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mqfx · 6 months

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unfortunately my most prominent jyl thoughts start with the soup. & im no expert on ancient chinese kitchens, but given that lotus root & pork soup is something that simmers for hours, i think that as much as the soup is an act of service & a tried and true "we dont have to talk about it" comfort tactic, its also... a great excuse to duck away from everything going on. the kitchen being the safe space, so to speak! and overall jyl seems more avoidant than confrontational? i havent read mdzs for the details in years can you tell but i think theres a good chance under the right circumstances she could have become jfm 2: shijie edition, in which she can read emotional cues fairly well and she doesn't want anyone to be unhappy, but how proactive she might be about resolving a situation is entirely based on how secure she feels. im not forgetting her valiant defence of wwx "i take insults against him seriously" moment! but theres a difference between an eroding stagnant unhappiness & a situation that is more clear cut. im just not confident about how she would raise jin ling in the whole (waves hand) jin situation if she had not been collateral damage. is this making sense 😭

this is all true but let me make clear that my problem with how the fandom conceptualizes jiang yanli is NOT the soup. I'm not mad about the soup and in fact since it's one of basically three things that we even know about her at all, it stands to reason that when we think about her we're Gonna Have To Mention the Soup.

and one can (if one cares enough about her, which I'm sure you do anon) draw reasonable conclusions about her character based on this thing that she does. after all, everything is (supposed to be) important in a given text. I don't disagree with anything you said. she is a careful, conflict-avoidant person due to her tumultuous childhood with abusive/neglectful parents; despite this, she possesses strong morals and protective instincts. I don't think she would've been bad at raising jin ling because unlike her parents, she and her husband actually loved each other and communicate instead of willfully misunderstanding each other then bottling it all up (if she had married someone she didn't love, then yeah she might've been jfm 2. either way we'll never know because guess fucking what mxtx did)

my ISSUE, which fandom can barely acknowledge let alone address, is that "soup" has become a convenient shorthand to refer to her, but it's not a quality. it's a thing that is associated with her, not her personality. this isn't fair! "avoidant" is a trait, "comforting" is a trait, "kind" is a trait, "average" is a trait, soup's not a fucking trait! and some of that is just the general fandom trend of flattening characters in fanon, but the fact that she's a woman and therefore not paid as much attention compared to the ~Complexities~ of the men doesn't help

and I get that sometimes it's not that serious, sometimes it's for Joaks, but why is it that even when joking people can come up with all sorts of qualities for the men but when it's her it's just that she cooks soup? and in more serious discussions, why is her sole purpose apparently to be emotional support or tragic motivation for her brothers? (because mxtx herself wrote her that way!)

why did mxtx not delve into her reactions or point of view (mdzs is the only one of her novels with switching pov, so she could have)? or even just written more scenes with her? (CQL notably gave the women more scenes. the book is abysmal on this regard.....and in others)

tl;dr mxtx did a shit job of developing her character and that of the other women, and fandom makes this problem worse by not giving a shit. the feedback loop continues. your ask and my answer combined are already more words and effort than mxtx spent on writing her

#hewwo #asks #anonymous #mdzs #jiang yanli #jyl #which is why someday im gonna write a book with mostly women so people have no choice but to think about them #but with a couple shippable twinks in the background so i can still grift money from fujos

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shiningstages · 2 months

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i shove the parallels into my face lovingly, and also stare at the art progress..................gingerly strokes finger on canvas..................

#;big bubble blowing baby! ( ooc )#anyways um hewwo #i'm gonna write wars a million hsr asks tomorrow or definitely sunday #but um the Bad Vibes and get sick again put me down from attempting to be here..............but the attempt starts up again soon~#i think people expect me to be low activity anyways tho and i appreciate all of y'all for that #especially gives all my friends hugs and kisses

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oyasuminto · 4 months

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Match ups sound fun! Why is everyone on anon tho not judging just wondering.

So, my love language is gift giving and quality time. What can I say I like to spoil the ones I care about? I would like Canon and his age to be in mid 20's. I'm a chaotic neutral who gets way to caught up in my hyperfixations and rambles about them. I like listening to music so loud my eardrums are put at risk and true crime podcasts at 2:35 am.

This feels like a pretty easy one!

I'm pairing you wiiiiiiith

nightowl!

You are totally his type! I can see quality time being one of nightowl's love languages, just spending time in the same space, engaging in your own hobbies. Maybe you're flopped on top of each other like a pair of cats.

nightowl is all too familiar with the feeling of getting swept up in his passions, sometimes to the detriment of his own health. He's more than happy to hear all about your hyperfixations, so long as you're willing to hear an impassioned essay about the difference between gargoyles and grotesques.

He's definitely a true crime hoe, too. Catch him patrolling the house all scared in the middle of the night because he listened to a bunch of podcasts back to back and now needs to protect you from an ooky spooky murderer that's totally wandering the halls.

You and he will be getting a few noise complaints for blasting your music way too loud, perhaps also some concern for your hearing, too.

#Not Writing #Blooming Panic #BP nightowl #Match Ups #Minors Do Not Interact #crawls back in here after a prolonged hiatus #h.....hewwo #i am back on my meds and very energetic lately #but also our internet is shit so i am spending so much time just cleaning #here's hoping i can channel that energy back into this blog again baybeeeee!!!!

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fstbmp-a · 4 months

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hey dash did you know you're gay? congrats.

#my kingdom ;; ooc #hi hewwo i'm just peekin' in how is everyone doin'?#hiatuses are hard because i love writing but ough the stress of not being /able/ to write y'know?

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tiafrye · 1 year

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#eso #the elder scolls online #darien gautier #the vestige #glenumbra #Sometimes I draw stuff #hewwo i'm still alive #have some dudes just being bros #for now #can't promise it will stay that way lol #wait until someone writes you a song #in all seriousness it's redraw of an old pic of mine so it might look familiar #i'm scared of my old works need to make them new once again haha

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empoleon · 11 months

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stranger things have happened

• rated m, one shot, 3088 words

• also available to read here

Wolfwood is humming something against the fabric of Vash’s shirt—his shirt, because Vash has taken to wearing his articles of clothing as of late—when Vash speaks up.

“They like that,” he says softly, tilting his head back with a smile.

Wolfwood pauses, lips ghosting a kiss near the spot where he was singing. “’S just something I heard a long time ago.”

From the orphanage, but it goes unspoken. Vash is fairly certain it’s in Wolfwood’s mother tongue as well, but he doesn’t comment on it—bringing that up now would probably embarrass him enough to stop and Vash certainly doesn’t want that.

They're in bed together at some rundown inn—traveling too much with Vash in his current state puts a bit of a strain on both of them, so it’s easier if they make frequent stops. They just need to be careful. They have to be careful.

Wolfwood would never forgive himself if something happened to—

It’s almost unnerving to feel the faintest movement touch the skin of his cheek, stopping his train of thought immediately. It’s such a brief feeling and he almost questions if it actually happened, but Vash beats him to it.

“Nick, did you—?”

“Yeah,” Wolfwood glances up at him, unable to hide the awe in his voice. “He moved.”

150 years. A century and a half, and Vash did not know about this.

To be fair, there is a lot about himself that he isn’t aware of, either purposely brushing it off as a one-off occurrence or simply refusing to acknowledge it.

Plant anatomy wasn’t something he was keen to learn about. He understood his basic, primal needs and that was that.

Humans, on the other hand…

Cross-species breeding simply never came to mind. And even if it did, Vash was far too busy enjoying the feeling of Wolfwood on top of him, holding him close, whispering things he longed to hear—knowing that each spoken word was true—he loves you, all of you, every single piece of your being, every scar and blemish branded from God himself.

(He loves you.)

“Oi, blondie—you want to tell me why you dragged me out here again?”

The dim lighting in the old saloon feels suitable at this moment, one of the lights flickering idly. It’s noisy, overcrowded and Vash almost reconsiders his priorities.

“How ’bout a drink first?”

It’s not something Wolfwood refuses, but he eyes the glass of water that is placed on their shared table. It’s murky in color, with a few specks of dirt swirling around, but it’s better than what they have seen in the previous towns.

Wolfwood grabs his own glass, filled with a smooth amber tinge. “So,” he takes a swig and licks his lips. “What’s wrong?”

Vash wants to laugh. Leave it to Wolfwood to get straight to the point.

“Nothing! Well, mostly nothing,“ Vash gives him a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You know how it is.”

Except Wolfwood doesn’t know, with the way Vash keeps skirting around the topic at hand.

The alcohol in his system is beginning to warm him up, and if he didn’t know any better, he’d think Vash is about to say something unimaginable. It worries him.

There’s a ruckus outside the saloon that quickly enters through the double swing doors, men shouting unintelligible things—words like ‘bounty’ and ‘where is he?’ are all that Wolfwood needs to hear before he downs the rest of his drink and roughly grabs Vash by the arm.

“Hey, wait—I didn’t get to finish my drink!” Vash whines dramatically as he stumbles to his feet. One of the men arguing with another patron glances over towards them and Wolfwood curses.

“Damn it! Will you shut it?” He swivels around and pulls Vash into a corner of the saloon, trying to obscure the view of the humanoid typhoon from any onlookers. Miraculously, it works.

The commotion dies down after the barkeep threatens to drain the tap and close up for the evening. Those who initially caused the uproar either slip back out into the night or decide it’s time for a drink.

Vash really wishes he could have one right now, too. The water on the table may not taste great, but his throat has never felt so dry.

His arms find their way around Wolfwood’s waist, and he holds him there for a moment, in the corner of that saloon. The lights flicker again.

“I need to talk to you.”

“Guess he likes my voice,” Wolfwood smooths a hand against the swell of Vash’s belly.

“He?” Vash can’t hide the curiosity in his voice at the word, raising an eyebrow. “What makes you so sure?”

“Spikey, there is absolutely no way in hell you’re giving me a daughter,” Wolfwood states it so seriously that Vash starts to laugh. “I mean it. My heart won’t be able to take it.”

When he finally manages to tell Wolfwood what has been ailing him, he isn’t entirely sure what to expect, reaction wise.

Yelling or swearing? An average response, perhaps the best possible outcome, especially when it comes to the man Vash has known for so many years now. Calling him names falls under this category as well.

What he didn’t expect was the silence, or Wolfwood’s cigarette falling out of his mouth a second later.

“You’re—”

Vash nods, unable to say anything else. It’s hard to meet those dark eyes that are glued to his body.

“And it’s…” Wolfwood trails off, motioning to himself.

Another nod.

There’s a long pause before everything goes back to normal—whatever that actually is, Vash isn’t certain, but it feels like he can breathe again once Wolfwood regains his senses and finally says more than a few words.

“I thought you said we didn’t need to use condoms!” Wolfwood exclaims. “I asked you three times!”

Three separate times, in fact. Vash groans and runs a hand through his hair. “I mean, we don’t need to—we’ve never had—I didn’t think this was possible,” he settles on saying, because it’s true.

This was purely impossible, and yet somehow, after 150 years, his body finally decided it was time.

“With how often we fuck, I’m surprised this didn’t happen sooner,” Wolfwood mutters.

He’s not wrong, as embarrassing as it is to think about it.

“So…” Vash wrings his hands together, eyes flickering between Wolfwood and the cigarette that has long since been forgotten on the ground. He moves his boot to step on it, putting it out.

“So,” Wolfwood parrots, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Are you okay? With all of this, I mean.”

“Me?” Vash blinks, confused. “I guess so, I was mostly worried about—”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence before Wolfwood reaches over and pulls Vash into an embrace.

“Save it, blondie,” he says quietly. “You and I both know I’m fine with kids.” Wolfwood is also not wrong about that.

“That’s not what I asked you.”

Are you okay with this? Is this what you want?

“I—yeah,” Vash lets out a shaky breath. “I really am.” He wraps his arms around Wolfwood’s neck and buries his face into his shoulder. “Thank you, Nick.”

For everything.

A daughter… she would look just like you, Nick, Vash thinks to himself while Wolfwood continues to argue with him—with their child. And she would act like you, too.

“I don’t need two needle-noggins in my life,” he says sternly, but there’s a hint of amusement in his voice. “So please inherit some damn common sense—”

“I have plenty of common sense,” Vash interrupts him. “For example—”

Wolfwood scoots his hand up underneath Vash’s t-shirt and squeezes the warm skin of Vash’s hip with a rough hand, eliciting a yelp out of him.

“Don’t say another word,” he grumbles, “unless you want me to knock more of that so-called sense into you.”

Vash’s smile is everything devious in nature. “I would love to see you try.”

The first time Wolfwood sees just how different Vash is as far as humans go, he’s equal parts aroused and surprised.

“You really weren’t kidding,” he says while trailing a finger across the inner part of Vash’s upper thigh, tracing a scar that mars the skin there. It stops just short of what he could only describe as thin, petal-like folds, tightly wound and—quivering? “This is pretty freaky, spikey.”

“Don’t tease me,” Vash all but huffs as his body is out on display for him. One too many drinks later and they find themselves in yet another unfamiliar, yet all too recognizable inn bedroom.

It was easy for both of them to make it to this point—they always, always do, but this time it is different. It’s edging closer to something that neither one of them can turn away from.

Wolfwood grins at him. “Oh, I’m just getting started.”

“Can you—y-yes, right there,” Vash’s calves tighten around Wolfwood’s shoulders instinctively, hands gripping the bed sheets beneath him.

“Easy, Vash,” Wolfwood is a little breathless when he pulls back, a hand trailing along the metal of his prosthetic. “Digging into my neck a bit there.”

Vash almost immediately tries to sit up, looking extremely concerned. “Shit, I’m so sorry—”

Wolfwood carefully presses a hand to Vash’s lower abdomen, stopping him. “It’s fine, sweetheart,” he licks his lips. “Lie back down.”

His legs loosen a bit, this time more mindful of Wolfwood’s fleshy shoulders. Vash had insisted on leaving his prosthetics on, enjoying being able to anchor himself against his lover.

Wolfwood continues where he left off, nose brushing the inner, wetter petals that are waiting for him, taking in Vash’s scent with a soft inhale.

He flicks his tongue across them, watching as they unfurl and invite him into something far greater.

“Nick—” Vash arches his back with a groan. “More, I—”

“More what?” Wolfwood murmurs it against the opening of his slit, lips finding their way around the swell of a small bud that is nestled between it. “Full sentences.”

“More, please,” Vash’s voice trembles, “Don’t fucking stop.”

“Language, sweetheart,” Wolfwood presses a kiss to the bud, nips at it gently with his teeth and proceeds to curl his tongue around it.

He sucks long and slow, far too slow for Vash’s liking, evident in the way he hears another groan come from him.

Vash’s hand reaches for Wolfwood’s hair, tugging as he rocks his hips closer.

“Oh, Nick,” he gasps this time and Wolfwood is certain that he’s close, noticing how the room begins to glow a touch brighter.

Seeing those intricate patterns spark to life across various parts of Vash’s body ignites something truly deep within Wolfwood, far deeper than any spoken word of some higher being he could imagine.

They dance across scarred legs, skipping over pieces of well worn beryl-infused metal, trailing up Vash’s torso, his neck—

Vash shudders when he comes, fingers flexing into Wolfwood’s hair, purposefully forcing the man to stay put between his legs.

Not that Wolfwood would have ever minded.

He laps up everything that Vash gives to him and tries to coax out even more with his mouth, relishing the sweet taste that hits his tongue.

“Still with me, darlin’?” Wolfwood breaks away from him with a quiet gasp. He brings a hand up to his lips and wipes at it, grinning.

“Uh-huh,” is the only coherent response he gets, Vash’s body going limp with bliss. “’S good, Nick, you’re so good.”

“Preaching to the choir, I see,” Wolfwood runs a hand up Vash’s thigh, tracing along the intricate plant markings and noting how they shimmer brighter with each touch. “Let’s see what else that pretty mouth of yours can do.”

“How did the appointment go?” Wolfwood eventually asks, moving up to settle beside Vash. “Did Brad ask about—”

“The feathers,” Vash nods and sighs quite dramatically. “It was going so well, too, but then I sneezed and everything just,” he lifted up both his hands and spread his fingers, metal and flesh flexing wide, “Exploded?”

“Exploded?” Wolfwood can’t help but laugh. “Our child is already a menace, I can't believe it.”

One morning Vash had awoken to small, downy feathers attempting to sprout from his shoulders and forearm—the last time that happened, any time that happened, actually, was when they—

Well. Vash definitely didn’t relay that information to Brad, but he didn’t try to hide any of his bodily changes when he went for his most recent checkup.

Luida suspected it had something to do with the pregnancy—that energy, a life, now being constantly generated from within him. He was bound to have some… interesting side effects.

“I couldn’t believe it,” Vash says after a moment. “You should’ve seen the look on Brad's face when it happened though, or the room,” he pauses and glances at Wolfwood with a smile. “Completely covered in feathers.”

Wolfwood snakes an arm across Vash’s chest, moving to rest his head on his shoulder. “Bet he loved that,” he closes his eyes. “Glad everything went smoothly, blondie. I should be able to come next time.”

Vash turns his head and presses a kiss to Wolfwood’s hair. “Luida would like that. She’s been dying to see you again, you know.”

“More like dying to have someone help out around the ship,” Wolfwood sighs, but there’s no malice in his tone. “Say, next time we visit…” he lowers his hand down Vash’s chest, stopping pointedly at his stomach. “They’ll be able to tell us what the little sprout is, yeah?”

Vash’s small intake of breath doesn’t go by unnoticed and it causes Wolfwood to sit up, getting a better look at him. “What’s wrong?”

“Well—” Vash starts to say, but closes his mouth promptly.

“Wait,” Wolfwood reaches over to the side of the bed and suddenly the room is illuminated by the warm glow from the lamp. “Vash, don’t tell me you—” he glances back over at him and studies his face for a moment in silence. Vash desperately wishes Wolfwood wasn’t so damn good at reading him for once.

“You already know, don’t you?”

Vash groans and brings a hand up to his face. “It was an accident, Luida brought it up before I could stop her. I’m so sorry, Nick.”

Wolfwood exhales and slumps back against the pillows. “Unbelievable.”

Vash attempts to roll over to face him, being on his back for so long starting to become a bit uncomfortable. “Nick?”

Silence.

“Nicholas,” Vash pouts—he definitely has no right to do so, but he can’t help it. “I can just tell you, would that make it better?”

“No,” Wolfwood sighs. “I still want it to be a surprise.”

“I can act surprised when she tells us!” Vash says with enthusiasm. Wolfwood gives him a withering look. “No? Okay, okay,” he frowns, “it was worth a shot, though.”

“You are a complete needle-noggin idiot, you know that?” Wolfwood reaches over to flick Vash’s head. “And… it’s all right, don’t worry about it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Wolfwood stresses the fact with a poke to Vash’s cheek. “I can wait a few more weeks. You better not bring it up on accident, though, or else—”

“I won’t! I promise, scout’s honor!”

Wolfwood is a lazy kisser—Vash used to tease him for it, but it wasn’t as though he was much better—or had any practice.

And they really did have the time now for these sorts of things.

He sighs as Wolfwood peppers a trail of kisses up his chest, taking his time with each scar and meld of flesh and metal his lips come past.

“Nicholas,” Vash’s voice is light, full of warmth. “I thought you said— oh!”

Wolfwood captured his mouth with ease, stopping whatever teasing comment that was about to be said.

His lips are chapped, but still somehow soft, warm—Vash has half a mind to point that out, but Wolfwood won’t allow it with the way his mouth is working.

Vash gives in and sighs into the kiss, tugs him closer, prosthetic fingers raking through Wolfwood’s hair. It’s enough of an incentive to keep going, by any means.

Even if there is shouting outside the inn bedroom’s window, or the ringing of a few gunshots sounding off in the lingering desert air.

Vash breaks the kiss to turn his head, ignoring how Wolfwood sets his aim for his throat.

“Should we go—mmh,” Vash tries to suppress a moan, unsuccessfully, “check that out?”

Wolfwood pauses, lips lingering near Vash’s collarbone. “During the middle of this?”

He has a point.

And to further express said point, Wolfwood slowly rocks his hips along Vash’s thighs.

“You’re right,” and Vash can’t believe he’s saying it with a smile on his face, one that Wolfwood can’t see from this angle, but knows that the man can feel.

The whole room is lighting up, after all.

“It can wait,” Vash decides, and Wolfwood takes him.

One minute of silence passes between them, and then two.

“Okay, I can’t do this,” Wolfwood rolls over to face Vash. “’M not going to be able to sleep unless I know.”

Vash is unable to restrain himself from laughing. “Really? Surely there’s something in your good book about rewarding patience.”

“Always be humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love,” Wolfwood recalls the passage in a low voice. “I think I’ve been pretty gentle lately, all things considered.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Vash agrees, amused. “Not so humble, though. Might need some brushing up on that.”

Wolfwood slides a bit closer to Vash. “Good thing we’ll have some down time for the next couple of months then—I could use some practice.”

“I happen to know an excellent teacher,” Vash says. He feels Wolfwood snake an arm across underneath the blankets, reaching for his shoulder to pull Vash in an embrace.

“If you say Brad, I swear to fucking God—”

Vash’s huff of laughter is the only response Wolfwood gets before a pale hand beckons him closer.

Even in the now-quiet of the room, Vash’s whisper to his ear is perhaps the softest thing Wolfwood has heard in a very long time.

He can’t help his too sudden reply, his own voice on the verge of cracking. “Really?”

Vash nods. “Yes, really.”

And if Wolfwood hid his face in the crook of Vash’s neck, eyes filled with a dampness that threatened to spill over and unable to say anything else except a murmured ‘thank you’—

It was enough.

#trigun #trigun stampede #vash the stampede #nicholas d wolfwood #vashwood #fanfic #fic #texte #my writing #hewwo friends long time no motherfuckin see am i right LOL #man. wow. it has really been a hot minute since i've last wrote something #trigun kinda took over my brain (not complaining tho)#i don't really have many pals who are into the series atm so i'm just yodeling into a void by myself tbh #anyway i posted this to ao3 the other day and figured i should cross post it here too #title is unabashedly from the foo fighters and yes it's in my wv playlist #nobody asked but i'm saying that much #these 2 guys r so fucking!!!!!!! TRAGIC #i just want them to have a family. god bless the plantussy #ok i am going now perhaps i will return? with more fics? we shall see #love & peace 2 u all <3

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equalseleventhirds · 1 year

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oh would u all like another bit i wrote for creative writing homework? the assignment was 'write a nonlinear/fragmented narrative' and i had a blast with it.

(currently entitled 'One last chance to be a hero' bcos on god am i bad at titles)

- - -

In spite of everything, the world does not end. It's touch and go for a little while, no one really sure if the heroes will succeed—but they do. They battle against the strange forces threatening the world; they push back the encroaching destruction; and they die noble, meaningful deaths.

They save the world. Everyone else has to live in it.

- - -

The day before the end of the world (projected), the hero Peregrine watches TV with her girlfriend, both of them snuggled up on their old green couch. They're so lucky, really, to live somewhere broadcasts can still get through. So lucky to have this together.

"Why do you have to go?" her girlfriend whispers against her shoulder.

"The whole world, Laine." Their argument is too well-worn to be angry, familiar words spoken in a ritual of love, of misery. "We have to."

"But why do you have to go, Beckett?"

"Because I'm a hero. I have to be a hero. Even if this is my last chance." A smile, a hand through her beloved's hair. "Promise to wait for me?"

- - -

The world is saved, but it is strange. The ground warps and reshapes itself. The ocean rises in endless storms.

Humanity survives, as best they can, as humanity always has.

- - -

In conference rooms around the world, men in suits hem and haw over stopping the world from ending. But the expense, is the refrain. Think about the economy. If we spend it all now, how can we help the survivors later?

It is determined that the resources of the men in suits are too valuable to use now. They lock them away underground, in the reinforced rooms the men will hide in themselves. Nowhere safer.

- - -

"Sorry to ask you to help out again," the clinic doctor says. "I don't know why these machines keep acting up, but they seem to behave themselves with you."

Laine smiles. She's good at smiling, even if she can never manage a laugh anymore. "I've always liked electronics," she says.

The doctor holds the door open for her. "And we're lucky to have you around. God knows the government offices would love to snatch you up instead, the knack you've got for tech."

"Oh, I'd really rather..." She stops in the doorway—just for a second—until she can breathe again. It's been months, now, but she's still not used to seeing her old couch in the clinic.

(Their old couch. When the community association had come around asking for donations, she couldn't wait to give it away, as though it would take all her memories with it. When they showed up with a pickup truck, she stood outside and watched until she could no longer see the green of it in the distance.)

"...not," she finishes. "Can't imagine working for the government, honestly."

- - -

The night before the end of the world (projected), the supervillain Technobabbler robs a bank. It's not her usual MO, no high-tech target, no flashy robotics, practically sloppy. Peregrine stops her before she even opens the vault.

"Was there a point to this?" the hero asks, her voice weary as she leans against the vault door. "Or just one more piece of trouble before I go and try to save the world?"

Technobabbler's entire face is covered in a mask, opaque lenses over her eyes, voice modified until not an ounce of human emotion seeps through. Her shoulders are tense.

"Or you don't go," she says.

When Peregrine is silent, the villain continues, words falling out in a mechanical rush. "If you go—if you don't come back—I'll rob a bank every day. I'll kidnap government officials. I'll—I'll turn people into androids. No one will be there to stop me."

"I hope," Peregrine says slowly, "you'll stop yourself."

"I'm a villain."

"You don't have to be." She pushes off the door and takes a step forward, watches Technobabbler stumble back. Holds out a hand. "Come with us. Help us, and I'll put in a good word for you. It's never too late to change."

It feels like hours that she stares at that hand.

"I can't," she says at last. "I made a promise."

- - -

When the storms make land, the ramshackle community center floods. The clinic, especially, asks for help: beds for their patients, food and transportation for their doctors, dry storage space for their remaining equipment. Laine finds herself called for at midnight, frantically swapping out soaked and faulty wiring for nearly-new parts she hopes will fix everything.

It's dawn when she starts making her way home. The frigid, muddy water swirling through the streets and flooding her boots looks almost beautiful, shimmering with the first rose-gold rays of sunrise.

Its eddies catch and twist around something musty and green, just barely poking out of the water.

- - -

The day the world is expected to end, Laine nudges broadcast towers in her direction, strengthens the receptors in the television. She will watch this. She has to watch this.

The news crews grab as many interviews as they can—pre-fight interviews, they say, avoiding final, avoiding memoriam. Beckett shines in her Peregrine suit. She always has.

The cameras can't follow the heroes all the way, can only show the battle from a distance. It's too dangerous, could interfere with the fight. More importantly, cameras stop working if they get too close. Laine wonders if she could have made the cameras work, if she'd gone. If Technobabbler had chosen the heroes' side, in the end. Probably she would have had more important things to do.

She sits on the green couch for hours, alone, and watches her own world end.

- - -

Most of the conference rooms have been destroyed, and the suits are shabbier now, too. But the men still hem and haw just the same when people come to them for help rebuilding and resupplying. That hardly seems fair, they bluster. Why didn't you simply preserve your resources like we did? If we help you now, how will you help yourselves?

- - -

Technobabbler does not rob a bank every day. She does not kidnap government officials, or turn people into androids.

- - -

Underground, in their reinforced rooms, with their hoards of resources, the men smile. We did well, they tell each other. This is what we are meant for. The world needs us, just like this.

They don't notice the controls of their high-tech security systems start to move.

- - -

"An anonymous donation," the clinic doctor tells Laine, beaming. "We'll be able to ride this one out, rebuild, maybe even set up a backup location."

Laine smiles, and it feels like it could be a laugh.

#hewwo would u like superheroes and girlfriends and supervillains and grieving and the (not) end of the world #also some capitalism-is-the-real-evil #i had a fun time on this and considering also doing a similar nonlinear structure for my final project #now if only i had. an idea. lmao.#algie writes things

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chinateacup · 6 months

Text

Haven’t done this in a hot minute but I’m in a writing mood. Send me asks about jealousy or other fics :3

#hewwo I’m writing I prommy #ishimondo #my writing

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barry-j-blupjeans · 2 years

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37 on the dialog prompts for the twins

37. "You're an awful liar and you're sick."

Lup didn't have a great history with birthdays, but she was really starting to think she and Taako were cursed or something. The earliest example she could think of was at age four when their uncle's house burned down with the two of them still inside. And when they turned five, Lup had fallen head first into the ocean and nearly didn't make it back out. Ages six to, oh, twenty-three all followed similar paths of bad luck. Don't even get her started on the disaster that was their thirteenth.

Birthdays at college were mildly better, though thinking about their twenty-fifth and the whole Indecent with the administration still made her a little queasy. As much as she loathed to admit it, birthdays spent apart were probably the best, disaster-wise. The universe seemed to have it out for Lup and Taako, but not for Lup or Taako. Celebrating on a different date didn't help at all. Anytime they tried to celebrate together, the whole world seemed to crash down around them.

Really, they should've known better. But for the first time in five years, they were in the same town for their birthday. Lup and Barry had flown over to Taako, because he insisted on celebrating their engagement as a family (meaning all 10 of them packed into the back corner of Taako's restaurant and stuffed their faces). In Lup's defense, she didn't even remember it was their birthday. Neither she nor Taako kept really kept track anymore.

That being said: There were places Lup would have preferred to spend their birthday and the ER definitely wasn't one of them.

The swelling on Taako's face was finally going down, which was good. His suit jacket was hung over the chair Kravitz had just vacated to go find a blanket- they only allowed two guests at a time, and Kravitz and Lup took top priority on that. His shirt still seemed too bright against the cream-colored bedsheet but he was now awake and aware enough to complain about the temperature, so it couldn't be too bad.

"Doing okay?" Lup asked, squeezing his hand. Taako gave her a weak grin.

"Never been better," he said, voice very scratchy.

"You're an awful liar, babe," Lup said and Taako rolled his eyes, then winced. "And you're sick. Are you doing okay? I-" Lup took a deep breath. "You really fucking scared me for a minute."

"Yeah, uh, same," Taako said. He tore his eyes away from her, looking anywhere but her direction. "Prolly gonna have to fire someone 'cus there should be no way in hell that they cross-contaminate shit this bad." He gestured to himself.

"I thought you didn't have any dishes with peanut products in them," Lup said, squeezing his hand.

"I don't," Taako said. And then, "oh, shit."

He sat up. The heart monitor sped up a little. He made to get up but Lup blocked his way, pushing him back onto the bed. Taako coughed a little, shifting to get more comfortable. He glanced towards the door, as if he was waiting for a nurse to come through and see what was happening. When that didn't happen, he turned to Lup and said,

"Lup, we don't serve anything with peanuts."

"Yeah, you said," Lup said.

"We don't serve anything with peanuts," Taako said again, a bit slower. "How the hell-" He paused again, coughing, and itched at a hive near his throat. "How the hell did this happen-" another gesture to himself- "if we don't serve peanuts."

"Oh," Lup said. "Shit."

"Yeah," Taako said. "God, I'm gonna have to do like, a full investigation of this shit. What the fuck?"

"Maybe it was the birthday gods," Lup said because focusing on someone-maybe-tried-to-kill-Taako wasn't helping her any. That was a problem for tomorrow Lup, when Taako wasn't attached to an IV.

"It's not our birthday," Taako said, frowning.

"Yeah, it is," Lup said. "Barry got me a balloon."

Granted, she had left it with him in the waiting room, but it was there nonetheless. If anyone knew when her birthday was, it was Barry.

"Well fuck," Taako said, but he was grinning a little bit now. "What the hell is wrong with our birthday?"

"We'd be too powerful otherwise," Lup said. "They gotta nerf us at least once a year."

"You didn't go into anaphylactic shock," Taako said.

"We've got three more hours to wait and see," Lup said. She scooted her chair closer to the bed, propping her feet up against it. "Least we're already in the ER. Maybe we should just celebrate here from now on."

"I don't know if they book birthday parties," Taako said.

#taako #lup #taz #taz balance #mine #also hewwo i am Deffo sick sdlfsdf #so sorry if the next few days or so is weird/ficlets sound weird #my whole body is actively rebelling against me I think #asks #anon #ise cube writing

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