve beings of void like yourself. It is the eternal enemy of the Pale King and the Old Light. Ah.

"And. You are made of it. As are the kingsmoulds and wingsmoulds. The king has done extended experimentation with void. Not many notes on that, understandably. The king is notoriously private with his work with the void. Hm. Oh!"

"This one looks like someone tried to chisel off part of it. That's why I brought the acid vat. We have all our documents backed up in multiple formats at multiple locations."

He showed the defaced tablet to the knight. There's several deep gouges over a line. It's a surprise that it didn't break the tablet, actually.

The knight stared at it as Quirrel referenced the document in the acid tank's information. "Aha. The information is more complete here. There is a god of the void, who represented time, death, spirits and was a being of both great compassion and great fury. They were genderless, though called... Lord of Shades. Unlike most gods, this god of gods can be easily revived by someone taking up its heart. The void without a Lord of Shades becomes inert, lashing out wildly and vengeful against the living. It tends to cause stasis or necrosis, thus the symptoms of void poisoning and why some can live centuries without harm with void within their bodies. This gift was granted to the Mask Maker, for his compassionate work for the world."

Quirrel stepped away, looking stunned. "Incredible." He breathed out. "Simply incredible. Wait. You are a living being of void. You would be compatible for such a thing. Vessel bodies didn't come out of nowhere as an idea, you know."

The vessel tilted their head. This was a lot to take in.

#hollow knight #hk pure vessel #hk quirrel #lord of shades

[millenniumfae]

Mass Effect: Andromeda Companion Headcanons

Liam Kosta

He’s canonically a big fan of 20/21st century culture (aka, OUR culture). That’s not being retro, that’s the equivalent of being a Victorian era buff. Very geeky, but he’s not alone - he’s attended ‘21st century’ conventions, subscribed to youtubers who specialize in exploring the 20th century, been to reenactments, and has more than a few period dramas in his vid collection.

His favorite 20/21st century things? Old cars, weird recipes, and the movie Train To Busan.

And if there’s still anime in the year 2185, he’s a huge fan of that too. Doesn’t stick with a particular drama, he loves many of the more popular ones. Doodles characters in an anime style, and he’s not particularly good - but he wants to be better.

He was perfect for the role of being a crisis response specialist. His teammates thought he was great at calming the injured down, ensuring positivity in stressful situations, and producing results. Literally employee of the year.

And that’s one of the reasons why he fucks up a bit when in Andromeda - its not a high crisis situation like a hostage holdup or a terrorist bombing, its a slow but terrifying pressure on them all. Not what he’s used to, or what he thrives under. Take him on Vetra’s loyalty mission, you see a glimpse of the crisis expert he used to be.

He’s actually not that great in communicating with aliens. It takes a special skill to understand radically different cultures, and Liam spent most of his years surrounded by other humans. Hence his weird way of doing it with Jaal, and accidentally pushing Turian/Krogan buttons

Cora Harper

During the game’s duration, there’s only flat coffee available, but the minute someone’s offers blended venti-sized caramel macchiatos, Cora is first in line.

She’s medicated for depression, and it definitely helps her. Back during her training on Thessia, she had a lot of emotional problems stemming from her life as an especially powerful biotic. She found one pill that works, and sticks with that.

I don’t like how the Mass Effect franchise handles the Asari, so I’m changing it; Cora never had a relationship with an Asari, but its not because she’s straight - Asari aren’t at default women. Some are, but most don’t have genders. Just because they ‘look like women’ doesn’t mean Cora, a straight woman, wouldn’t be attracted to one. It’s just a coincidence. 

I mean, it’s 2185, humans have had contact with several alien cultures for decades. The vast majority of people understand gender and sexuality in a much less limited way than we do nowadays.

Used to have a pretty popular Instagram, or at least the Mass Effect universe equivalent of one. Sometimes, it’s pictures of her hair and makeup, sometimes it’s her working out, sometimes its scenery and landmarks. On occasion, it’s her at a crazy bar and about to down some weird novelty cocktail.

Pelessaria "Peebee" B’Sayle

Her age is the human equivalent of being 24, since she’s near Liara’s age and Liara was apparently barely an adult. She’s got a doctorate, and several masters. Not human ones, but not Asari ones, either. Asari doctorates probably take 100 years, masters half that long. Peebee’s studied all across the galaxy, because her dislike of staying in one place has always been her hangup. 

She’s telling the truth when she tells Drack that her father was an Elcor. Drack does that to people - brings the truth out of them. Peebee doesn’t admit it, but she felt like Drack didn’t deserve some bullshit lie. 

And her Elcor father didn’t raise her, because her mother was one of those Asari who didn’t want a partner but wanted offspring. That’s rare amongst humans, but common with Asari. Her mother said to her father, ‘I want a child, not a husband.’

And her mother died 70 years before Peebee would jump onto the Andromeda Initiative from age-related complications. Her older sister, on the other hand, was left behind. But since she was already much older than Peebee, she’s probably dead and gone too. Peebee left her only remaining family with more than one tears shed, but they were never particularly close. 

Kalinda knew how young Peebee was, and that’s why she decided to use her. She was Peebee’s first actual relationship, started right after Peebee left her sister for dead and about to leave home forever. Kalinda knew what she was doing.

Nakmor Drack

Drack’s understanding and gentle nature isn’t atypical of the Krogan. In the original trilogy, we could usually only talk to Krogan during battle situations, unlike Ryder’s chances to be diplomatic. Sure, the Nakmor clan is particularly civil since they’re the ones to join the Initiative in becoming immigrants to another galaxy, but there’s more than one gruff yet charismatic grandpa out there.

It’s canon that he likes cooking, and yes, he’s good at it. He specializes in roast meats, which is not easy, but he also bakes pastries, delicious soups and stews, grain dishes and other noms. Some of those recipes are very old Krogan ones, but many are from other cultures and other aliens. He got them from cookbooks, which he reads in his spare time.

Such as Hanar shellfish cocktails, Asari butter biscuits, Drell cheese dips, human sauced pasta, Turian marinated chops, Elcor flatbread, etc. Except Salarian cuisine. He doesn’t want to ‘benefit’ from them anymore than the Krogan had to. But Salarian pillbug skewers are pretty tasty.

And like many grandpas, he’s kinda slow to adapt to new technology. ‘New’ to him meant Omni-tools at one point, universal translators at another, and etc. As the centuries go by, Drack’s gotta get used to some other new smartphone-equivalent technology. He’s not the best at it, but long ago he learned not to be stubborn and make an effort.

Vetra Nyx

Garrus in the original trilogy made a big deal out of being an atypical Turian, but Vetra and her sister even more so. That’s because Garrus grew up in Palavan to a very traditional family, while Vetra and Sid spent their lives bouncing from place to place. As she said, they’re probably not part of Turian society anymore. No rank, no caste. If Vetra ever wanted to rejoin the Turian census, she’d have a lot of trouble. That is, if she did it completely by the book.

So Vetra is so much more flexible and casual compared to the Turians of the original trilogy. You see it in her jokes, her body language, but also when she gets mad; Turian culture has people like Kandros reign in their volume and temper when they get frustrated, but Vetra will snap back.

Humans wouldn’t know this, but Vetra’s actually not much of a looker in Turian culture. Her mandibles are thin, her eyes too large, and her waist too short. She wears the Turian equivalent of makeup, but its not much. She looks like what we’d think of a librarian nerd would be. But that matters little to her; Vetra’s charismatic and highly intelligent, winning crowds (and sometimes hearts) all across the board.

And speaking of librarian nerds, Vetra’s visor is for her poor vision, too. She’d been wearing corrective vision technology since she was a kid, and it’s inherited from her mother. Sid, meanwhile, lucked out on the vision compartment, never needing a visor. 

The age gap between Sid and Vetra is around 14 years, and they have different mothers. 

And Vetra isn’t a horrible cook (Sid is grateful), she just doesn’t know how to make human steak. Turian meat needs to be cooked much longer than Earth cow, so she overshot it and doesn’t realize why. If Ryder chooses to romance her, Vetra actually makes an effort to learn about human cooking and does much better at it.

Jaal Ama Darav

Jaal’s poetic vocabulary is typical of those native to Havarl, which is where he (and his accent) are from. And he intentionally harbors it, too, because his family is famous and rooted in Angaran royalty. As an insecure famous soldier figure, he unconsciously makes an effort to appear as affluent as he can be.

We only see two models of a Rofjinn amongst the Angara; Jaal’s, and the smaller ones like Efra has. But there’s many styles of Rofjinn out there, Jaal’s actually being more ornate, with a patterned fabric that has a sheen. It was gifted by his mother, who makes them as per tradition to children that she believes are destined to live a troubled or eventful life. The Rofjinn is a reminder than they have their mother’s love and protection.

And Jaal’s Rofjinn is especially ornate particularly because Jaal’s actually quite camp. Not because of his love for lotions and perfumes, that’s typical amongst his people. We don’t get to see it, but Jaal loves fashion, aesthetics, and accessories that border on tacky. He rarely gets an opportunity to explore it as a soldier, but in his spare time, his crafts are wildly dotted with gold and pink acrylic flowers, holochrome pearls, and shining with glitter. And when his mother made his Rofjinn, she decided to make it a bit more Extra just for him. He was thrilled.

Jaal’s huge compared to us, and indeed he’s stocky amongst the Angara. But his attractiveness isn’t because of that, it’s because of his particularly theatrical and poetic nature. Angara are naturally expressive, but some are expressive in a gruff way, others in a dramatic way. Jaal is one of those Angara that embrace the world like a Broadway stage. 

#Mass Effect #mass effect: andromeda #me:a #jaal ama darav #liam kosta #cora harper #peebee #nakmor drack #vetra nyx #bioware #mass effect headcanons

[finsterhunde]

I’d like to point out that today’s mess was caused by ex roommate finding one ant in the bathroom and one spider in the kitchen.

I dunno how to tell you this, but that just means they’re coming in randomly because insects are bastards with no personal space.

The ant has wings which means it’s one of the ones that fucks off from its colony to make a new one and isn’t looking for food, it’s looking for sex. So like, clearly this is because people are keeping the door open for too long and they’re coming inside but not for food.

Spiders are filthy little bastards who just come wherever they fucking please. My friend told me in September they deliberately go into houses because the fucks figured that’s easier than hibernating.

I’ve only ever seen winged ants inside this summer, no wingless ones, and they’re little bastards so they’re not carpenter ants, so clearly there’s just a mature colony somewhere near our house and that’s it. Pest control websites say seeing winged ants that aren’t carpenter ants isn’t even worth getting bug spray.

Also my friend told me “there’s definitely not carpet beetles here” so like, the one I’m actually concerned about isn’t apparently a problem but all these ones that aren’t a problem are?

Like, who fucking says “your room is bad and is attracting bugs because I saw a single spider in the kitchen?” Nobody. That’s who. I’m scared of spiders and I don’t act like our house is falling apart because I saw one single spider since we moved here. They just fucking come into the house without permission. This is true for every fucking house and apartment and place of residence in the fucking country. When there was a spider who clearly came in from the door my friend said “oh leave him” so what if it was that fucker huh?

I can bet I have friends laughing right now because they have actual fucking wolf spiders and wasps and shit where they live. Ex roommate is just a spoiled little rich brat who cries whenever anything less than an upper class condo has a single spider in it. My childhood house had feral rats in the backyard and giant nasty ass beetle things that hit you in the fucking face if they got near you or you left a window open. And wolf spiders, and the little bastard spiders who look weird, and tons of other shit, and pillbugs which I also have a phobia of, etc. etc.

I am forever grateful for my childhood house not having silverfish. Absolutely fucking hate silverfish. Fuck them. Seriously. The only reason I don’t have a permanent blood feud with spiders for “coming into the house without permission” is because they apparently eat silverfish. I release spiders outside. I let them live. They are the only insect invaders that I allow to live. Other than moths. The motivations of moths make sense. They are like me and I respect that. One time I killed a moth trying to get it outside and I legit cried.

What pisses me off is I’m pretty sure there is carpet beetles here, or at least that’s the only one that makes sense because of our nasty ass carpet and people leaving their shoes on when walking on the carpet (not me, obviously) but my friend is just like “yeah there probably isn’t carpet beetles here but the only pests we’re actually dealing with are horny ass ants and spiders” (who are known for not respecting personal boundaries and aren’t attracted to human foodstuffs.)

I keep trying to tell my friend that our window fans when they don’t have the anti-bug screen on them (his does not) will suck in bugs. Mine /sometimes/ does but the screen rips them up and they die quickly on the windowsill. (morbid, but I can literally see it and thus believe it)

I’ve also had incidents where at night, bugs too big to fit through the window screens come into my room from under the door. Flying bugs. And I know full well it’s because ex roommate just fucking, throws open the patio doors. They have screens you know. Why are you doing this? You know this is exactly how spiders and winged ants get in, right?

Hopefully if there are carpet beetles this at least gets rid of them. I fucking hate carpet beetles so much. Real slap in the face to blame the guy who’s paranoid about carpet beetles and has a legit phobia of silverfish and thus keeps a close vigil on the lookout for them that he’s somehow responsible for ex roommate seeing a single spider.

You know what is most likely to infest a slummy townhouse with shitty carpets? Carpet beetles and silverfish. Can you perhaps see why blaming the guy who is paranoid about carpet beetles and silverfish because you saw one or two ants all summer is fucking stupid now?

So now I’m paranoid about carpet beetles again. Despite not dealing with them when cleaning my room, didn’t see any silverfish either and no spiders. But I’m still paranoid because it feels like I was gaslit into thinking my bedroom was harboring bugs.

It’s that feeling where you see a spider and can’t sleep for a whole 12 hours afterwards.

The rational part of my brain keeps trying to tell me that I’m doing a good job and it’s just ex roommate making a big scene to assert control over everyone else in the household, but what can I say? I’m terrified of shit that look like isopods. I have no clue where this phobia came from or why, and they’re the only “larger” fuckers that still scare me even when they’re big enough to not be able to sneak up on you.

I wish insects were all large enough that they couldn’t sneak into homes. I don’t have any sort of fear towards the giant species of spiders like tarantulas at all. Because they’re big enough that they can’t sneak up on you.

Anyways, carpet beetle larva, silverfish, pillbugs, etc. all look like isopods and anything that looks like an isopod strikes intense irrational fear into my heart.

There is a single exception and it’s in a video game (thank you Eric, but I will still yeet the babies off the cliff)

#text post #long post #negative #cw: insects

[hawk-n-hum]

more lexell!!

The life of an assassin is quite the lonely one.

She’s never had the chance or time for trysts or partners, nor had she had any interest in any. With the live she lives, it would only recklessly put another’s sake at risk.

So, for the most part, she tunes it out.

But the feelings fester, occasionally. The urge to find someone that cared about her deeper than simply a friendship. Xero was there, yes, but that was a brotherly, bickering sibling-esque relationship.

She shakes her head. Of all the times to think of it, now is not it.

The bug she’s sent with a mark on looks around anxiously. A higher-up in Hallownest’s hierarchy, taking them out would leave a gaping hole in the control of the kingdom if left unattended. She doubted the King would notice, at first, as oblivious and self-centered as he is.

She focuses on the target, noting the civilians bustling around them. They have to massive guards hulking over them, but they would be easily slain with Lexell’s prowess. The civilians, however, were not to be touched. Lexell may be ruthless, but she is not careless in her work. She will not harm the innocent. 

Twiddling an antenna, she bides her time. The right moment hardly shows itself when expected, as she has learned. You must be ready when it is least expected to appear.

And it does.

The guards are distracted. The target is vulnerable.

Lexell readies her nail, and snaps down from the railing she’s perched on, slamming into the ground between the guards and knocking her quarry off their feet.

Do not think into it, warrior. You know how it goes. They will plead, beg, cry, but if they were truly sorry for what was happening, they would use their power to stand up against it.

The bug’s eyes are wide with unrestrained fear as they look up to their killer. The guards have noticed now, their shields up and ready for dealing blows.

“Y-you wouldn’t!” The bug stammers. “Do you know who I am?”

“Yes, quite,” Lexell answers softly. 

“Then leave me be!”

“I cannot let you live for the crimes you have sat and watched idly,” she snarls. “You know what He is doing to His children, and you say nothing.”

“I c-can’t! He’d have my head before the s-sentence w-was out!” They panic.

“No.” Lexell had expected this. “You’re high enough that he would at least listen to your input.”

“He is single-minded in His task! He wouldn’t!”

The guards grunt as they ready themselves, their shields and nails at the ready. One poises a shield for a throw to knock her off her feet.

She scoffs to herself. An amateur move. When you cannot fathom what your opponent will do, why not just barge into them?

The shield flies, cracking into a post behind her as she ducks swiftly. She escapes unscathed, hands around the bug’s throat as they wriggle and panic.

“L-listen to me! I can cut you a deal, make an exchange in your favor!” They spew. “Geo? Is it Geo you want? I can hook you up with more Geo than you’ve seen in your entire life!”

“I’ve no business for currency,” she huffs.

“Then what will it take?”

“Tell the miserable, filthy ruler that he’s no more a ruler than he is a mass-murderer.”

“B-b-but I can’t do that if I’m...you know.”

“Then your guards will spread the word in your absence,” she shrugs. Her nail is drawn pointed at their throat menacingly.

The bug gulps. Their pristine clothing is tattered and soaked by the City of Tears’ rain, scuffed by dirt from the walkway beneath them.

The post behind her creaks. Structural damage, then. Impressive, for a brute like that.

She looks up from her prey, noting the failing post’s area. Huddled underneath it are patrons hoping to escape the rain, but likely frozen in place at the spectacle taking place before them. 

Children, Lexell, there are children there!

And there are--a pair of younger pillbugs play in a puddle near the edge of the overhang, oblivious to the structure’s failing integrity. Others are bustling out of the way, but they are so engrossed in their fun that they do not notice.

So, what will you do? Finish your job, or save your reputation?

She growls to herself, slamming the target into the ground roughly. “Remember what I said. I will come back for you,” she hisses at them, shoving them away curtly and clicking into action. She flings herself towards the falling awning, barreling into the two children. They squeak in surprise at the contact, but Lexell ignores them for the sake of integrity. 

She is almost out from under the overhang when if finally falls. A beam slams into her back, knocking the air out of her, sending her into a fit of wheezing breaths. Her wings ache; they’re durable, but not indestructible. 

But the children are saved. They stare up at her perilously, seeing her as a stranger instead of a savior. She doesn’t blame them.

“What are you doing?” someone shouts.

“She saved their lives!” another points out. “She saved them!”

Lexell does not stick around to listen to the conversation afterwards. She knows her name will be spat upon, dragged through the dirt for her lifestyle of choice.

But, in her eyes, she has done something worthy.

#lexell #mav writes

[queenofcats17]

Father Knows Best

@bornoffireandwisdom asked for another story involving Bendy’s creation and eventual realization that Joey has been lying to him.

This version of Murray Hill belongs to @circus-craze

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

When Bendy was created, his world was very small. It consisted of himself, his dad, and his dad’s friend Uncle Murray. Well, Joey wasn’t actually his dad, but he’d been the one to bring Bendy to life so Bendy called him ‘dad’. Bendy liked Joey a lot. Maybe even loved him. Joey had been the one to bring him to life, the one who told him stories of the one who’d truly created him, Henry. Bendy always loved hearing Joey’s stories about Henry. Henry sounded like such an amazing person, especially the way Joey talked about him.

“When can I meet Henry?” Bendy asked. Joey had been telling him another story about his and Henry’s childhood, which meant the little demon was curled up in Joey’s lap.

“Soon,” Joey said, patting Bendy between his horns. 

“But that’s what you always say,” Bendy whined. “It feels like I’m never gonna meet him!” He flopped back, rolling around while still on Joey’s lap. 

“You were only born a few months ago.” Joey laughed. “These things take time.” Bendy sighed loudly, flopping about even more.

“You’re adorable.” Joey tickled his stomach. Bendy squealed, curling up like a pillbug. Joey was the best. He was pretty much Bendy’s best friend. But that mostly because Bendy only really knew two people. Speaking of the other person he knew...

“Mr. Drew?” Murray poked his head into the room. 

“Uncle Murray!” Bendy clambered off of Joey’s lap to run over to Murray. Murray’s whole body tensed as Bendy wrapped his arms around the man’s legs. Bendy had never understood why Murray reacted that way to being called ‘Uncle Murray’. He always seemed so uncomfortable.  

“H-Hello, Bendy.” He smiled shakily. 

“What is it, Mr. Hill?” Joey asked. “I was in the middle of something.” Murray glanced from Bendy to Joey, wringing his hands. 

“Could I speak to you in the hallway, Mr. Drew?” He asked. Joey sighed heavily, getting up from the couch he’d shoved against the wall. 

“Very well.” He paused by Bendy on his way out, kneeling down and patting Bendy’s head again. “Stay here until I get back, okay?”

“But I want to explore,” Bendy said, grabbing Joey’s hand to stop him from leaving. “I’m getting bored! I don’t even have any friends!”

“I’ll make you a friend soon, Bendy,” Joey assured him. “But it takes time.” He removed his hand from Bendy’s and followed Murray out, closing the door behind him. Bendy pouted, collapsing onto the couch. 

“I’m bored!” He groaned, kicking his feet against the couch. Joey never let him go anywhere. Sure, Bendy had left this room before, but he was never allowed to go anywhere by himself. He always had to be with either Joey or Murray. Joey was fun and Murray let him play with his doctor tools sometimes, but it still got boring after a while. Not to mention, Murray always got really weird when he was around Bendy. Especially when Bendy started asking about the creatures he saw around the studio. Joey wouldn’t even tell him why he couldn’t be by himself. 

“Don’t you trust me, Ben?” Joey always replied. “I have your best interests at heart.”

“I-I do trust you.” Bendy would say. “But-”

“Then take my word for it. I’m keeping you safe.” Joey always shut down any chance for argument. He would not allow Bendy to disagree with him. He told Bendy that the little demon would never survive without him. He needed Joey to keep him safe. Bendy knew Joey didn’t mean the cruel things he said sometimes. He loved Bendy. Right?

It was nearly half an hour before someone reentered the room. Bendy perked up, hoping it was Joey and that he’d finish his story. But it was only Murray.

“Where’s Joey?” Bendy asked, frowning.

“He’s...busy,” Murray said after a suspiciously long pause. “You’ll be spending some time with me for a little.”

“Aw. Okay.” Bendy’s shoulders slumped.

“It’ll be fun.” Murray smiled weakly. 

“Yeah, okay.” Bendy sighed dejectedly, sliding off the couch. 

Murray chewed on his lip as he watched Bendy skulk over to him. He couldn’t help but feel guilty whenever he was around the little demon. He didn’t deserve to be looked at with such trust and admiration. He didn’t deserve to be called “Uncle Murray”. Not after all he’d done, all he’d helped Joey do. 

“Uncle Murray?” 

“Hm?” He was jolted from his self-pity when Bendy tugged on the hem of his lab coat. The little demon had long since learned that Murray didn’t like it when he tried to hold his hand. 

“What is it, Bendy?” He tried to put on a cheery face. It very clearly looked forced. 

“Who are those people you keep in your room?” Bendy asked, head tilted innocently to the side. “I’ve seen Dad talking to them too. They’re all weird and goopy. Who are they?” Immediately, Murray stiffened. This wasn’t the first time Bendy had asked about the Searchers. He should have had a pre-prepared response by now. But he still panicked.

"Have I told you that we’re working on making Boris?” Murray hastily opened the door to his lab. “You won’t be alone for much longer, I promise.” 

“Really?” Bendy perked up, eyes shining with wonder and hope. 

“Really.” Murray relaxed a little, ushering Bendy in. “But I’m still having a little bit of trouble nailing down the right design for him. Do you want to give me something to work off of? No one knows Boris better than you.”

“Oh! Yeah!” Bendy nodded enthusiastically. “I can do that!” 

“Well.” Murray handed him a piece of paper and a pencil. “Why don’t you draw me the best picture of Boris you can?” 

Bendy kept nodding, sitting down and starting to doodle. His tongue stuck out the side of his mouth as he concentrated. Murray breathed an internal sigh of relief. That was one crisis averted, at least for the moment. But he knew it wouldn’t distract Bendy for too terribly long. Bendy was a curious creature, and much smarter than Joey gave him credit for. It would be impossible to keep him away from the horrors of the studio forever. 

Sure enough, the first chance Bendy got, he snuck out to explore the studio. Murray and Joey had gone rushing off because of something that had happened, giving Bendy the opportunity to finally slip out. The little demon was giddy as he crept down the hallway, tail waving behind him. He was finally going to be able to see what was happening in the studio! However, his glee was short-lived. The studio he found was dark and decrepit, with an air of hopelessness and despair permeating the air. The messages written on the wall were hard to miss as well. 

I don’t want to work here anymore. 

The Creator lied to us.

He will set us free. 

“What’s going on?” Bendy whispered, hugging himself. “Why’s everything so dead?” The studio had never looked like this when he’d walked through it with Joey or Murray. 

As he ventured down a darkened corridor, he came face to face with one of the inky creatures he saw Joey talking to so often. It appeared from a puddle, looking only barely like a human. Well, the upper half of a human at least. Bendy screamed and scrambled back. At the sound of his scream, more started popping up from the puddles. They moaned and groaned, advancing on him, grasping at him with their skeletal hands. Bendy screamed even louder and ran. He ran until his legs couldn’t carry him anymore and he collapsed. 

“What-What are those things?” He whimpered, curling up in a ball. He was in a flooded hallway underground now. It was probably actually something like a sewer. But Bendy didn’t care. He’d just wanted to get away. He laid there for a long time, sniffling and whimpering. 

Then he felt someone tap him on the shoulder. He looked up, only to find one of those creatures standing over him, watching him with its glowing yellow eyes. Once more, he screamed, scrambling away. The inky creature didn’t seem startled by his yelling, tilting its head curiously to the side. It looked like it was wearing a hat. No, it was wearing a hat.

“Who...Who are you?” Bendy asked once he managed to regain his composure. 

“Ja...ck...” The creature replied. Unlike the others, it didn’t seem like it was going to hurt him. He didn’t seem like he was going to hurt him.

“Well, uh, it’s nice to meet you, Jack.” Bendy awkwardly stuck his hand out. Jack didn’t shake his hand, just smiled at him. At least, Bendy was pretty sure he was smiling. It was hard to tell, since Jack didn’t really have much in the way of facial features. 

“So...What’re you doing down here?” Bendy asked. “Seems kinda dingy.”

“Sa...fe...” Jack said. “Home.”

“This is your home?” 

Jack nodded enthusiastically. He seemed delighted to have someone else there to show his ‘home’ to. He dragged over to a little alcove with a desk and violin, pointing excitedly at everything. His speech capabilities were limited, but Bendy liked him anyway. He seemed nice. 

“Can you play this thing?” Bendy asked, picking up the violin. “I’d think it’d be hard with your goopy hands.” 

Jack made a so-so gesture. “Hard.” 

“You think I could play?” Bendy wiggled his eyebrows, placing it under his chin. Jack looked at Bendy then looked at the violin. One would think it would be hard to make an incredulous look when one lacked distinct facial features, but Jack was certainly managing it. 

“I could do it!” Bendy insisted, puffing out his chest. Jack’s expression grew even more incredulous. 

“Ugh. Fine.” Bendy rolled his eyes, putting it down. “Party pooper.” He had to admit, he was having a lot of fun. He didn’t want to go back to Joey. Joey had been keeping something from him. He was sure of it now. Both Murray and Joey had been keeping things from him. These creatures, he was sure they had been people once. Jack had definitely been a person, judging from the tape on his desk. 

“Hey, Jack?” Bendy sat down on the ledge of the alcove. “How did you get like that?” Jack stared quizzically at him. 

“I mean, you used to be a person, right?” Bendy gestured to the tape. Jack nodded slowly. 

“Do...n’t...know...” He said. “Fell...asl...eep...Then...this...” 

“How’d the others get like this?” Bendy could hear his heart pounding in his nonexistent ears. He wasn’t going to like whatever the answer was. And yet, he felt like he already knew. Jack hesitated, starting to melt a little. 

“Jo...ey...” He whispered. “Did...bad...thi...ngs...” Bendy stared down into the ink river below him. 

“I’ll be back later.” He got up, smiling back at Jack. Jack waved weakly, watching as Bendy disappeared up the stairs. Bendy strode with purpose through the halls. His ‘dad’ had a lot of explaining to do.

#bendy and the ink machine #batim saudade au #fanfiction #bendy the dancing demon #joey drew #murray hill #jack fain #emotional abuse tw

[see-arcane]

Bugs, Humans, and Eldritch Horrors

1. Many bugs are gross. This is a scientific fact. For every ladybug, butterfly, or pillbug there are 2452 fuckmillion creepy and/or irritating insects with too many legs, too much venom, are just too goddamn Big, etc. Conclusion, gross, no, smash with heavy book upon sight or else avoid entirely

2. In a great deal of eldritch horror literature/genres it’s made clear that human beings and assorted other mortals are on the same level as insects to the gruesome otherworldly entities that existed before the dawn of the universe. This perspective makes it pretty understandable as to how these monsters are keen to A) go about their terrifying business with no regard to our existence (no one really pays attention to the ants when they’re sitting in their ride-on mower or spraying weed killer) or B) actively try to kill us because, ugh, look at all these bugs on my planet/dimension, call the interdimensional pest control, ughhh

3. There are people in the world who fucking love the less aesthetically-pleasing creepy crawlers. Everyone’s seen the PSAs from people (rightly) pointing out all the pros of having spiders around, eating more pestilent bugs, spinning artful webs, being generally as skittish as we are in human presence or else, as with tarantulas, extremely docile with loving human handlers. Others like cockroaches, beetles, moths, millipedes, and ants in their little glass colonies. This is to say nothing of beekeepers. These bug-loving folks are understandably in the minority, but they do exist and they adore their tiny weird friends

4. It would be really neat to see the above POV mirrored in the indescribable immortal abominations that govern the cogs of Existence. Like, for every few regular gods beyond the rim of sanity, there’s at least one even weirder fucker who loves the tiny weird mortals scuttling around in their world of mud and water. One day they catch some displaced astronaut types and run around with them in their outstretched tentacles, trying to show all their revolted buddies these cutely hideous little specks, come on, touch them, touch the nice bipedal organisms, come onnn, they’re adorable, come onnnnn

“They’re not adorable, they’re vermin. Also I think their kind banished Ogsoth the Unthinkable last century. He’s been pissy ever since, the little bastards’ tome of forbidden lore left a bunch of itchy blight-spots on his carapace”

“Well maybe if Ogsoth hadn’t shattered the membrane between dimensions to  trample their natural environment he wouldn’t have been banished”

#I don't know I just think it would line up #insects #humans #eldritch horror #horror #robert w. chambers #h.p. lovecraft #ramsey campbell

[legends-of-direbear]

Dead Man’s Switch || JD/Veronica: Heathers: The Musical AU

Genre: Heathers: The Musical (AU from Shine A Light)

Summary:  When Veronica McNamara is driven to commit suicide, Veronica’s determination to save her drives JD to make a promise to keep Veronica safe.  Even from himself.  Apparently Sherman is making a change.

Part 6

Note: this is not intended to glamorize toxic relationships.  If you find yourself in a relationship where you are the only thing keeping someone from harming themselves or others, please get help, because that’s not healthy or right.  

Triggers: attempted suicide, murder, bullying

“Just another example of the losers trying to copy the cool kids, and failing miserably…”  Heather Duke’s sneering tone rang in Veronica’s ears, her stomach twisting with nausea.

“Oh my god, Martha.” Veronica sat in the hospital room, completely dejected.  She couldn’t breathe.  She’d done this to her best friend—driven her to jump off a bridge.  Veronica was becoming single-handedly responsible for the death of every one of her friends and their associates, whether by words or actions.  “God, I’m so sorry.”

She’d destroyed her friend. Her best friend.  Who’d only wanted justice for Ram Sweeney, who’d only ever been nice to her during kindergarten.  As opposed to Veronica, her best friend for years, who’d pushed her over the edge by confessing that she’d been the butt of a joke to dodge suspicion of being responsible for the death of said linebacker and his best friend.  And Heather Chandler.  

“I’m going to Hell,” she whispered.  And she deserved it.  

“No you’re not.” Veronica didn’t even turn around. “This wasn’t your fault.”

She laughed humorlessly. “Not my fault?  I practically shoved her over the bridge myself.  I did this to Ram, Kurt, Heather…”

“Whoa—did you glamorize their deaths?”  JD squatted down next to her, pushing his duster away from his boots.  “You wrote something to give them substance, but you weren’t the one that published it around school.  You weren’t the one that wanted to televise some love-in in the cafeteria.  You helped save Heather McNamara—not Heather Duke, not Mrs. Flemming.  You, Veronica.  You couldn’t have known that Martha was considering—“

“I should have known,” she countered angrily, hot tears streaming down her face as she held her friend’s splinted-hand.  “She was my best friend, and she loved Ram.  I should have known.”

For once JD didn’t argue. He looked pensively over to Martha. “She’s alive,” he reminded her softly.

“I have to tell her the truth,” Veronica said.

“What?  No—you’ll go to jail.”

“I have to tell her something!” she argued.  “Look at her, JD!  I did that—I’m not going to let her think no one cares about what she’s going through.  I’m not going to let her be alone.”

JD gripped her arm firmly. “Okay, let’s just calm down for now. You’re always telling me to think things through: how about before we go telling anybody anything we just take a little time to consider all of this? Martha will be okay for now.”  His eyes fixed on her intently.  “I won’t lose you Veronica.”

Fear compounded with shame and guilt and pain; but Veronica merely nodded.  She supposed JD was right: if she was going to confess, she wanted to be the one to tell Martha; so she’d have to at least wait for her to wake up first.  

Returning to school was the worst: Heather Duke was exactly the same, if not worse.  She’d apparently managed to get the signatures she needed for the extra pages in the yearbook, although based off of homeroom gossip Veronica was suspecting that some peers were either coerced or straight-up lied to about the purpose of their names.  

Martha’s attempted suicide didn’t draw any support or attention from the adults; and only became slam-chatter amongst her fellow students.  Veronica found herself withdrawing as far from the crowd she’d so desperately wanted to be part of as she could, only accepting company from Heather McNamara, who, once the focus of her own depression had shifted, was welcomed back into the In Crowd with about as much love as she’d had originally.  For all of her blonde clichés however, Heather didn’t forget Veronica, and continually checked up on her to talk and offer a kind word and offers of hanging out and/or going shopping.

If she wasn’t so lost in her own problems, Veronica would be worried by the fact that this meant JD was her most common shoulder to lean on.  She was well aware of his toxic influence, and without her tenacity to keep him in check, she wondered how long it would be before he convinced her that Heather Duke was to blame for all of her problems, and if she’d be able to stop herself from going along with whatever he had planned.  Oddly though, JD didn’t push her toward his usual homicidal tendencies.  He continually encouraged her to keep their assistance in Heather, Kurt, and Ram’s “suicides” to themselves, but otherwise just sat with her quietly, keeping the conversation light in between bouts of reflection.

When she heard that Martha was awake, Veronica almost ditched school to see her.  The only thing that stopped her was Heather approaching her and asking for her to sit with her during English.  They talked about Heather Duke’s expanding agenda—the head cheerleader had fallen back into the girl’s ranks—and their plans for Winter Formal.

“Is JD taking you?” Heather asked curiously after admitting she was hoping Matt Bauer from the basketball team would approach her.

“I don’t know.” Veronica didn’t want to tell her Probably not because we’ll both be in jail, so she simply shrugged and let the vague answer sit alone.

“I bet he’ll ask if you mention it,” the blonde encouraged.  “You’ve been so gun-shy about everything since—before.  I mean, we’re having party this weekend at Matt’s—“

“No,” Veronica refused a little too insistently, causing the blue eyes watching her to balk.  “I mean, with everything that’s going on…partying is just starting to feel weird.”

“Oh, yeah, I guess.” Heather wasn’t friends with Martha, but she tended to like what her friends liked, so Veronica could tell she felt bad about her accident.  “But I’m sure they’ll get better soon.  I mean, I heard they’re letting Martha out next week, right?”

“That’s what I heard: I’m going over there after school to talk to her.”

“Yeah, that’s what JD—“

Veronica’s eyebrows quirked. “What JD what?” she asked.

“Nothing.”  Heather was a terrible liar.

“What did JD do Heather?” Oh god, the ideas that flickered through her head…

“He just asked me to make sure you went to our last classes—he didn’t want you ditching to see Martha; said he wanted to see her first.  He didn’t want to upset you.”

Veronica felt the blood draining out of her face.  What if JD was stalling her from getting to Martha so he could make sure she never found out?  Pulling out her IV drip; smothering her with a pillow….Veronica jerked into action, shoving all of her books into her bag.  “I’ve got to go.”

“What?  Why?”

“I just do.” Honestly, Veronica liked Heather, but she would let herself get manipulated by a pillbug.  And now that she’d properly distracted the brunette, what would she find at the hospital?

Oh God, Martha, she found herself internalizing.  I’m so sorry that I let it slip, that I trusted JD…how am I going to live with this?

She raced into the hospital, up the elevator, through the corridors, into her room…to where Martha was laying quietly, staring out the window.

“Oh my god—Martha!” Veronica was crying as she threw herself next to her friend’s bed, practically in hysterics as the wide-eyed worry of the girl next to her confirmed that Martha was, indeed, still alive. “I was so worried—I thought—I’m so sorry!“  She was blubbering like an idiot, unable to keep herself from gripping Martha’s good arm tightly in the closest thing to a hug she could manage in her friend’s state. And that was how they stayed for a few minutes, with Martha’s wide eyes watching and trying to comfort Veronica’s hysterics as she kept rambling how sorry she was.

“Veronica, really, it’s okay—I’m sorry,” she responded, causing the brunette to look up at her with bewilderment.  What did she need to be sorry for?  “I let myself get caught up in all of this, and then when you said that thing about Ram and the note—“  Veronica winced in shame at the mention of her horrible moment.  “But I’m going to be okay—the doctors are letting me out.”

“I know.”  Right as the cops are going to arrest me.  “Look, Martha; I have to tell you something about that note; about Ram…”

“It’s okay, Veronica—JD already told me everything.”  Veronica looked up in surprise, and her friend’s eyes were full of compassion and sympathy.  

“He did?”

“Yeah—he came by like an hour before you did, said that you told him what I’d said and he wanted to clear up everything.”

“He did?”

Martha’s good hand squeezed her friends.  “It’s okay, Veronica—I’m not going to tell anyone: I already promised him too.”  

Okay, so Martha knew that she’d killed Ram and Kurt, and Heather, and JD convinced her not only to keep it a secret, but apparently in a way that made Martha feel sorry for them? Veronica could only gape as words refused to come out.

“I mean, I guess I always knew Ram wasn’t the same guy he was in grade school,” the kind-hearted girl continued obliviously.  “But with what happened to JD—I guess I get why you didn’t think you could tell me about it.”

JD fidgeted with his hands as Martha watched him timidly.  He knew that she was slightly afraid of him; and apparently she’d had good reason.  He didn’t think he’d ever hurt anyone that didn’t deserve it, but Veronica was breaking apart over Martha’s attempt at taking her own life, and it gutted him like a fish.  He might as well have been jumping off that bridge too. And at night now, he saw Martha standing next to his mom in that library in Texas, just waving at him with sad smiles. He couldn’t stand it.

“Look, Martha.  I know that you think I hate Kurt and Ram, and I kind of do—“ well, kind of was an understatement – “but it’s more complicated than just the fights you saw.  Ram…” Deep breath, glance over at her, at the window.  “Ram…kissed me.” He watched as Martha’s eyes popped open in surprise.  “I don’t know; maybe I said something, or did something; but one minute we’re fighting, and he’s pushed me up against the lockers in the locker room, threatening me, and the next…”  He shook his head, not making eye contact.  It wasn’t really hard for him to paint the dead guy as a potential rapist—it’s not like he hadn’t done it before; he and Veronica had discussed it extensively before they’d pulled their double-suicide prank.  Just not with guys, as far as either of them knew.

“I got away, but he said he’d kill me if I said anything,” he told her.  “And what would I say that wouldn’t get me pegged as gay at this school?  And then he and Kurt killed themselves…I told Veronica, but I made her swear to take it to the grave.  I mean, maybe there’s a little more tolerance in Sherwood, Ohio, but not enough to make people keep from turning around and calling me a fag, you know?  I don’t know…maybe I’m just a coward.”  He glanced at her, sitting sadly in that bed, casted up in place.  “If I’d known you were going to—and how badly Veronica’s messed up over it…I would have spoken up, I swear.”  He fixed his eyes earnestly on her, willing her to believe his story.  Veronica wanted Martha to find a good guy, to get over Ram Sweeney, and JD couldn’t survive without Veronica.   And he’d promised he wouldn’t hurt anybody else.  This was the only way.

After a long minute, Martha’s good hand slowly crawled over to JD’s as it fisted the sheets on the edge of her bed, clasping over his in solace.

“I guess I misjudged him,” Martha added in the silence that followed.  Veronica’s brain was still having trouble processing what had just happened.  “I mean, all of that—confidence, I guess—I assumed that nothing got to him.  But he’s just like the rest of us, really.” She smiled sadly at her friend. “I’m really sorry about this.”  

“Just get better, okay? When you get out, we’ll have a movie night—something with a happy ending.”  Both of the girls looked far from believing that there really were happy endings in real life, but a huge weight was lifting off of Veronica’s chest as she saw her friend truly forgave her, and she was determined to set things right. “And don’t ever do anything like that again.”  

Martha actually did laugh a little at the threat, and nodded her promise.  With a gentle farewell and promise to come back soon, Veronica stood up, sweeping a hand down the pleats of her skirt and then leaving the hospital.

She wasn’t really surprised to see JD leaning up against the wall of the hospital exterior waiting for her. “So, are you waiting for the cops?” he asked.

Her eyes were unamused, but she gave a curt shake of her head before sighing.   “I can’t believe you told her that,” she finally commented.

“He wasn’t a good guy: she needed to let go.  I just gave her a good reason to.”  Veronica’s eyebrow quirked as he shrugged and sidled next to her.

“You realize if anyone finds out about that, your reputation is going to be ruined?” she remarked incredulously.  Not that his reputation was so stellar to begin with, but adding a “homo” to the “psycho” aspect didn’t really help.

“If I have you, I don’t care,” he insisted, sweeping her into his arms and pressing a kiss against her temple.  “I’d let them think I screwed every guy on the football team if it protected you.”

A very weird promise, but Veronica knew his heart was in the right place; and at least he wasn’t threatening to kill anybody.  “Thank you,” she told him earnestly, snuggling tighter into his chest.  “And thank you for helping Martha.  For keeping her safe.”

“I promised.”

Veronica sighed and let go of her fear for the moment, just letting herself feel safe and loved by her boyfriend that protected her in the best way he knew how.

#Heathers: The Musical #au #ficlet #mine #jd #Veronica #heather duke #heather mcnamara #martha dunnstock #Multichapter #dms #dms006

[badacts]

adrenaline

i knew what i was gonna write about for this prompt and this just gave me ammo i needed

Bruce sneaks Dick a granola bar while they’re getting ready, where it no doubt gets pushed in his pocket along with the one Alfred would have slipped him earlier. The big grin it earns Bruce is its own repayment, in addition to the intended lack of moaning about starvation later.

There’s not exactly a shortage of food at these galas, not really, but there’s not much for a nine-year-old who is as unadventurous with food as he is adventurous in every other aspect of his life. The granola bars will at least keep him satisfied, but no doubt he’ll still devour every crumb of the meal Alfred makes him later.

“I can’t even do a cartwheel in these,” Dick is saying, pulling at the waistband of his suit trousers with a frown.

“Cartwheels aren’t a requirement for tonight, pal,” Bruce replies, twitching his dinner jacket into place. “Need help with your bowtie?”

“Alfred does it better than you,” he says, which is true, but still amusing in its bluntness. “But thanks. Hey, can we get pizza later?”

Bruce pretends to think about it, tapping his chin. The truth of the matter is that Dick will happily eat Alfred’s pre-patrol meal tonight, and then a slice of pizza afterward too. Bruce at this point suspects Dick’s legs might be hollow, but the one time he mentioned it Alfred had just smiled and called Dick ‘a growing boy’.

“On one condition,” Bruce proposes after a moment. “I’d like for you to try three things off of the buffet table tonight.”

Dick makes a tortured face. “But B...”

“That’s the deal,” Bruce says. “Three things. No more, no less.”

“But what if it’s poisoned?”

This is Gotham, so that’s not a completely unrealistic scenario, but Bruce just gives Dick a look. “I carry several common antitoxins on my person. You’ll be fine.”

“What if it just tastes like poison?” Dick’s big eyes are piteous.

“Then you’ll have learned something, and earned that pizza later,” Bruce says, amused but unmoved. “Come on, chum. You might find you like something. And if you do, we can ask Alfred to make it for you.” After all, the kid surely can’t exist on two varieties of sandwich (tuna, and peanut butter) forever. Bruce is sure he ate more than that at Dick’s age.

Dick sighs, long-suffering. “Fine.”

Bruce holds out a hand. “Shake on it?”

Dick sticks his tiny hand into Bruce’s, which dwarfs it. His grip is firm. “Shake on it.”

*

The gala is a bustle of people and gossip and handshakes and cheek kisses. It’s the cheerful burble of Dick’s voice that keeps him grounded, these days. He’s a social child, pulling away from Bruce’s side far more often than Bruce would like in order to talk to someone or do something. He trails smiles in his wake, has people saying to Bruce how delightful he is.

“Hear that, Bruce?” Dick says in a lull between crowds. “I’m delightful.”

“You’re something,” Bruce teases, though of course he agrees. He’s watching Dick peruse the food set aside on the buffet table, the typical fancy finger foods caterers favour for events like this. “Did you pick something yet?”

“Yes,” Dick says, and then winces theatrically as he picks up a raw oyster nestled in its shell.

“Dickie, pal, you don’t need to pick the nastiest looking thing laid out,” Bruce points out. He’s personally fairly fond of oysters, but he can admit they’re not what he would have enjoyed at Dick’s age.

“Yes I do,” Dick says, eyeing the glistening thing with some trepidation. “I watched people having them earlier. I know how to do it.” 

“Well, you’re certainly upholding your end of the bargain,” Bruce notes as Dick shoots the oyster like a pro. There’s something to be said for his impressive observational skills. “How is it?”

Dick swallows, and then smacks his lips. “Huh. Not bad, really. Kinda slimy.”

“They are, a little,” Bruce agrees, gently scruffing his hair. Dick’s not old enough to scowl over it - he grins instead.

“Doesn’t taste much like tuna,” Dick says thoughtfully as he deposits the shell in the discrete trashcan under the table, “Oh, hello there!”

The next group of people is here, wanting to talk WE shares and expensive vacations. Bruce laughs over the stock market like he doesn’t spend the time each day reading the reports, and mentions skiing in Austria and tanning in Thailand like he leaves Gotham for anything that isn’t Batman-related.

Maybe he should look into a vacation, actually. Dick would likely love it, even if they went somewhere not too far from the city, but the opportunity to take him overseas to explore is almost too good to pass up. Dick would love London, he thinks, but there’s also any number of Italian cities where the weather is better. But then, he can’t imagine Dick would be interested in church tours and art galleries with dozens of paintings of Mother Mary...

A little hand tugs at his jacket. Bruce, prepared for the sweet piping of Dick’s cheery voice asking something, looks down a moment later when it doesn’t come.

Dick is looking back up at him with a faintly surprised expression. “I feel funny.”

His face is pale, his mouth parted while he breathes quickly through it. Bruce drops to a knee and feels for his pulse, finding it racing. He’s forced to steady Dick when he sways.

For a moment Bruce genuinely does think, poison. But then the paranoia retreats a touch and he asks, “Your throat, how does it feel?”

“Itchy,” Dick says. “Can’t breathe too good.”

“Okay,” Bruce says, and then eases him off his feet so he’s lying down right there on the ballroom floor. His own heart is pounding in his chest. He says to the people gathered around them both, the ones he’d forgotten about until now, “Does anyone have an epipen?”

There’s a rush of murmuring around him, but no immediate answer. Meanwhile, Dick is starting to audibly wheeze, and his expression is moving from confused to panicked. He grasps as Bruce’s wrists with unsteady fingers, eyes wide.

“It’s okay,” Bruce soothes, rubbing gently at Dick’s chest. He’s frighteningly aware of how fragile the boy’s ribs are, how easily they’ll break under the pressure of CPR. “Just stay calm, okay? You’re going to be alright.”

Dick, lips faintly blue-tinged, stares up at him and gasps. He looks as though he isn’t processing, and Bruce is already making half-flung plans of getting him to a hospital, or the possible necessity of doing a tracheotomy right here. He can do one, has the training, but he doesn’t want to.

“I’ve called an ambulance,” someone says from over his shoulder.

“Sir!” A wonderful, welcome, familiar voice calls just then. Alfred appears as if from nowhere, cradling a bright yellow autoinjector in his hand. He flicks the cap off and hands it over to Bruce, who jabs it into Dick’s thigh through his trousers without pausing.

Alfred kneels across from him, pressing a hand to Dick’s forehead as though checking for a fever. He meets Bruce’s eyes and murmurs, “Thank goodness for paranoia. I’ve been carrying that resuscitation kit in the town car for months now.”

“Thank god,” Bruce says, and it’s only because the danger isn’t over yet that it doesn’t come out shaky.

Dick murmurs, “Oh!” A little bit of colour is leeching back into his face already, and his breathing looks a touch easier. 

“The ambulance is here,” someone says, and Bruce hefts Dick up in his arms immediately to go to them rather than wait. His breathing sounds worse up close, but there’s a little strength in his fingers when he fists at Bruce’s lapel.

“Bruce?” he asks, sounding woozy. “I don’t feel...”

He gags and then vomits down his front, blinking afterwards as though surprised. Bruce doesn’t pause at that, but he does a little when Dick, after a moment, begins to cry.

“Hush, pal,” Bruce says lowly. “It’s okay. You’re not well, but you’re going to be okay.”

Dick clings to him harder. “I feel bad.”

“I know,” Bruce says. “It’s the adrenaline. Hey, up we go.”

He passes Dick up into the waiting arms of the paramedic, but is stymied when Dick doesn’t actually release him.

“Don’t leave me,” he bawls, tears running down his cheeks. “Please, B.”

“Hey, your dad’s not going anywhere,” the paramedic soothes. “He just needs to get in here without tripping and squashing you, huh?”

“I’m right here,” Bruce says, climbing up into the ambulance too. The paramedic lays Dick down on the gurney, and he instantly rolls up like a pillbug on his side except for the hand clinging hard to Bruce. Aware that he’s about to be in the way and not caring, Bruce kneels by the gurney so Dick’s arm isn’t at a bad angle.

“He’s had one dose of adrenaline,” he tells the paramedic, and then, “Hey, Dickie. What did you eat tonight?”

“Um,” Dick says tearfully. “Um, the oyster. And then I had another oyster, and maybe one more. Because you said three things, but you didn’t say they didn’t have to be different things, right?”

“That’s true,” Bruce tells him. “Clever. But I think we might skip the shellfish from now on.”

“They weren’t that bad,” Dick sobs. The paramedic is fitting him with an oxygen mask and a blood pressure cuff, and then putting a blanket over his legs.

“We’re about to leave, Dad,” the second paramedic says from up front in the cab. “You ready to go?”

Bruce casts a quick glance down at his hands, which are shaking like they never, ever do, and then says, “Yes.”

*

Once they’re at the hospital, things move fairly quickly, and not only because he’s Bruce Wayne. Dick, still leaking the odd miserable tear, is placed in a curtained cubicle and put on a drip of steroids and antihistamines.

As soon as the staff stop bustling around and leave them with promises to check in soon, Bruce hitches himself up on the edge of the bed beside Dick. Dick instantly leans into him, snuffling into his shirt.

“How are you feeling, pal?” Bruce asks gently.

“Itchy,” Dick mumbles, “But better.” His lips and cheeks are swollen and there’s a big rash across his abdomen, but his breathing is coming fairly easily now. “‘m sorry.”

Bruce blinks. “For what?”

“I, um, I made a fuss,” Dick replies, which Bruce translates into I got scared. 

“You had a good reason,” Bruce points out. “I’m not mad. I was worried about you.”

Internally, he’s feeling the tickle of guilt that tells him, sly, it’s your fault. He couldn’t have known, of course, that their little deal would lead to this, but when he’s cradling his usually fearless boy in a hospital bed it’s very difficult to see it that way.

“Okay,” Dick agrees. He sounds sleepy now, like the drama has worn him out. “Pizza later?”

“Yeah, Dickie,” Bruce says, settling him so he’s comfortable snuggled into Bruce’s side under the blankets. “We’ll get pizza later.”

#whumptober2019 #no.13 #adrenaline #my fic #batwhump2k19 #young dick grayson #dick grayson #bruce wayne #food allergies #anaphylaxis #this is not very medically accurate #if you were wondering #but we're here for the drama

[fullmoonfireball]

OC Recap-thingy???

hecc i put this off for too long 

i dont really know what that anon meant when they requested this, but i hope this’ll do (readmore bc this is gonna be Long)

Crinoline Parisa

Ribbon’s mom

where’s her husband??? we just dont know

she’s doing her Best™ to be a good mom to Ribb

Lace Parisa

Mirror World!Ribbon

an edgy lil shit

very grumpy

why have i never posted a coloured pic of her

Shadeleine Walsh

Mirror World!Adeleine

Probably the OC I fiddle the most with.

She has a really strong Texan accent for some reason??? I don't know why I gave her it

Takes magic lessons from Wiz( that magician guy that no one seems to remember/care about?). As it turns out, their brand of magic is not anything she can pull off.

Works as their assistant sometimes... Even if it can be slightly terrifying because of their methods (their magic lets them make the tricks a bit more than just illusions). Shaddy has gotten cut in half (or more parts) more times than she cares to count.

Actually more interested in drama, but she's taken what she got.

She's good friends with Shadow Kirby! They hang out a lot!

Her name used to be Shado. And yes, that IS pronounced the way it looks like it is. She hated it.

Owns an oversized magenta sweater and wears it at ever chance she gets. Wiz hates it.

there wasn’t originally another character in this picture what are you talking about

Shadow Marx (left)

Mirror World!Marx (no duh)

Mild insomniac. He hates it.

Just wants to sleep, like any other noddy.

Dating Mirror Magolor

May or may not have kept him up with his late-night thoughts a few times.

Syzzle (right)

Mirror World!Gryll

Doesn't care about Star Stacker (or any similar game) in the slightest.

A complete NERD

Probably owns a library or something

Theatra (left)

Mirror World!Claycia

Complete drama queen

Which is good, because she's an actress.

Gay as hell for Shadow Elline

she’s supposed to have horns like Claycia, but I forgot them in this picture

Shadow Elline (right)

Mirror World!Elline (what a shock)

An inkbrush fairy-thing

Writes most (if not all) of Theatra's stuff

Gay as hell for Theatra

the ‘straight man’ of the duo, despite being neither straight nor a man

Mirror Magolor

Mirror World!Magolor (obviously)

An anxious little negg (nerd egg)

A cinnamon roll (unlike his counterpart)

Protect him

Knows nothing about where he came from

Dating Shadow Marx

Slightly annoyed by how much he keeps him up. But he stops rambling... eventually.

More info on him can be found here

Rose Symyva (left) and Violet Larivi (right)

They're married

Rose is pretty chill, Vi's a bit more eccentric.

Don't insult Violet unless you want to face Rose's wrath (which you don't).

I don't know much about them yet, they're mostly just designs.

Typhiste Nirymsu

DEAD (GOOD RIDDANCE)

He was An Ass

Dated Magolor at one point.

Used to be a prince (now he's just dead)

LEMME SMASH

Echo

Also dead, but less so.

Died from electrocution.

Doesn't remember anything about her life, which distresses her.

When she was alive her name was Iris

Updated version of one of my first Kirby OCs 

Niaviri Taysin

Also dead (for real this time)

A good little egg

Was a florist!

v gay with Odalania

Tislora Altryb 

Mags’ mom

v sweet egg

maiden name is ‘Azaress’

was closer to her son than Aparctias was

idk what else to say about her

Aparctias Altryb

Mags’ dad

firm, but kind

taught the egg most of what he knows about magic out of family tradition

also got him started on learning English

Hynwari (left) and Sanfyria (right) Rimaddim

only exist in the Popa AU

super dead, even in the AU 

both of them are Very Short (Sanfyria especially). they could make Meta Knight look like he’s average height

Popopo (the green half of Kirby)’s parents

she’s supposed to have speckles i just forgot them in the original pic

they were specifically targeted to be killed just so their son could be taken from them by Nightmare

Hazel Pesyphomia (left) and Amelia Evitheth-Pesyphomia (right)

MARRIED

Adopted a certain artist as their child.They love that noodle-orb a lot

Amy would absolutely fight you if you were to insult her wife or her kid.

Were honestly really scared the first time one off their kid's drawings came to life

Twila

You know her. She's the one with all of those scarfies.

Spoils those little beasts

Was actually supposed to be trained as a Spynum, not a Simirror, but was more interested in magic than archery.

Lives mostly-alone in the woods.

Amicia Tyopt

technically that’s not actually her in that picture but let’s look past that

as implied above, her body was stolen by sectonia (shown above)

idk anything about her personality yet tbh

Osgifu Amata 

handmaiden moth, in more ways than one

worked for Sectonia Way Back When

deceased

Eglantine Cujoi

Into™ gals

first body stolen by Sectonia

deceased in both body and mind

Kimiko

anime-verse oc

demon beast

just read this it’s got all you’ll need to know about her

Jordan (the one with the spear) and Coral (on top of Jordan)

BWD's siblings

Jordan is their older brother, Coral their younger sister.

He works as one of Dedede's guards. She's too young to work.

Jordan's a little jealous about Taylor (BWD) outranking him, but he's proud of them at the same time.Coral is a little ball of energy.

They were the other Waddle Dees in Dream Collection's intro, and the sleeping Dees with the eye implants next to Bandanna Dee in Robobot( in the modern train level I think?).

Odalania 

Dead

Really freaking good at magic

Lean Bean

Worked for Typhiste's family

Gay™ with Niaviri

also has a casual clothes ref

Magolor (not that one)

yes, every other time ‘Magolor’ has been mentioned I was referring to canon one. i call this one Old Magolor/Classic Magolor/etc. for simplicity

this is who canon mags named himself after

Old and Dead

one of the lor’s previous captains

lorlor

Cymboria Taysin

niaviri’s younger sister

she’s the bigger one

very sweet

good at magic

likes to travel 

often brings foreign flowers back to nia!

Morastrum Altryb/Nirymsu

doesnt exist in the mainverse

a Good Lil Girl

... even if her dads (mags and ty) are both Asses

last name depends on if Typhiste is alive or not

likes sweet foods

Myrdinia

mirror world!drawcia

an automaton made by wiz 

speech has a Low Quality Garble

incredibly bitter over the loss of her sister

always has at least 5 throwing knives on her

Glorious Nebula

really old 

their language shows their age 

how are they still functioning

no one’s really sure how they lost that quarter of their face

used to have one of those shooting star decorations, but it got broken off at some point i totally didnt just forget it

??? (left) 

old and dead

one of the ancients

married to garulin, was very happy with her

probably worked a lot on the clockwork stars, but did help with other artifacts as well

pleasant guy, but not really anything special if you ignore his place in history

Drusorig (middle)

also old and dead

another one of the ancients

i don’t have a proper ref for him, but there is this

he has dark fur, for all that matters

i dont trust him

very strong magic

the master crown was his own personal project

he didn’t trust anyone else with it so i think you can imagine who the subject of his experiments with it was.

destroyed most of the evidence of his experiments before his death so no one would know about them

it worked

Volzavair (right)

also also old and dead

guess who’s also one of the ancients (it’s him)

actually has a proper ref

SHORT

gay, but ended up marrying a woman out of convenience and desire for offspring

relatively weak magic, specialized in technology

worked on the Lor Starcutter, but died before it was completed

his oldest kid probably finished it

Kyneriun Snekell

press ‘f’ to pay respects

sweet pastel boy

loves baking

a little younger than magolor

Dalindia Nirymsu

dead

was queen regnant

could be a pretty strict ruler, but tried to be a just ruler

her husband is dead(er?)

ty’s mom

tried to keep him in line

Tiltaii

i’m not even sure if that should be their name but i’ll just... roll with it

theyre nonbinary

a literal doodlebug (pillbug artist)

painted these portraits

doesnt have any magical abilities unless floating their hands counts

bought Paintra from Paint Roller, and was... pretty surprised, to say the least when she suddenly came to life

regardless of their surprise, they’re trying to take good care of her

???

a honey bee

runs a cafe

very polite, but not a pushover

more or less a design with a few ideas attached at this point

Garulin

married to the unnamed green ancient

technically one of the ancients but not commonly acknowledged as one

pretty good at magic

mostly worked with the artifacts’ ‘mind’s, both through programming and magic

Shadow Sectonia

mirror world!sectonia (what a shock)

floralian jewel wasp

accidentally ended up corrupting other world!sectonia by having too much contact with her

naturally a wasp. hasn’t stolen anyone’s body

she’s too nice to do that

dead. actually got murdered around the same time her counterpart died

spoilery elements below (don’t worry he’s the last OC here)

Shadow Taranza

mirror world!taranza (who would’ve guessed)

overly-loyal

like, ‘would unhesitatingly die for someone he cares about’ kind of loyal

nervous mess, even before Sectonia died. that only worsened things

he’s not okay

#there's a lot of old art here so #youre welcome for that i guess?? #idk i dont want to look at it either #Vesper's OCs #LONG POST #save #ref #maybe i'll update this one day #probably not #lmao theres actually a few that are missing because ive never posted anything about them here #or anywhere #i dont expect anyone to go through all of this because of how ridiculously long it is but Congrats if you do

[toibocks]

Swarm Tactics

He grinned, or at least as much as he could, being an insect. All around him drummed the pitter-patter of hundreds of thousands of tiny feet, tap-tap-tapping up, down, around, and within walls and floors of rotted food and twisted plastic. Castro the mighty stag beetle had to stop himself from dancing with glee as he watched the mass of shimmering chitin pool up like oil around around the base of the old half-gallon milk jug he was perched on (or his “ivory tower,” as he affectionately called it.) The ants marched in lockstep. The gnats flew around and around in their excitement. The flies gathered in corners, rubbing their forelegs together as various evil plots ran through their minds. Everywhere, arachnids, beetles, bugs, wasps, and even some land crustaceans packed together into the crowded space. Arthropods of every shape, size, and color, of every order, family, and genus, of every age, social class, and religion, all uniting for the first time under a common purpose. They took up every available space they could, whether it was among the trash or fluttering in the air. It wouldn’t be long before Castro would be able to harness the power of the nefarious, vicious, but above all else, intelligent mass before him to bring about the inevitable extinction of mankind. Once he had made sure that all of his followers had settled into the dumpster behind Papa Geno’s, Castro silenced the buzzes, songs, and chatters by raising his wing covers. He then leaned closer to the massive funnel affixed to his tower with wire, and began his speech.

               “Greetings, my friends,” he boomed, “It truly is a privilege to see the world’s greatest thinkers, artists, and warriors all in one place to discuss the fall of Man. For many years we have suffered under human oppressions, having to watch as our brothers and sisters are –“

SCREE!

               A tiny scream sliced apart Castro’s words. The crowd turned and looked at a trapdoor spider, who was currently shifting its wide eyes from side to side and blushing, its fangs deep in a recently dead cricket. She freed her fangs from her meal and let out a nervous laugh.

               “Sorry, sorry. I couldn’t help it, it’s a reflex,” she said. Castro rolled his eyes.

               “Really, Susan?” he said.

               “I can’t help it! When things move too close to me I jump out automatically!” said Susan.

SCREE!

               Another screech, this time from the opposite side of the dumpster. A preying mantis raised its arm in guilt.

               “Sorry, that was me. There was a mealworm.”

               Castro groaned and rubbed the spot where his horn jutted out from between his eyes.

               “Alright, fine, um, prey!” he said to the crowd, “please try to be careful around the predators, alright? We need to be sensitive to their needs, let’s just try and be mature-“

SCREE!

               “Okay really? Really?” groaned Castro, “alright, prey, go to one side of the dumpster please. Predators go to the other, okay? Some of you may need to step outside momentarily so we can rearrange everything, just hang in there.”

               “Hey,” called out a mosquito, “that’s segregation! You said we all need to unite as one to fight the Man Menace!”

               “I know what I said, Gary, but we need to practical, alright? This isn’t trying to split you up, we’re still all together on this,” said Castro.

               “’One Phylum One Swarm,’ you said,” said Gary, “One Phylum one swarm! One Phylum one swarm!”

               The rest of the arthropods began to repeat the chant.

               “One Phylum one swarm! One Phylum one swarm!”

               Castro rubbed the sides of his little head and yelled into his megaphone.

               “Fine! Fine! Everyone can stay where they are, okay? We’ll just…I guess those eaten will get a plaque in their honor or something.” he muttered. The crowd cheered.

SCREE!

SCREE!

SCREE!

               Castro tried to pick up where he left off in his speech, but found that he had forgotten in completely in the hullaballoo. He would have to improvise. He raised his wing covers again for silence, tapped the end of his funnel a few times with his foreleg, and spoke.

               “Anyway, like I was saying, if we work together, there is no problem we cannot overcome! And as we deal our damage, and as new members are added to our cause, I predict we can have all of humanity eliminated in under a month!” he proclaimed. A pillbug raised his foreleg for a question.

               “Yes, but, how can we possibly fight them? We’re much too small!” he said. Castro laughed.

               “I’m glad you asked that my spherical companion! Our first order of business is to take out their electricity! Without it, they will be powerless against our advances,” he said.

“Mr. Castro?” asked an adorable parasitic wasp larva, having recently chewed her way out of the abdomen of its still-living spider host, “what’s ee-leck-tristy?” The other arthropods aww’d, except for the spider, which let out more of a gurgle followed by silence.

“That’s a very good question, sweetheart!” said Castro, “you see, unlike us, humans don’t have pheromones for mass communication. Instead, they invented this primitive technology made out of lightning and vines to tell all of their things what to do. All of these vines grow out of things called ‘power plants,’ and by killing these plants the human race will be thrown into a whole host of problems!” He began to make eye contact with individual members of the swarm as he listed off the effects of such a catastrophe, watching as everyone grew more and more excited.

“First, they won’t be able to talk to each other anymore! One of the fake pheromones made out of electricity is called ‘Internet,’ and our spies report it’s responsible for triggering around 75% of their communicative behavior and 90% of their arousal responses. Without it, they will be thrown into mass confusion, with no way to mate or warn other members of their colonies!” he said. The crowed murmured.

“But that’s not all! Without electricity, they won’t even be able to use most of their most powerful weapons! Especially those pesky fake suns!”

“Yeah! Fuck those things!" yelled a charred moth from his wheelchair. The crowd began to grow louder now. Humans were much weaker than they thought.

“And, best of all,” continued Castro, “electricity is a necessary ingredient for their most basic needs! They won’t be able to feed themselves, or wash themselves, or heat themselves…”

“Wait, what was that?” came a voice. The crowd grew quiet again. The speaker, a cockroach wearing a black plastic collar with a white stripe, looked rather concerned. “Oh, my apologies, I’m Father Walter Roach. I’m here representing the cockroachs.”

“Ah, of course, Father Roach,” said Castro, smiling, “please, share your concerns.”

“I’m just wondering about that heat thing,” said the Father.

“Yes, they have these things called ‘heaters,’ and-“

“No, I know what they are,” said the vexed cockroach, “that’s where most of us live.”

“Great! Now you won’t be burned by those men and their dastardly fire clouds!” spoke Castro.

“No, now we’ll all freeze to death in the winter because we won’t be able to stay warm.”

The crowd stared at Castro intently. He began to sweat.

“Come again?” he asked.

“Most of us cockroaches live near radiators to stay warm in the winter. If you shut them off, we’ll all die!” yelled Father, glaring. The crowd began murmuring again.

“Quiet! Everyone calm down, okay?” said Casto. He turned his attention back to the roach, “but you’re cockroaches! You’re a hearty species! You can survive anything!”

“No, see, that’s another thing,” said Father Roach. He started to yell, making sure the crowd at large could hear him. “While we’re on the subject, I’d just like the clear up that, no, cockroaches are not immortal. I don’t know where these rumors keep coming from, but we die pretty easily. Our kids are starting to dive into nuclear waste dumps, thinking they’re invincible, and it’s really tragic every time it happens. We’d appreciate it if you didn’t instill these dangerous ideas in the minds of our children.” Castro started to rock back and forth on his feet.

“Wait, you’re not immune to radiation?” he asked.

“No! I don’t even know how that got started!” shouted the Father.

“So if a group of roaches were to, say, be assigned to infiltrate a nuclear power plant to fiddle around with the fuel rods and cause a shutdown, they’d probably-“

“Die, yes. Likely of cancer. Very painful,” said the Father, “why do you ask?”

“Oh, um, no reason…” said Castro, rubbing the back of his head.

“You were gonna send my people on a suicide mission!” shouted the Father.

“I was not! Okay, let’s stop attacking each other or we’ll never get anything done, alright?” shouted Castro over the restless crowd, “look, do you people want to end the Man Menace or not?”

“Hey, funny you should ask that!” shouted a louse, having entered the dumpster just in time to here Castro’s question. Castro grew pale.

“Oh, hey, Jerry, long time no see…” he stammered.

“Uh, yeah, hi!” said Jerry, furious. “I heard you guys were having a little get-together, and just wanted to know why you didn’t invite me! It’s kinda weird, with me being such an expert on humans! You know, with them being my sole food source and all.”

By this point the swarm was churning with discussion. Castro signaled them with his wing covers again, but even with shouting he was unable to get them to go below a dull hum.

“Jerry, get out of here! I understand your frustrations, but sometimes sacrifices have to be made!”

“Easy for you to say! You don’t have a family to feed! You don’t have to go back to your kids and go ‘sorry guys,we’re gonna be homeless and starve to death because some people are upset that their bee friends are missing!” shouted Jerry.

“Hey! Shut up, crab!” yelled an angry bee, “get out of here!”

“You shut up, pollen jockey!” yelled back Jerry, “besides, I’d rather live off pube blood than dung like Martin Pooper King up there!”

“How dare you!” roared Castro, “I do not eat dung! That is a small minority of us, you racist!”

“Oh, did the crab just stereotype someone?” snapped Jerry. “Go back to the dog park, Scatagories!”

SCREE!

               “Hey, that was my girlfriend, punk!” a lovebug screamed at an assassin bug. The entire dumpster became awash in angry arthropod uproar. Predators turned against prey. One of the bees leapt on Jerry, letting out a furious cry of “bushbaby!” and sending him crashing backwards into a precarious straw resting against an empty bottle. The straw teetered over, knocking flying insects out of the sky and sending grounded ones scattering for cover, but bouncing harmlessly off of Father Roach’s carapace.

              “This doesn’t mean I’m immortal! Do not go telling people I’m immortal!” he sputtered. At this point, grasshoppers, being forced to rub against each other in the cramped quarters and now agitated even more by the commotion, could suppress their urges no longer and reflexively triggered their swarming behavior, molting and taking to the skies as locusts. The already crowded air was now thick with a green hurricane, slamming others into each other and causing an all-out brawl. Castro watched helplessly from his tower.

               “No, stop! Everyone settle down! We can pull through this, I promise!” he screamed, but it was in vain. He put his face in his hands as he watched a millipede gobble up freshly hatched mallets like jellybeans, only to be stung by a scorpion. “Please, calm down everyone! It’s alright, we can keep some alive to power the heaters, and to feed the lice! That’s it! Everyone, I have a solution, if we can find a way to enslave-“

               A gigantic dragonfly was knocked out of the typhoon of locusts, and careened into Castro. The stag beetle flailed, trying to regain his balance, but toppled backwards off of his tower. He flipped through the air and landed back-first in the middle of a colony of carpenter ants, crushing hundreds and releasing a cloud of “danger” pheromone from their corpses. Their senses clouded by the chemical signal, the dead’s thousands of sisters turned on their former leader, wrapping him up in a blanket of teeth and stingers.

               “No, get off of me you fools! I am your leader! We were so close! The world was almost ours!”

               Castro’s protests were silenced quickly, as his body was devoured within seconds by the colony. As the swarm frothed within the dumpster, mankind unknowingly celebrated victory once again. For the 60,000th time, they had managed to avoid overwhelming obliteration under the feet of Arthropoda.