#perhaps i will write something with them | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hailsatanacab · 5 months

Text

Family Dinners - dpxdc

"Holy shit, you're Bruce Wayne!" Danny gaped, jabbing a finger at the man sitting at the head of the table.

The bustling dining room goes silent as everyone turns to look at him.

"Danny, who did you think was going to be here?" Tim asks, disbelief plain in his voice and Danny feels his face flush red.

"Sorry, I, uh, I guess I just never put it together. Tim Drake-Wayne. Wayne Manor. It, uh, makes sense now." He laughs sheepishly and scrubs at his neck before slumping back down into his chair.

"Well," Tim says with an indulgent sigh, "at least I know you're not just friends with me for my connections."

"Yeah, I'm really sorry, I just never thought about it, I guess."

Danny sinks lower as everyone around him laughs. Come to dinner, he said, the food is the best, he said, ignore the family, he said. Danny really wishes he'd listened to Tim and just ignored them—almost as much as he's regretting accepting the offer in the first place—but... he's having dinner with Batman.

Ancients, that's so weird!

The last time he saw Batman was in the future and, suffice it to say, it was not going well. There hadn't really been time for family dinners there.

Wait. Family dinners?

He peers around the table, openly gawking at everyone as it all clicks into place.

"Everything alright, Danny? Now realising who everyone else is?" Tim asks with a roll of his eyes.

"Uh... something like that..." Danny mumbles as everyone laughs again.

From further down the table, the smallest Wayne scoffs and clicks his tongue.

"I thought you said he was smart, Drake?"

"So, you all do it, too, then?" he asks, ignoring the jibe. Danny's only a little bit jealous as he thinks of how much easier they must have it, how much easier it'd be if his family had been on his side, too. "You all work together?"

"Nah," Dick says from across the table with a brilliant grin. "Tim's the only one that works with Bruce, we all have different jobs. I'm a police officer in Bludhaven."

"Disgusting." Danny blurts out without thinking—because seriously, what kind of self-respecting vigilante would also be a police officer?—before clapping a hand over his mouth. "Sorry."

The whole table laughs again, the loudest being the blonde girl a few spaces down from Dick. Look, Danny wasn't really paying attention to names when they were all paraded in front of him. Dick only gets remembered because his name is a joke.

Come on, Danny, recover!

"That's, uh, not what I meant, though."

"Oh?" Dick asks, cocking his head slightly to the side. Is it Danny's imagination or does his smile tense slightly?

"Yeah, I mean like, you know, in costume. It must make it so much easier to have everyone together like this."

"Costume? What do you mean?"

Yeah, Danny's not imagining it, everyone tenses up at that. It's really only now that he's realising that this probably isn't how he should bring up that he knows about their... night time activities. In fact, he probably shouldn't be bringing it up at all.

"Uuhhh..." Danny looks wildly around the table as he continues making his stupid noise. Think, think, think! There must be a way out of this!

"Danny?" Tim asks, looking concerned.

"Oh, Ancients, this isn't how I wanted it to go at all," he mutters, slipping even further into his chair. He's almost on the floor now and he so, so wishes it could just swallow him up.

His real first meeting with Batman was meant to be cool! He had planned to be Phantom, maybe save them from a tight spot, prove his worth as a mysterious and powerful ally as thanks for the help Batman gave him in the future.

"Danny, what are you talking about?" Tim starts tugging on his sleeve in an attempt to pull him back up from his pit of despair.

Eventually, Danny relents and sits up straighter, hiding his face in his hands and whining all the while.

"I'm sorry, I just didn't expect him to be here and it threw me off so now I look stupid and it's so embarrassing!" he wails, flailing his arms wide. "Why wouldn't you warn me that Batman was your adopted dad, Tim? Couldn't you have let me know?"

"I'm sorry, what? Danny are you alright? There's no way Bruce can be Batman, look at him!"

"Yeah," the blonde girl laughs from the bottom of the table, "look at him! That's a wet noodle of a man! Batman can actually do things, B is incapable of pretty much everything."

"Thank you, Stephanie," Bruce sighs, massaging his forehead.

It's... Those are the first words Danny's heard Batman say since everything went down and it's enough to knock him out of his embarrassment.

It's really good to hear his voice again. Especially now, when it's strong and healthy and full of personality—even if that personality is little more than a tired father right now—far better than how it had been, at the end.

Danny sits up, back straight, and grins. He's got this. He remembers it perfectly. Some people count sheep to fall asleep, Danny repeats his mantra to be certain that he'll never forget it.

"Gamma alpha upsilon tau iota mu epsilon, 42, 63, 28, 1 colon 65 dash 9."

Once again, the whole table falls into silence.

"Holy shit..." breathes the other D name (Duke? Danny's pretty sure he's Signal) from opposite Stephanie. "Isn't that...?"

"The time travelling code." The littlest Wayne says stiffly. "We have met in the future?"

"That's not just the time travelling code, Dami." Dick says, looking between Danny and Bruce. "That's the family time travelling code."

Danny's grin freezes in place.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"1 colon 65 dash 9." Dick explains, still flicking between him and Bruce. "It means you've been adopted into the family and we should all treat you as such, no questions asked."

"Tell you what, I'm about to ask a question." Danny says, dumbstruck. "You just told me it was a code to identify time travellers, not anything about being adopted! What the hell, B?"

Bruce looks about as shellshocked as Danny feels.

"We must have been close," he says finally, after opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water a few times.

"No! Not that close!" Danny reels back, taking a deep breath ready to refute it all, but... "Well, I mean, you found me when I first got stuck, and you helped me get better despite being... And then we fought together against the, uh, bad guy, before he, um, he... before you couldn't."

An uncomfortable beat passes while they all pick up on what Danny tried so hard not to say.

"So, you're not from the future, then, you travelled there and came back?" Tim asks, breaking the tension and leaning forward with a glint in his eye.

"Yeah, it was a whole end of the world thing, but don't worry about it," Danny says with a hand wave, "It's all kosher now, won't ever happen."

"What did happen?"

"Seriously, don't worry about it, we cool."

"How long in the future was it?"

"About ten years? You were pretty spry for an old man, B," Danny laughs, wishing they'd get off the topic of what happened and get back to the adoption bit.

Everyone shares degrees of a cautious smile as they relax out of the shock, and Dick—whose grin is the biggest—says, "No wonder you got the family code, you're already riffing on him like one of us. How long were you there for?"

"A week, before I managed to get back to my present and stop him then."

"A week? Jeez, B, that has to set some kind of record, seriously."

"Oh!" Danny says, sitting bolt upright and blinking in surprise before pointing at Dick and bouncing in his seat. "You're Nightwing!"

"What?"

"That's exactly what Nightwing said when Batman told me the code! Makes so much more sense now."

Dick laughs and claps his hands, delighted.

"You were not formally adopted?" The grumpy small one—Dami?—asks, his face pinched.

"I didn't even know I was informally adopted."

"And your parents? Are they alive or dead?"

"Damian, stop—"

"They were dead in the future, but they're alive now." Danny says, looking down. He fiddles with the tablecloth, twisting the fabric around his fingers as he fights down the pang of sadness that he always feels when he thinks of them now. He forces a bright smile on his face and hopes it doesn’t look too strained. "I just, uh, can't talk to them much, anymore."

"Damian," Dick warns, "1 colon 65 dash 9. Treat them as family, no questions asked."

"This is Damian treating him as family, the little turd has no manners." Tim scoffs, rolling his eyes, but he gently bumps shoulders with Danny to knock him out of his funk. Danny can't help but send him a watery smile.

"I have the most exemplary manners, Drake, unlike some people." Damian spits, crossing his arms with a pout. "I was merely ascertaining his status to see how he could possibly fit into the family."

"I know this is all a bit sudden, Danny," Bruce smiles, ignoring Damian and reaching out to lay a warm hand on his arm, "for all of us. But if I felt strongly enough to give you that code after spending a week with you in the future, then you are more than welcome in this family, if you so choose it. I think I can speak for all of us when I say we'd like to get to know you a bit more."

"I know a threat when I hear it, Bruce." Danny snorts. "But, yeah, I get it. I'm sorry this is all so weird, it really wasn't how I wanted to find you again, but... I'm glad I did."

"So are we, Danny." Dick says, with a warm smile. "And formally or not, 1 colon 65 dash 9 means you're family. Welcome to the fun house! No take backs or refunds, sorry. You're stuck with us."

#dpxdc #dcxdp #dc x dp #dp x dc crossover #batpham #hailsatanacrab🦀🦀writes #look. this has been in my mind for so long guys so long - and idk if its canon that the batfam have codes for time travel situations or what #but i feel like ive seen it before and if its not canon it should be #so here - how i think that would be funny to go down #i have so many thoughts about TUE and its place in a dpxdc crossover like holy shit there's so many ways it can go!!#i have another wip in the works thats kinda similar to this but with superman and i cannot wait to work on it again #there are so many ways i wanted this to go but i just couldnt get there - i wanted to keep it on the shorter side but like #perhaps ill have to expand #i just love the idea that like. theres a stranger at your table who knows you and knows you well. who knows the secret that youd die to keep #there's a stranger at your table and he says something and you know he's family. you know you're strangers but now...#now you have to be something more #oh man theres so many juicy ways it can go and I KNOW I DID NONE OF THEM #i want to write this whole plot again and make it angstier #(me with everything)#anyway! sorry love you all hope you enjoy it!!

6K notes · View notes

icewindandboringhorror · 6 months

Text

I know this is just a silly bad quality random screencap of a screencap that I found on facebook lol, BUT it's a succinct enough image to easily describe the concept in a quick/accessible way hopefully :

(and of course, feel free to elaborate in tags, etc.! (especially elaborating about other senses as well.. can you "hear" in your mind just as well as you can "see"? taste? etc.) It's an interesting topic to me, as someone who's like a 4.5 at MOST lol. I'm curious what option will be the most common :0c )

#tumblr polls #hrmm... a little poll perhaps.. about a subject I find interesting.. since this image came across my facebook today #still really not feeling that well. no longer shaking violently and such but I still feel weird and weak much more than usual #They did say my markers for like infection or inflammation were elevated but that they werent sure of the cause so hopefully #it's nothing too serious. they did also say a lot of different things can cause that thing to be higher than normal but didn't go into spec #fics of what. maybe some of them are relatively benign or something. I still havent felt much back to normal since #I got really sick that one time though. I feel fine on and off but then little bouts of feeling weird and sick happen. hrmmm #ANYWAY.. looking for small ways to be productive. such as little doodles on evil ipad or editing game videos #or posting polls or cat pictures or some other like not very labor intensive things #I WISH I COULD FOCUS on writing HHRGGhh... I need to finish my game.. it would be so freeing.. a project that's been looming #over my head for like 5 years even though througouht that 5yrs I've probably spent a total of 3 months working on it lo.. ANYWAY #I still partially really cannot beleive that people CAN see stuff in their heads. There's always part of me that's thinking like. well mayb #e everyone DOES see the same exact thing but we just describe/conceptualize it so differently that we think we're talking about #different things when we're really not. But I have been assured by people I've talked to about it that they can GENUINELY really see #stuff in their heads like as vivid as an actual picture in real life or something. And the other senses are neat too. Like for exmaple I #can hear in my head much better than I can see imagery. I still CANNOT hear vividly like as if I were listening to actual music out loud..#but I think it's developed more than my sight. AND interesting how this varies the creative process. a friend I was talking to on the phone #said they write by literally just watching stuff play before them like a movie. where my process is COMPLETELY different. AND that affects #the content/what details we focus on as well as our individual styles of writing have differences that can be traced back to that.. hrmm

531 notes · View notes

taravangians-storming-balls · 10 months

Text

Kaladin's final smash in which he lashes mario directly into the atmosphere

#i drew half of this like a month ago and then finished it the night i made that smash bros post #and then promptly kept on not feeling like writing alt text but im doing it NOW #realistically kaladins final smash should be incredibly extra and dramatic but i think it would be funny if he just #taps whatever poor soul got trapped in attacks range on the shoulder and calmly sends them flying off the stage #perhaps this is szeths final smash actually lmao #stormlight archive #kaladin stormblessed #fanart #art #comic #cremposting #my-storming-posts #OH by the way there is something about kirby and kaladin that intrigue me ...#image id in alt text

738 notes · View notes

jtl-fics · 11 months

Text

Fluent Freshman - Part 19

There’s a couple things about FF that might be good to know at this point.

1. There are few things in the world he hates doing more than asking for clarification or admitting he doesn’t understand / know something. The thought of going up to someone and admitting that he hasn’t perfectly comprehended the situation upon the first explanation is something makes his stomach twist like he’d just eaten Mango-Habanero ice cream.

He has figured out his own math theorems in the pursuit of not having to ask the math teacher to explain he doesn’t understand. He got lost in an Ikea once for over 6 grueling hours where he considered making a home there and living among the display rooms until his grandma grabbed him by the ear and dragged him to safety (the food court) and let him regain his strength (eat Swedish meatballs). He, to this day, is not sure about one of his foreign language friend’s names (how embarrassing he just keeps waiting for someone else to say it but they go by some insane nickname).

So he has become a master of piecing shit together on his own. He sometimes gets it wrong (Andrew, god how embarrassing) but for the most part 8 times out of 10 he can get to the right answer if he just has a couple pieces to work with. No one had ever actually explained to him how Exy works and he was too embarrassed to ask after the third week of practice in middle school so he just pieced together what he was and was not allowed to do through the art of trial and error. He’s even mostly pieced out the rules for the other positions.

So with the information he has gotten through people being bound and determined to talk in foreign languages in front of him he has an idea about the tenuous situation some of the older Foxes find themselves in.

He’s heard Kevin Day and Jean Moreau talk in French.

He’s heard that the anxiety in both of their voices as they talked about their futures and owing 80% of their salaries to the ‘Moriyamas’ and how nervous they were about getting on professional teams or else they’d be killed.

Captain Neil and Andrew are not always using Russian to talk dirty.

He’s heard Andrew soothe Captain Neil’s worries about playing for a professional team. He’s heard Captain Neil mention that at least ‘Ichirou’ would likely just kill him and not make a game out of it like his father did.

Organized Crime might have more to do with Exy than FF had originally thought.

(He had thought it. Plenty of times he had thought it but his Gran had warned him that he was overthinking things. That he wasn’t playing a sport invented by the Mafia. That he had caffeinated coffee instead of decaf. “It’s going to be okay sweetie. Just take a deep breath.”)

This leads into the second thing you should know at this point.

2. Before he had signed with Wymack he had known the broad strokes of Captain Neil’s life. There had been a lot of news articles about it and Gran (bless her) loved trashy gossip magazines.

After he had signed with the Foxes he had done a bit of a deep dive on as many of their controversies as he could find. There’d been things from brawls on the court (worrying), player overdoses (concerning), a straight up MURDER (Oh god), and the very public breaking of the King of Exy’s arm resulting in his suicide (Warranted, that wacko was going to take off Captain Neil’s HEAD.)

But the thing that had made him actually a little bit, dare he admit, excited to go to Palmetto was the fact that Captain Neil was there.

For someone who froze for almost a decade, who just took it and didn’t have the balls to even react? Neil Josten is an inspiration.

This is someone who got away, who lived a life completely unlike FF’s, someone who knew how to run and more impressively someone who learned how to FIGHT. Captain Neil was being hunted but he still ripped people to shreds in interviews. Captain Neil was probably more scared of the Butcher than FF had been of anything in his entire life but Captain Neil was way braver than FF could ever hope to be.

Captain Neil was taken and tortured but he still fought. FF had seen the scars and Captain Neil is right to wear them proudly (though based on some conversations he has unfortunately overheard he is sure Andrew may have a role in Neil’s positive feelings about them).

FF had thought that he was being lead to his death down in a basement of a club (Don’t cringe. Don’t cringe. Don’t cringe. Don’t-) and he just trailed right behind the two of them without even an illusion of a fight.

Neil Abram Josten was a bit of a personal hero.

He’s proud to call him Captain Neil. He wishes Andrew hadn’t been there when Greg had mentioned wanting autographs because FF wants an autograph from Captain Neil but now Andrew has probably mentioned it to Neil.

Long story short, FF had looked into a lot of details on Captain Neil’s case.

Including two of the Butcher’s top men who were still on the loose.

Romero Malcolm and Jackson Plank.

He keeps his presence low but no matter how many times he blinks the man grumbling in Italian next to him continues to be Romero Malcolm.

Moreover Romero Malcolm continues to grumble about the fact that he is having a hard time finding ‘Nathaniel’ and that he’ll have to grab one of ‘The Wesninski brat’s friends’ to draw him out.

FF is a recently confirmed friend of Captain Neil.

FF who is standing next to this man, with his dick out, and trying to remain as invisible as possible.

After two shakes (Yes he was watching but only because he had to! He wonders briefly if he goes to the FBI if they would accept a description of Romero Malcolm’s penis for the wanted poster? Probably not but it is BURNED into his retinas.)

He watches as Romero tucks, zips, and then bypasses the sink entirely.

FF shivers at how unhygienic that is. Who RAISED him?

The door shuts and FF needs to get out of here ASAP but his hands are shaking with the sudden adrenaline of ’One of the FBI’s Most Wanted just took a piss next to me and is looking for me friend’. He pulls his phone from his pocket and ducks into one of the stalls. Even if there’s no door it’ll at least FEEL a little safer, a little more private. He needs to warn Neil, Warn Andrew, and warn-

The door to the bathroom SLAMS open and music blares in (palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy-) and his phone slips out of his hands and into the toilet. There are footsteps coming towards him and FF digs deep.

He’s in ultra stealth mode. He is the wall behind the wallpaper. Mantis shrimp can only dream of the color he becomes, the United States military have the CIA on the look out for him because he’s fallen off all conventional forms of radar and tracking.

He is a bargain fruit platter on a dessert table at a kid’s birthday party.

He is ULTRA stealth.

Romero’s gaze glides over him.

Then the man leaves (STILL DID NOT WASH HIS HANDS).

His heart is hammering in his chest but he manages to reach down and grab his phone. Well, Coach Wymack had gotten the extended warranty at least. (“Do you know what these fuckers do to phones? Josten crushed his last year in a fight with the Baseball team captain.”)

His phone’s extended dip into the toilet water had not done it any favors in working properly.

Well fuck.

He wipes his phone down the best he can. He wipes his phone down with some toilet paper before cramming it into his pocket (Sorry Nicky, he’ll wash the toilet water pants if they survive).

He sees a flyer on the wall of the bathroom and starts to think of a plan.

He rushes out of the bathroom (he still washes his hands because he will not have something in common with a man on the FBI’s most wanted list and he just dipped his hand into a CLUB TOILET) and clocks Nicky’s wild arm movements and WORSE clocks Romero just 10 clubbers away.

He sees Romero’s eyes lock onto Nicky and a smile that terrifies him.

He’s out of Ultra Stealth Mode even if every atom in his body wants to run.

He is so stressed and panicked that he has gone beyond his body’s ability to process that so all that is left is determination. He’s got a head full of a half-baked plan, a hand going to his pocket, a second hand on the only ‘weapon’ he has on him, and a stomach full of acid.

He’s pulling his phone out of his pocket before he can really let himself think about it and walking up next to where Romero is standing. He holds his toilet water phone up to his ear and does the one weird social anxiety thing that he had never done before.

He pretends to be on a phone call.

“Hey Captain Neil,” he says and in the corner of his eye he can see Romero’s gaze shift from Nicky (surrounded by an adoring public, covered in sweat and therefore difficult to grab - a difficult target) to himself (alone, shorter, and probably looking like he’s about to pass out). “Yeah I think I’m going to take a break outside after I grab quick drink and then a water at the bar.” He says because he has to be the easier target and he has to go to the bar. “Yeah, yeah, okay I’ll mention it to that bartender guy.” He says and pretends to hang up.

He turns and he walks towards the bar and feels his pulse in his throat go to the beat of the music (success is my only motherfucking option, failure’s not).

He only knows about the alley because in the car ride to Sweetie’s Nicky had mentioned that he wouldn’t let FF’s first time be out there. He had been embarrassed but it was the only way he knew to get Romero out of the club and away from where he could hurt Captain Neil or anyone else in the pursuit of that.

He spots the bartender who had gotten the drinks for their table and his mind completely blanks on the name but the bartender sees him and smiles. “Oh you’re Neil and Andrew’s new friend! What can I help you with? I thought you were-“

“Hi, yes I am Captain Neil and Andrew’s friend.” He says a little loudly because he can feel Romero behind him and he does NOT want the man to know anything about where Captain Neil was.

“Captain Neil? Oh wow that’s adorable.” The man gushes. “What can I help you with? I won’t ask for ID for one of their friends.” He winks.

“I’d like to order the uh…” he tries to remember the exact drink name from the flyer, “…the deluxe chocolate martini?” He asks and knows he got it right when the bartender’s expression shifts ever so slightly.

“Oh yeah, how do Andrew and Neil feel about that?” He asks and oh great a coded conversation. It’s nice to actually be having a real one of these for once instead of just perceiving normal conversations to have hidden meanings.

“They don’t know. They probably prefer that I order it instead of Nicky or Aaron.” He lets his eyes dart to the wide where he believes Romero is watching him.

“I don’t know if that’s true.” The bartender says, “Nicky knows how to handle a drink and Aaron’s not a lightweight either.” He adds.

FF struggles to find a coded way to say ‘It’s not that someone’s hitting on me too hard like the flyer mentioned. It’s that there’s a mafia hitman in your club.’

Finally after a moment, “It’s not the usual kind of drink they get.” He tries and the bartender looks confused by the statement, dammit. He struggles to find a different way to say it before the bartender smiles.

“Y’know you’re really cute.” He reaches under the bar top and grabs a piece of paper and a pen. “How about you write down your number for me cutie? We can meet up sometime.” He says. “I’ll get started on that chocolate martini for you.” He says.

HE COULD KISS THIS MAN.

“I’d like that.” He says.

He writes out a quick message on the small note paper.

‘Armed. After Neil. Looked at Nicky. I’m going to the back alley. Phone is dead.’

The bartender comes back and looks at his note. “We’re out of chocolate martini mix, can I get you something-“ He hopes the club lighting obscures how pale the man got, “something else?” He asks and FF can SEE his pulse.

“Can I just get some water then?” He asks.

The bartender nods and pulls up his phone and hopefully is dialing the police and hands FF a water. His hand grabs hold of FF’s “You don’t need to go out into the alley. You could hang in the backroom with me?” He offers.

There really are some kind people in the world.

“I think it’s better if I’m not in here for a bit.” He says back and honestly he needs this kindness and he has a spare bit of courage, “What’s your name by the way? Sorry I missed it.” He says.

The bartender swallows, “It’s Roland.” He says.

“Thanks Roland.” He twists the cap off of the water bottle and takes a sip.

He turns and pretends not to notice how Romero is trying to be inconspicuous pretending to be on his phone.

He makes his way over to the alley door and notices that Romero is tracking his movements but is not following him like he did to the bar.

His heart is pounding and he can’t BELIEVE he’s doing this. He wants to run, wants to hide somewhere, wants to become imperceptible but…but…

He opens the door to the alley as the bass of the remixed song finishes.

(You can do anything you set your mind to, man)

He lets the door slam behind him and he is alone in the alley.

He was not expecting a van to come to a screeching halt in front of the entrance and for a different face to appear climbing out of the car.

Jackson Plank.

FF looks at the ugly smile on the man as he walks towards him with a knife in hand.

Okay now what genius?

MASTERPOST FOR ALL PARTS OF FLUENT FRESHMAN AU

5/26/23: EDITED. Can’t believe I forgot to put the Captain in front of Neil’s name on the meme. I’m blaming the accidental early awakening.

Per your requests:

@i-have-three-feelings @blep-23 @dreamerking27 @andreilsmyreligion @belodensetdust @rainbowpineapplebottle @yarn-ace @iwouldlikesometea @lily-s-world @obscureshipsandchips @booklover242 @whataboutmyfries @sahturnos @pluto-pepsi @dreamerthinker @passinhosdetartaruga @leftunknownheart @aro-manita-muscaria @hologramsaredead @Chaoticgremlinswishtheycouldbeme @tntwme @tayspots @nick-scar @crazy-fangirl2524 @blue-jos10 @stabbyfoxandrew @splishsplashyouropinionistrash @sammichly @the-broken-pen @bitchesdoweknowu @very-small-flower @ghostlyboiii @its-a-paxycab @bisexual-genderfluid-fan @cheesecookie @theoneandonlylostsock @foxsoulcourt @blueleys @adverbialstarlight @elia-nna @can-i-just-stay-in-the-corner @nikodiangel @foxandcrow-inatrenchcoat @hallucinatedjosten @satanic-foxhole-court @vexingcosmos @chalilodimun @insectsgetcooked @angry-kid-with-no-money @queer-crows @lillyndra @themugglemudperson @readertodeath @apileofpillows @mortalsbowbeforeme @hellomynameismoo @next-level-mess @youreonlylow @interstellarfig @notprocrastinatingatalltoday @percyjacksonfan3 @queenofcrazy27 @bsmr261 @ghostlyscares @spencellio @adinthedarkroom @harpymoth @sufferingjustalilbit @anxietymoss @oddgreyhound @ohno-myhyperfixation-itsbroken @ken22789 @atiredvampire @isoldescorner @not--a--pipedream @azure-wing @bushbees @roonilwazlib-main @crumplelush @foldedaces-paperbirds @thesenseinnonsense @let-tyrants-fear @ketchupfriesandallthingsnice @legowerewolf @deadlydodos @but-we-respect-his-craft @cariniqe @zanypersonapricotbiscuit

The requests to be added to the tag list keep being spread out across a few different areas. If I missed you please just ask again in the replies I promise I just missed you.

As stated before if you’re up here and I spelled it right but you didn’t get a notification there might be something switched around in your settings that won’t let me tag you properly?

Lillyndra it worked this time!!!

#Fluent Freshman AU #Is it a songfic chapter if it's only 3 lines? Experts aren't sure #Did I listen to lose yourself a lot while writing this chapter? Perhaps #If Nora mentioned something about Jackson or Romero in her extras I did not read it #Also gonna be honest here and state that I forgot the likely year that AFTG happened in and this is happening in 2010 #So I guess this AU also involves a slight time shift #Andrew and Neil may have gotten lost in one another's eyes a bit down in the speakeasy #Really they're just being polite to get all of their PDA out of the way while FF is taking what might be the piss of a lifetime.#(They have no idea how accurate that might be)#Andrew is all set to kiss one of his favorite of Neil's freckles (yes he has ordered them from favorite to lesser favorite)#Then his phone goes off #He looks and it's Roland #Andrew: WTF is Roland trying to call me?#Nicky is busy being the Dancing Queen. If someone plays ABBA he will absolutely scream rn #I had considered a whole sequence of FF trying to get Nicky and Aaron to the safety of the backroom in Eden's #And Nicky just keeps reappearing on the dancefloor while FF is looking for Aaron #I was gonna use that simpsons meme where Moe throws out Barney and then Barney is just right back in the bar #But it got a little too crazy #But just know in this AU Nicky is canonically an excellent escape artist #Maybe Erik went through a bit of a magician phase and Nicky was DELIGHTED to be asked to be his assistant #Maybe that's how they got together #The inherent ROMANCE of magician and assistant #I don't remember if they ever really said in the books or nora's content #If I'm rambling because I forgot to shut off my alarm (Memorial Day 4-day weekend baby)#The fate of FF's phone may have been caused by some slight anger towards my own #RIP FF's Wymack phone (July 2010 - November 2010)#AFTG #AFTG AU #Andreil #FF - Pt.19

417 notes · View notes

stellexpress · 2 months

Text

extremely biased because they're my favorites but god i think damsel/tower would be such a fun combination

damsel: don't you just adore the sensation of your heart beating? all i want is to make him happy ^_^

tower, an equally fragile vessel, dispassionate as a result of her divine ascension, and disgusted by any acknowledgement she's still bound by flesh and desires: how i pity thee

#꒰　✧　꒱ wish upon a star #// i do think they'd initially be “friends” in the sense that the tower would develope a savior complex and try to rescue the damsel #// experiencing the pure mirth of saving a corrupted version of her old self - something dainty and weak and unworthy of worship #// and along the way through the damsel's influence she perhaps reclaims some of her humanity again #// not in a “taking her ego down a peg” way but being more comfortable with bruising and allowing herself to enjoy things below her status #// like i dunno i think it'd be neat. two princesses idolized to the point of having their humanity stripped of them getting to talk #// someone should write a vessel roadtrip fic or smth (that someone will probably be me)#slay the princess #the tower #the damsel

98 notes · View notes

why-the-heck-not · 3 months

Text

computer science was a hoax from the universe to get me to study math in the pretense of ”hehe coding’s cool look at all these things u can do” *some mf vectors looming just around the corner* ”noNO dont look there; look here!! It’s ’hello world’ but in green heheh wOoOoo now it’s blue !! u are a god of this website” *matrices sharpening their knives somewhere*

#idk whY I’m going to the mathematical side of things #it’s ME who chooses the thesis topic #so could we maybe do without vectors MAYBE PERHAPS #(i dont like vectors. when we learned them at school I looked at them went ’’well I’ll never use this’’ and now look where we are #I owe my highschool math teacher’s an apology like oh no sometimes u do use vectors)#(I’m scared I’ll somehow choose a too difficult topic and make this impossible for myself)#(but also like I’m not MAKING anything from scratch; I’m just reading articles & writing from there (tho gotta have some own thoughts there #also I think?))#(if I was smart I would’ve chosen this abt something I already know something abt instead of ’’I wanna see if I could like this’’)#(but alas im not)#codeblr #january 2024 #2024

140 notes · View notes

rinzi · 5 months

Text

It's been bothering me for a few days now, so:

I saw someone's list of reasons aftg is badly written, and most of them were entirely unrelated to the writing. It was largely a list of morality complaints and matters of taste with very few actual notes on the writing itself.

Something can be amoral and well written. Something can be highly moral and poorly written. These two traits have no correlation to each other whatsoever.

I fully understand if the quality of moral expression in a work makes someone unable to enjoy reading it, but that is not the same thing as bad writing.

I'm not going to pretend the series is perfect, but there is a reason it has captured so many hearts. That reason is in the writing right there alongside the issues. You'd think with someone as complex and wonderful and deeply flawed as Andrew being the most popular character, this fandom in particular would know to appreciate something for its flaws as much as its strengths

#aftg #no i don't want to go find the other post #for one thing I'm just rambling I'm not trying to fight a stranger on the internet #yes there are things in the series that make me uncomfortable or upset #no i don't think that means it's bad #i do even have issues with some aspects of the writing itself at times #I'm not going to go into them here but i don't think it's bad to talk about that #i just think of we're going to claim something about the writing then perhaps it is in fact the writing we should focus on #Neil is my personal fave not Andrew but the same point applies to him lmao he is a menace and i love him for it

99 notes · View notes

heartpascal · 7 months

Text

just read through a half written fic from back in APRIL???? made myself kinda sad tbh. and goddamn why did i not finish this!!!!!

one of my fav lines from it: He was terrified, suddenly, that you would die down there, alone, whilst he was upstairs looking for the very thing that might just save your life.

dare i try to continue it? it was a request too oml 😭

#heartpascal says #not sure where exactly i was going with this #but am i ever #aka izzy never plans fics EVER #(maybe i should start?? make my life easier when i inevitably stop writing these fics and wanna pick them up months later??)#hmmm #something to think about perhaps

48 notes · View notes

carnivalcarriondiscarded · 8 months

Note

hello helloo! i just read through your modern au and I'm in love (shocker), i wanted to ask if you'd give some more info on poppy? apologies if there's already a dedicated post to her, looking is not my specialty

there is not! i will gladly ramble!

in this au, Poppy is slightly less fearful than canon. this is for several reasons! 1) years of therapy. 2) anxiety meds. 3) teenage years of her friends dragging her out for Shenanigans & hyping her tf up! but she's still a worrywart! she's very cautious! she can and Will see the bad/dengerous side to every situation. but! now she has the tools to not only cope with but combat her intrusive thoughts & fears <3

i think i mentioned it before but she Did Not Realize she was trans until highschool! specifically, when she met Sally! Poppy had to stop by the theater department after school for some reason or another, and Sally noticed her looking longingly at the costume dresses (Poppy thought she was alone lol)

and while Poppy was mortified at being caught, Sally was delighted. they only knew each other in passing and from reputation but Sally started holding up dresses to Poppy and complimenting how well they suited her. (i could joke about how Sally could sniff out the lesbian in her before Poppy even knew she was a girl!) Poppy, flustered by the sudden attention and apparent acceptance, didn't know how to handle it and fled. then started avoiding Sally in the halls. but! eventually she had to go back for Insert Reason Here, and ofc Sally was there. this time around Sally is a little gentler and less assertive, but manages to coax Poppy into checking out the more ~feminine~ costumes again. thus begins their little meetings where Poppy tries on costumes and Sally is her biggest hypeman

it takes a while for things to Click in Poppy's mind! it isn't until she tries on a dress that Sally custom-made for her, wearing some makeup and a wig, that Poppy has her oh moment. unfortunately, some of their ~mutual friends~ (Wally, Barnaby, Howdy) walk in on them. there's a short, terrifying moment where Wally is all "who's your friend, Sally?" and Barnaby has to lean over to let him know "that's Poppy, bud". before Poppy can fully freak out, Wally immediately goes OH! and starts complimenting how pretty she looks. Barnaby chimes in next to ask if the dress is home-made bc it fits Poppy beautifully, Howdy nabs a necklace from the nearby gathered accessories and put it on her to "tie the outfit together". in short! Poppy finds nothing but support from her buddies & they're more than happy to help her figure out this new internal crisis / revelation

then of course eventually she's found out by her family, which goes very well (im using sarcasm! it goes terribly!). Poppy isn't outright disowned or kicked out or in immediate danger, but her relationship with her family is ruined by their transphobic bigotry. her friends have her back throughout this, and the guest room at the Beagle farm is always open to her! Sally continues to make custom clothes for Poppy (something that becomes a love language for the two of them <3).

honestly, this period in Poppy's life is part of what like... idk... strengthens her, in a way? her continuing to be herself and actively rebelling against her family, i mean. Poppy becomes a pretty stellar liar lol (lying to her parents about where she's going, who she's hanging out with, what she does after school, etc). she's very cautious about all of it, but she does it! she's determined to pursue and discover and Realize the woman inside her! i have this sweet scene in my mind of the Group at the Beagle farm chilling on the floor with notebooks, brainstorming on possible names. (Sally enthusiastically says a variation of 'exquisite' to each one, and then when Poppy says 'im not sure about that one' Sally - still enthusiastically - says a variation of 'horrible terrible how could you suggest such an ill-fitting name'). despite everyone's efforts, i like to think that Poppy finds her name entirely on accident! maybe during the Gap Year Road Trip! maybe they stop by a SoCal poppy reserve in superbloom and the flowers Resonate with her! who's to say!

but Poppy begins her (medical) transition in college! she, of course, gets shit for it, but she also begins to find community and enjoyment in the local queer community. and of course, she has her buddies <3

but anyway! i like to think that Poppy participates in local farmer's markets with her crochet work & baked goods, the latter of which is a complete hit! that, plus her first experience with going to a tearoom inspires her to strive towards owning her own! tearooms are right up her alley, i'd say - calm, quiet, and Poppy can make peoples' days a little brighter with a tranquil atmosphere & delicious treats! i swear i have a reason between 'Poppy british = she goes into tea business'. honestly! tearooms are more about the tiny sammies & tasty cones w/ cream! and feeling Fancy while chatting!

i think it takes a while for her to actually be able to start up a tearoom. I'd imagine she starts by holding a small, single-table reservation-based one in her own place once the Group decides on what town to move to. it's successful, slowly (but steadily) grows, until she can get an actual House and transform the ground floor into a full tearoom. lil shop by the checkout counter, several different rooms, a sizeable kitchen. staff! the tearoom is a humble one, but it's a killer holiday & tourist destination! the high ratings even bring in people from out of town!

and when it comes to Poppy & Sally, bc yall know i'm a sucker for Popstar - i like to think that they start dating after (mostly) all of them move into their new town. & after they both have been in prior relationships! and then they never stop dating. well, they do, but that's so that they can upgrade to Wife Status. and then they never stop being wives so there <3

but Poppy is successful and happy! she had a rough go of it but she Makes It! and she continues to make it!

#i hope this Suffices!#ofc the ~lore~ in my mind is a lil more complex #but its Too Much to fully write out yk yk #giving her a tearoom was uhhhhh a bit of Personal Indulgence i will admit!#i used to have a tradition with my mother/grandma/sister where we'd all go to a tearoom once a year #but then grammie bit the dust (or rather - got turned into it) and that tradition uh. kinda stopped #i have very fond memories! i'd like to go to one again someday! perhaps with friends!#so when i was thinking 'what modern day profession would suit poppy' i do think owning a high english tearoom would fit #theres also just a level of personal influence to that ahaha #also if i went to a nice tearoom and the owner was a gorgeous 6'8 woman. ough. thats all im gonna say about it. ough <3 #rambles from the bog #wh modern human au #sally likes to waltz into the tearoom while poppy is working to buy One (one) little box of tea and also flirt over the counter for an hour #and there's an upstairs room reserved for Poppy & her friends!!#it's free for them to use at any time!#though they still always pay. they have a lil game with poppy where she tries her best to refuse #but they manage to sneak the payment past her anyway #or they so happen to 'leave a tip that just so happens to be the exact payment' on their chair #on top of the tearoom she also supplies some baked goods for Howdy's shop #it was something they started when she was first getting her lil business off the ground #it evolves into just 'poppy bakes a batch of muffins as her morning ritual and sends them to howdys'#she supplies more when she can! or when she stress bakes! or when she and frank stress bake together! the entire group gets fresh tasties!

54 notes · View notes

equalseleventhirds · 11 months

Text

what up besties sorry i haven't been online much but would u like to read the piece i wrote for my final for creative writing? it's metaporically about being trans n neurodivergent n disabled n ppl loving an idea of you more than you, but also it is about a zombie who comes back, not wrong, but not quite what anyone wanted..

(cw for death, electrocution, being buried (not quite alive), and complicated feelings about gender & name but that journey not being completed yet.)

- - -

Grave News

Amelia Marquez, 34, passed away in a tragic accident…

Later, when anyone learns she woke up already buried, she can see the horror movie assumptions playing out behind their eyes. The thought of waking up, trapped in a tiny, dark, airless space, scrabbling at the walls, gasping for breath, the weight of the earth above pressing down, down, down…

She smiles and accepts their pity, their horrified dismay, and does not tell them about lying awake, perfectly motionless, trying to figure out how to move. About how easy it is not to struggle for breath when pulling air into your lungs takes conscious effort. About pushing at different groups of muscles, her body twitching and twisting in the dark, until she works out forward, works out force, works out the flex of her hand as it pushes through velvet, then oak, then dirt, then dirt, then dirt.

Amelia claws her way out of her own grave, not frantic, not berserk, but deliberate. Gradual. Almost mechanical, as she practices moving by repeating the same thing again and again, her patient hands working their way through wood, through earth, to the surface.

(It isn't until later, standing in her parents' doorway and listening to the screams, that she realizes what ceaseless digging does to the human hand. She realizes that she somehow did not feel the pain as she dug. She realizes she needs to buy gloves.)

…the home she shared with her fiancé…

Cole had been so certain about his repairs. Fifty bucks at Home Depot and a couple of days of work, and Amelia’s concerns brushed aside.

“I’ve got this, Ames. Way better than hiring a contractor.” And she had agreed, had let him do it himself, had made dinner for a week while he spent his evenings messing with wires and fuses, assuring her that he was nearly done, that the video on YouTube made it so easy.

Cole hadn’t been home when the lights went out, when Amelia went to the fuse box and tried to flip everything back on. When the jumble of wires in their walls shorted and flared and spread electricity through her body.

When it killed her.

Once her parents call, Cole drops everything to rush over. He falls to his knees in front of her, staring up into her face through a haze of tears and hope and shock.

“You’re back. Ames, Amy, you’re back, how…”

She stares down at her lap, making sure her hands are covered by the blanket her mother had nestled around her.

…a beautiful light in our lives, extinguished too soon. Her friends and family…

Her memorial photo, the black clothes, the incense on the table, are all gone the morning after she comes back, packed away in boxes or thrown out in opaque garbage bags. Hands hesitate before touching her. They keep her at home, talking about rest, about recuperating.

“Since you’ve been…” She sees the glances, the mouthed no, don’t say it. “…in your condition. It’s important to rest up.”

It’s as though they think one wrong move, one wrong word, will kill her again.

She wonders a little bit if they’re right.

Her mother is the gentlest she’s ever been brushing Amelia’s hair, her hands careful, her voice filling the air. “And I unpacked some of your nice clothes,” she says, working through a tangle. “You don’t have to wear sweatpants anymore, I found your skirts…”

Amelia looks down at her loose, comfortable clothes, the t-shirt worn and soft against her skin. She thinks about struggling with buttons on a nice blouse, thinks about whether ruffles will still itch the way they did when she was alive. Thinks about the way the mottled colors on her legs have lasted too long to be called bruises. Maybe she should call it decay.

Her mother clicks her tongue sadly as a few strands of hair pull loose from her head. “These knots…”

“What if I cut it?” Amelia asks. She’d been thinking about short hair back when she was alive. And it would be easier. “I can’t make you brush it for me every day.”

Concern melds with distress on her mother’s face. “You can’t cut it,” she hisses. “What if it never grows back?”

...bright, funny, resilient, the first to volunteer...

Once, she accidentally sleeps for three days. That’s the kind of thing the living joke about—so tired I could sleep for a week, as impossible as that would actually be. Turns out it’s easy for the dead—easy to lie still, easy to stop pushing, easy to drift away into forgiving darkness.

She wakes to her mother weeping, her father pacing in the hall, Cole pale and haunted and clenching his phone in two hands. The funeral home’s phone number must be burned into the screen by now, but he hasn’t pressed the call button. Not yet.

Amelia makes herself sit up in bed, reaches out to him, and sees him flinch.

Right. Gloves.

Even as she twists her face into a smile, she knows she's done it wrong. Her eyebrows are at odd angles, her lips curled strangely. She tries for light-hearted: "Whoops, close one! Don't want to wake up in a grave again."

No one laughs.

...kept forever in our memories and our hearts...

Late at night, she hears her parents whispering. “Is she all right?” her mother asks. “My little girl, my Amelia—she’s not acting like herself. She’s so tired, so...”

“She just came back,” her father says. His voice is firm, comforting. Determined not to let any uncertainty slip through. The same voice he’s always used when her mother worries—the same voice he used when Amelia told him her own worries, her doubts about the future, about Cole. She always ended conversations with her father sure that he was right.

“She’ll be back to herself soon enough,” he says. “We just have to keep her active. Remind her about being alive.”

“But what if she’s not herself? I know we said not to bring up…” Her mother’s voice drops, furtive. “…the Z word…”

“We’re keeping an eye on her. We’ll notice if she does anything that needs… intervention.”

She closes her eyes. Wonders if she can turn off her hearing. Wonders if it would have been easier, staying in her grave.

The next day, she brings up moving back in with Cole. He says he'd be happy to have her, and she pretends not to notice the look he exchanges with her parents.

…brought out the best in people, always ready to help, to listen…

Cole is attentive. He brings her pastries from the bakery near their apartment and tells her about his day—work, his hobbies, a dog he saw at the park. Shows her pictures and videos on his phone. Mentions people by name, and she's not sure if they're new, since her death, or if she managed to forget people she knew about before.

She knows which muscles to move for an understanding nod, an encouraging smile. She knows how to make herself chew and swallow food, how to bring it back up later so it doesn’t just sit and rot in her stomach. She still remembers the right way to ask questions so Cole shares more.

There’s no real reason not to do it, but the more she thinks about it—the more she imagines forcing her body into the right place, the ordeal she’ll have to go through later—the less she wants to do it. She sits silently, pastries untouched, letting the muscles in her face go slack.

“Ames? You okay?”

It takes a second; she has to fill her lungs to respond. She tips one side of her mouth up in what could have been a reassuring smile, once. “Fine. Just tired.”

He sits next to her, worry pinching between his eyebrows. "Of course. I'm sorry. Let's just sit here and watch TV? There are new episodes of all our favorites."

The shows all feel distant, the plots blurred, the characters unfamiliar. She watches with him for hours anyway.

...a kind and giving spirit, she wanted to create...

Shattering the mug isn't intentional. Even if she's started to resent the comforting cups of tea Cole brings her. Even if she's sick of pulling latex gloves over her cloth ones so she can wash the dishes. Even if the cutesy blobs of yellow and pink painted on it have always been too much, too bright, too false-forced-cheer, from the moment she was gifted it eight years ago.

She still doesn't mean to let go of it, the muscles in her hand (and there are so many muscles in the human hand, so many to keep track of, and most of hers are damaged already) loosening and spasming as she's walking to the sink.

The jagged pieces of it surround her, and Cole's hysterical babble of questions and assurances—"Are you okay, I've got it, just hold still"—fades into background noise as Amelia leans down to try and gather the shards.

A hand wraps around her wrist and she turns to meet Cole's wide, frightened eyes. "Amy, your foot."

A full inch of jagged ceramic is buried in her heel.

She does not bleed, even after Cole pries it out.

...although she will never fulfill those plans, her dream will live on...

"Ames, I'm worried." Cole reaches out, stops with his hand just over her thigh. Puts it down on the chair next to her, not touching. "This is... I know you've been through a lot. But you're acting like—"

She turns her head until she can look at his face. Her neck jerks in the wrong direction a couple of times, but she's getting better at it, faster. "Like?"

Cole's eyes are red, and can't quite meet hers. "Like..." His shoulders drop. "Not like yourself."

He waits a beat—two—and gets up, breathing out harshly. "Ever since you came back, Amy. You barely look at me. You barely talk to me. You don't even like doing the things you used to like. I understand about your... condition, but..."

...pray she rests well, and waits in peace for her loved ones...

She sits in their apartment—Cole's apartment—long after he's gone, watching the afternoon sunlight shift across the space they used to share. Her books are still on the shelf. She remembers packing up her childhood bookshelf to bring to their new home. The painting she bought at a flea market is still hanging on the wall. She remembers joking with Cole about picking up a masterpiece for two dollars.

Looking at them now, she doesn't even particularly want to bring them with her.

...invited to celebrate her life at...

Merely dragging her body across the ground would be easier. But, even though she's wrong, even though she's not the person they think about when they look at her, she's still not a mindless, lurching zombie. Mostly.

She walks. One step forward.

Was she ever the person they thought about when they looked at her?

One step.

Maybe now she'll find out.

One step.

...in lieu of flowers, the family asks...

She settles into her seat on the train, making sure her hands are covered. A new start doesn't mean much if she sends an entire train into a panic.

Someone sits next to her, bouncing in their seat. "Hey there! Looks like we've got eight hours ahead of us. What's your name?"

She hesitates. Amelia. Amy. Ames.

"Mel," she says. It's strange in her mouth. Just slightly wrong, the same way she's just slightly wrong. Maybe that’s the right fit.

#algie writes things #what if u came back wrong but not evil just dealing with what it means to be dead but like in a disability way #and also u were transgender but hadn't figured it out yet #......something something society viewing ppl (trans disabled neurdivergent and more) as being 'stolen' or 'killed'#by theses aspects of our lives; as tho a 'normal' (per them) person WAS there but is no longer #but perhaps that 'normal' person never fucking was there #but circumstances make it more difficult to keep up the veneer of faking 'normality'#..........something. etc. u kno.#anyway! metaphors #but also i do love a zombie story so (shrug emoji)

118 notes · View notes