Keep Yourself Safe!
Disclaimer: This poster is not sponsored by NordVPN. I hate sponsors.
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the show is over
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more cfau miscellaneous things because Childhood Friends Danny and Jason have my head and heart always and I need to finish rewriting chapter two dammit (and redo the half-finished chapter 4 because its just Not The Vibes). i'm almost through I need to get through the graveyard scene. (i just stubbornly refuse to have it be shorter than the original chapter and thats the little death. that is the mind killer.)
Danny and jason’s ghost forms both smell faintly like burnt flesh and cigarettes. However, Jason has a more smokey smell while Danny’s smells almost,,, electrical? In a sense? Like he just straight up smells like burnt flesh and sulphur while Jason smells like someone put him in a smoker first.
It’s very much an unpleasant smell but Danny finds an odd comfort in it just as much as he finds a comfort in the smell of nicotine.
(Jason post-revival smells burnt flesh once and is immediately offput by the fact that it brings him an instinctive comfort. He doesn’t realize its because it reminds him of Danny, and is uncomfortable by it.)
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In an au of an au, Danny’s altercation with Rath ends with Rath regaining enough of his sanity to snap out of the grieving state and ends with him breaking down. Instead of being souped and imprisoned, Rath, who is permanently 14, decides to Move On into the unknown. He’s exhausted, heartbroken, and tired.
(Is this influenced heavily by the ParaNorman scene where he talks to Agatha and helps her move on? Yes. But it doesn’t fit with the Original Storyline so im shoving it into an Au of an Au.)
Rath tells Danny that Jason lied to them (which he genuinely believes), and that he’s tired of waiting/looking for him/grieving. Jason is gone. He isn’t coming back, he abandoned them. And he wants his mom and dad, and his sister, and his friends. And he’s ready to join them.
He leads Danny out to Gotham, which other than Amity Park might’ve been the only city left untouched due to Rath’s own mental block on the place. They go out to the park he and Jason used to frequent or up to one of crime alley’s rooftops, and there Rath lies down and goes to sleep. Only to never wake up again, materializing into nothing as his soul moves on.
Before Rath leaves, he forces Danny to promise him that he’ll only wait for Jason for ten years. After that if he doesn’t find him, or if Jason doesn’t show, then Danny has to move on. Whether that be like how Rath does, or if its inly mentally/emotionally, doesn’t matter. He has to move on. Don’t wait for him. Don’t waste his time any more.
(“Oh, and if you find him, kick his ass for me.”)
Danny reluctantly agrees, and Rath lies down. Danny sings to him as he falls asleep.
(Angsty points if the vigilantes including Red Hood caught wind of their presence and were silently watching from the shadows. Rath might know they’re there, but Danny’s too focused on Rath to notice.)
(If only so that Red Hood realizes that this is what happened to Danny, and that Danny is gone before he can make things right. The tragedy, folks. The angst. The initial realization that Danny was Rath, and then also that Danny was dead and has been dead for years, and that before he moved on, he moved on believing that Jason abandoned him.)
(like i said it doesn't fit in the original timeline/storyline hence why its an au of an au and isn't nearly a fleshed out, but i was largely just focusing on the tragedy of Rath moving on and Jason being alive to see it and realize just who Rath is.)
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Just like how the Lazarus pits shot Jason's twiggy 4'6-5'4 (depending on what you find) feet tall and 86lb ass up like a tree an essentially fixed his malnutrition, the portal did the same thing for Danny.
(granted i forgot about malnutrition and danny's likely stunted growth at first -- his family lived in crime alley and despite both his parents working, I don't think they had enough food all the time. He probably wasn't as badly malnourished as Jason was, but he wasn't healthy either.)
Granted his ghost in its "natural" state (14) is short, and his growth spurts were slow at first, it did result in him reaching his dad's height. There were points where it just happened overnight, like a baby. He went to bed one night 5’6 and woke up the next day 5’10.
Jazz is shorter than him. Although I have't decided if she's even liminal at all (and if she is, it didn't cure everything because she would have also suffered childhood malnutrition, and since in au canon their parents didn't get their hands on physical ectoplasm until after they got to Amity Park. So the exposure is less.)
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Danny's voice absolutely sounds like canon Dan's. It kinda just dropped one day when he was 16-17 and never went back up. Sam and Tucker sometimes ask him to just talk about anything because they find his voice soothing.
I'm not sure yet how Danny would feel about it at first considering Rath, but I imagine that Rath, when he did speak, would have had a quieter and scratchier/weaker voice considering he's spent the last decade shrieking and crying.
(and i suppose technically that shouldn't have any effect on his throat considering he's a ghost and idk if that would actually affect him, but i like the idea so im keeping it)
In the beginning you could hear him from a mile away by the sound of his loud, echoing wails, but ten years later you can only really hear him by the soft, shuddering sobs he makes. Like he's gasping for air that isn't there. The future is full of very quiet survivors.
And it's much easier to speak when you pitch your voice upwards (especially when whispering/speaking quietly) so he might've spoken in a higher, airy pitch in order to be heard. So Danny might actually find a comfort in having a lower voice.
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11 - Adoption Isn't All It's Cracked Up To Be - Chapter Eleven
Words: 945
Ao3 Link
Previous - Masterpost
Tw: death of a minor due to beating/fire/explosion, kidnapping, lmk if I missed anything
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When Jason Todd was six years old, he believed in magic, and he thought that his father was the most magical of all. His dad, who worked so hard, and always came home late, with a resigned and drawn face, who still made sure to hug him, play with him, tuck him in and tell him a story before bed. Jason loved hearing the soft voice of his father spinning fantastic tales as he slowly slipped into sleep. He had a lot of magic, then.
When Jason Todd was seven years old, his father went to prison, blamed for a petty crime he didn’t commit, and there was no more soft click of the door as his father came home, and no more stories, and no more soft voice lulling him to sleep. A little magic died, then.
When Jason Todd was nine and a half (and it’s important never to forget the “and a half”, or he’ll be upset with you), when the house had gotten bare and his mother had gotten quiet, his father was killed in Arkham, in a brawl. Not the nicest way to go, as the drawling man on the phone had said, bored and indifferent. Then, a lot of magic died, to be replaced by sadness and anger.
When Jason Todd was eleven, his mom died too, taking with her hugs and movie nights and warm tea and homework help, always ever so patient in explaining exponents for the tenth time, and many more numbers of things, including their apartment. She had gotten quieter, and sadder, after his father’s death, and didn’t really get better, but she still made time for him, and loved him the same, and made sure that he knew that. By then, Jason was nearly out of magic, and nearly full of other things, like rage and grief and sorrow and desolation.
When Jason Todd was twelve, after a year of running, from everyone and everything, he stole Batman’s tires and hit him with a tire iron. Right in the stomach, and Batman would deny until the day he died that he yelped. Soon, Gotham met Robin, and stood in admiration at his gaiety and delight with the world. Jason gained magic, then, and gained more and more as time went on and he healed, anger and sadness not gone, but not weighing him down. Jason fell into stories once again, into the magic that they wove, into helping others, into going to school. Jason was happy, and Jason was loved.
When Jason Todd was fifteen, he died, and it was horrific. He was given hope for his mother, and it was ripped away. He was beaten, pain blossoming across his skin, before an explosion roared and a blast of hot air washed over his already flushed face. He died, wishing, hoping for his dad to come and save him, for his magic to be real, hoping against everything that his end would not be here, on a gritty concrete floor in a dimly lit warehouse. He died, feeling flames lap against his clothes, his fingers, his cheeks, protected not by the tears that ran down them in torrents, leaking from under a mask he believed would save him. He died, accompanied by the sound of sickly sweet, cackling laughter ringing in his ears, and, ever so faintly, so quiet he couldn’t be sure it was actually there, a quiet click of the final door closing, and soft voice telling him stories, lulling him into sleep.
When Jason Todd had been dead a year and a half (sixteen, he would have been sixteen, a junior, exploring and loving everything in the way that teenagers do), he used up the last splinter of magic, born from hope, and clawed, screaming, choking, and crying, out of his grave, dark clay coating him and his favorite sweater, the bright baby blue smeared with an ugly, dried-blood red. When Jason Todd burst from the crumbling dirt, he was met with a cool, crisp night, fresh air (not rot, it didn’t smell like rot, he didn’t want to smell anything rotting ever again), and a woman, clad in flowing, dark clothing and smiling just like his mother used to. She said her name was Talia, and she helped him up, leading him away with a smile sweet as medicine.
When Jason Todd had been dead three years (he would have been eighteen, gone to college, studied the books he always loved, learned as he always loved), he came back to Gotham angry and hurting, drowning in betrayal, unable to break the ice holding him down and slowly sinking into frigid depths. He wanted to be avenged (he wanted to be saved), not just for his death but for his childhood, for every moment that was ripped away from him. And if his dad Bruce wouldn’t do it, then he would. It was easy, simple as that (why didn’t he save me?).
When Jason Todd was three years and eleven days dead, he watched through the beady red eyes of the manor cameras as his family the Bats snatched a desperate, beaten child, wrenching his hands away from a scraping metal fence, and carried him back into the manor, eyes wide and tears running down a crumbling facade (just like Jason’s had), flinching away from the green-tinted light like it were really a flame that lapped at his skin, his screams echoing just the same as if the manor had been a dim and gritty warehouse. And it may well have been: both places were filled, now, to the brim with bitter and desolate hope, and a resounding call for salvation.
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Jason Todd makes his debut! Also, sorry for the long break between updates! The motivation just wasn't there for a while, and school was really busy. And I know I say this every time, but I'm excited to get back into writing, and hopefully this time the motivation gods will favor me and there will be another chapter sooner than three months from now. Anyway, thanks so much for reading!
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Taglist: @tkiesai
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I am sandwiched smackdab in the middle of this post
if you haven't seen it then pls do it's long, funny and well written.
Amity Parkers as teachers in gotham (Tim is suffering)
ALSO IT HAS ART RN SO CHECK IT OUT AS WELL
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Be warned, longish mini essay about the Netflix Daredevil show from someone who hasn't finished season 1.
I think the similarities between Daredevil and Kingpin go hard. Both have very similar motivations and backstories. Ironically, Kingpin has a more traditionally good backstory. His harsh taskmaster was his father, and he rose to defend his mother, killing him in the process. But throughout the whole process, the torment of his father's rule, and dealing with the aftermath, he is in the company of his mother.
There is one thread throughout Wilson Fisk's life: he always has a companion. Not someone who can order him around, not always someone he can order, but always someone he is above in some way, and always someone who plays the role his mother did. Before he meets Vanessa, he has his assistant who chooses his meals, plans his itinerary, and is part of every difficult choice or conversation he must have.
Even Vanessa is, unfortunately, put into that mothering role, playing to the more traditional gender roles and even taking on the burden of the emotional turmoil his troubled past gives him. As long as he has his mother or a replacement, Wilson knows he's not a monster, and he can rationalize any sacrifice, usually on behalf of others. His decision to become a public figure is entirely out of his comfort zone, but also something he wouldn't have done if his assistant and Vanessa hadn't plotted to aid him in his turmoil. Functionally performing emotional labor on his behalf.
Daredevils, Mathew Murdock's, upbringing contrasts this. He had a loving, supportive father who had a violent career. Upon the death of his father to crime, he turns to another, harsher, violent father figure who abandons him when he gets attached. Every time someone fills a paternal role, they leave him. And there seem to have never been any takers for a maternal role. Instead, the influences on his life have always been highly masculine, sometimes soft, but always masculine.
In some respects, it seems as though Matt is a success story for toxic masculinity. He's a superhero and a lawyer, he's exceptionally romantically successful, he never lets anyone in, and he solves every problem as alone as he can with the strength of his body and his moral character. He suffers because of this, but even his downfalls still echo the toxic masculinity that's consumed his life.
But for all that, Matt and Wilson come at it from different angles, paternal and maternal, and they ultimately arrive at the same destination. They're both violent men trying to save Hell's kitchen through violent means. The only difference is the extremes they are willing to go to. And even then, Wilson is quite a bit older than Matt, and I'd be willing to believe a middle-aged Daredevil might kill.
Certainly, Kingpin's methodology is more classically villainous, but it is only Daredevil's superhuman abilities that allow him the moral high ground. They remove his ability to mistakenly target innocents, an advantage Wilson does not have.
It strikes me as interesting that the main difference between the two characters is what flavor of toxicity they were molded by: Wilson by a toxic level of support, by people egging him on when it might be time for introspection and pushing him forward when he turns inward and considers stopping. And Matt, by toxic masculinity, pushing him on even when he really should rest—not providing him the support he needed to heal from the trauma of his father's death or Stick's abandonment or even the emotional toll his vigilante career took. Forcing him to bottle everything up and 'stay strong' not to disappoint others, mostly Stick.
That's why I think, ultimately, neither should be doing what they're doing. Kingpin for, I think obvious reasons, he's doing just real bad stuff with vaguely good intentions, and Daredevil for less apparent reasons. He is doing good, and as Matt, I think his choices are solid, but as Daredevil, he's straight up using beating up people as a way to deal with his trauma. It's incredibly unhealthy and even if the violence doesn't take him out, he's still leaning on it to support him emotionally. I fear he can't stop, even if he wanted to. After all, if he did, he'd have to face his demons like the rest of us.
They're just two men running from their problems, and I guess I can't fault them for that. Wouldn't all of us if we could?
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g’mornie!! ໒꒰ྀི ◜ ‧̮ ◝ ꒱ྀིა its another lovely day in april!! i hope you all have the v best day EVER!! <33
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A Lifelong Love
Author Notes: I wanted to write Idia but wow, is he hard. I actually wrote this while listening to Kenny Rogers "Lady" but it really doesn't fit the song very well and is also gender-neutral. This fic takes place briefly after the Ghost Marriage event.
Type: Comfort/fluff/romance hinted
Word Count: 1663
I blinked up at the Idia who was standing in the middle of the cafeteria dressed to the nines. Of course, he was supposed to have filled the role of groom in the ghostly wedding that had just taken place, but still. I didn’t think I’d ever seen him look like this.
He twitched, looking up at me from where he stood beside the now abandoned altar that had been made especially for the wedding, “Wh- What are you staring at?”
I blinked in quiet surprise at his stuttered question before vaguely gesturing to his current clothes. I could only wonder as to how the ghosts had gotten him into his outfit. He looked down and made a rather moody expression “Is my outfit that strange?”
His question was rhetorical, logically I realized that. But I found myself answering him nonetheless and drawing his attention back to me, “Well… Yeah. It’s not everyday I see someone dressed up as a groom.” Much less one quite so pretty….
I don’t know how I’d missed it till now but Idia was quite attractive. One of the prettier boys at this school of handsome young men even.
My explanation for my stare did little to calm him though. In fact it just caused him to make a desperate shooing motion, “I’m not on exhibition y’know! Shoo, leave!”
I did not go ‘shoo’ though. Instead I stood and stared some more as his hair changed from a pale glowing blue to a radiant pink color. A pink that matched the flushed color of his face quite well.
I felt myself slowly starting to grin at his embarrassment, but rather than teasing him I merely shook my head, “Actually I need to clean this place up. Crowley’ll bug me endlessly if I don't and tomorrow it’ll be needed.”
His hands, that had already been tangled in his long hair, seemed to clench the glowing strands tighter at the revelation that I was not, in fact, leaving. He was mumbling something incomprehensible to himself as I started moving about the room. Ignoring him as I collected the pale flowers that had been thrown upon Eliza’s appearance in the room.
It was almost a shame. If one had merely been watching and hadn’t known about how she’d kidnapped her groom it would have been a lovely wedding. Sure, she’d gotten married anyway and Chubby and her were a cute couple but….
Well, to be perfectly blunt Idia was the better looking groom. He looked like he’d stepped out of some period romance. Were I bit more of a romantic I might have been able to imagine a touching but sad story about a ghost and human romance that could never be.
Such daydreaming would have to be left to Rook though. After all, I’d been so focused on the mission to save Idia I’d only thought of such things now.
To be fair, Chubby and Eliza getting their happy ending was rather nice. Romantic even, if I really wanted to think about it. Eliza had finally got her happily-ever-after. Even if it had been a long road to get there.
I glanced over to see Idia staring, almost forlornly, at the altar. He’d been so excited moments ago when his unsolicited wedding had been canceled that it was odd to see him quite so down now. Rook had said earlier that Idia usually exuded a lonely beauty but right now….
Right now he looked far lonelier than I’d ever seen him. Perhaps the botched wedding had more of an effect on him than he’d let on.
I drifted closer to him, cautiously getting closer while staying silent so I wouldn’t startle him. But my approach didn’t go unnoticed as he soon revealed by looking up at me, “What?”
His flat tone startled me. It didn’t tremble like it did when he was anxious nor was it the speedy talking that outed him when he got excited. Additionally, it was completely at odds with his previously flustered state. Gone was the Idia I knew. Replaced by someone who seemed distinctly apathetic to the point he’d never be embarrassed to the point of trying to shoo someone away.
I shifted slightly, setting the flowers on a nearby table before turning to look at him, “Are you okay?”
He scoffed slightly, causing me to raise my eyebrows, but he didn’t answer. He just looked away, back towards the pale wedding decorations. I frowned at his uncharacteristic behavior, “Idia, I thought you were going to head back to your room. Why are you still here?”
Instead of answering my question he responded with a dry sounding question of his own, “Aren’t people with strong beliefs scary?”
I waited for him to continue but he never did, so I responded with no small amount of confusion, “Are you saying you don’t have any strong beliefs?”
He let out something that sounded distinctly like a snort before he turned with a grin that I could best describe as villainous, “I can’t swear to something that doesn’t exist like eternal love.”
I stilled, not entirely sure what was going on but feeling like I’d stumbled across an unmarked landmine. He continued though, explaining his previous statement nonchalantly with a mocking grin, “Because I’m a sincere person.”
What did that even mean? Was he trying to imply that I, Eliza, or everyone in the school outside of him wasn’t sincere?
I leaned back, propping myself against the table as I puzzled about his words. They didn’t seem quite accurate. After all, I could think of one person whom I was pretty sure Idia would love for eternity.
“What about Ortho?” He froze at my question and I let it hang in the air, challenging him to deny it.
Seconds ticked past like the ticking of a bomb as he stared at me before at last responding, “What?”
“Don’t you love Ortho and think that you’ll continue to love him for eternity?” To my surprise he relaxed at my words and his smile returned.
This time it wasn’t as mocking of a grin, but rather halfway amused as he answered me, “That’s different though isn’t it?”
I straightened from my propped position and started to walk towards him determinedly, “How? It’s still love. You love Ortho and you will continue to love him, right?” He looked down at me, not backing away despite the fact I now stood directly in front of him.
In fact, he met my gaze unflinchingly, something that was also out of character for him. “That’s Storge. Familial love. She wasn’t talking about that kind of love.”
I frowned at his explanation, distantly recalling the Greek types of love. A different name for each different type of love. That was certainly one way to view it.
As for who the ‘she’ he was talking about was, well, I could only assume he meant Eliza. After all, she had been the one talking all but incessantly of love.
I tilted my head at him, “I don’t think eternal love was what Eliza was talking about either. She wanted something more like….” I fumbled briefly, fighting to recall the name to mind before I could continue, “More like Eros. A passionate, romantic love.”
He nodded, acquiescing to and confirming my statement with the simple motion. I frowned again, still confused by his odd behavior but not sure how to question it or him.
Because I understood to a degree. Eternal love was something that was hard to believe in. How could you ever love someone all of the time? Even if they were someone like Ace described…. Someone you could laugh and cry with while also relying on them. You still wouldn’t love them all of the time.
Would you?
There would surely be times where you would disagree, argue, and fight with one another. But you could love someone even in the midst of a disagreement. So what did Idia mean?
I looked back up at him, “Then what do you think does exist? Since you’re a sincere person, what kind of love do you think would exist in the marriage you would want?” He had the good graces to look taken aback by my question.
And it was an odd question for me to ask but I genuinely wanted to know his answer. After all, he was the one who brought this up.
“I would want…” He trailed off, looking down at me silently as if I somehow held the answer to the very question I’d asked him. After a brief moment he continued, seemingly finding an answer by holding eye contact with me, “Someone who I would always want near me... That I would want to be next to me.”
He tilted his head, amber colored eyes still holding mine in a way that made me feel vaguely captive, like I couldn’t look away. I suppose it was how a creature that was encased in amber felt. He continued, unconcerned or unknowing of the strange trapped feeling he caused, “Someone I would be willing to wait for. Someone who is real and not some person I made up in my dreams.”
He looked down, at last breaking eye contact and I let out a breath that I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. But then I heard him, his tone as solemn as ever, “I’d want to marry the love of my life.” I found myself looking back towards him, surprised at his honest-sounding words.
He shook his head slightly, “I can’t vow to love someone for eternity but…” He looked back up, eyes meeting mine once more but when he spoke his voice was softer, as was his gaze.
It didn’t feel as intense this time, I wasn’t being forced to maintain eye contact and I wasn’t captive. But there was something different in his expression now. Something I hadn’t ever seen before, “But I can vow to love someone for my entire life.”
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CORRUPTED!!
Wooo! gonna get this done with since these guys are super hard to explain. I do have some references so that'll help i think
Before i get into this, TW!!! Blood, gore, horror, uhhh body horror? creepy stuffs. it's sort of as bad as it sounds this time.
alrighty. So Corrupted are the result of a lab experiment that was meant to make trees produce more oxygen, but someone tampered with the trees and they began to grow faster and mass produce strange spores. the spores spread all throughout the area that the lab was at, and started to infect other trees as well. with basically a whole forest making these toxic spores, you can imagine the stuff spread like a weed. and the world's fate was sealed when it reached the first cemetery. immediately, the ground began to shift as corpses broke out of their coffins. their bodies became mutated and their bones cracked and were sealed back together with new corrupted flesh in horrid, backwards joints and uneven limbs. they instantly began attacking people, ripping their bodies to shreds and leaving only their hearts intact. it wasn't long before the new corpses were corrupted as well. people started hunkering down in bunkers and running to the military for protection. the whole world was in chaos within a few months. finally, some of the last few safe countries like japan, most of the UK, ect. began sending out supplies to some of the military bases that were established by all the different countries. although they didn't last long. most of the bases were walled off camps or underground bunkers. the bunkers lasted for a while, but the camps all had floodlights or some kind of illumination that the corrupted were attracted to because light. the longer the bases had outside lights, the more the corrupted tried to get into them. it didn't take too much time for those camps to fall. eventually, some of the last living world leaders managed to gather in one spot and discuss what to do. they decided on dividing the world into a bunch of different sectors. since most of the countries in the world had turned into corrupted playgrounds, it wasn't too hard to just establish new borders. there were no more countries. just different sectors. the sectors were all named after the largest or most prominent city or country that was still standing inside of them. examples being the New York sector, the Japanese Sector, the Tula Sector, ect. Ill get into the safe zones more later, but as for the corrupteds, have some pictures. all of these were drawn originally by me:D
i just drew these ones, so they are kinda lazy lol.
but these ones are older and, in my opinion, much better
these next ones are my first concept designs, so they suck. but imma include them anyway cause i dont have enough images of these guys or references -_-
tada!! i hope this makes enough sense to ya'll. if you have anymore questions, just ask cause i'll be very happy to answer :)
more info on the Au can be found here!
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The Bachelor tries to reveal a truth to the Changeling -- and gets turned upside down instead.
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Mind the Gap
(For day 1 of Whumptober )
She is fifteen and trying to make sure it's ok.
She's fifteen and nothing really matters but her brother's joy.
She is fifteen, which is like being fourteen only worse - because her friend is dead no longer there to talk to.
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I strongly dislike time travel
so I thought
what if an AU where Chat Blanc just... happened
no do-overs
just a post-apocalyptic Paris
and then I wrote a thing
The shattered moon shone weakly down on a broken Paris, casting its blackened bricks and sooty pavement into stark relief. Scummy water lay stagnant and still in the Seine, so dark its oily surface did not reflect the wavering starlight back at the sky. Filth and muck mired the sidewalks, garbage rotted in its rooted-through bins, and flakes of ash choked the low-hanging air. Charcoal husks of the calamity’s initial victims crumbled into dust, fresher bodies decomposed in the streets, and the hanging carcasses of angrily harpooned cats adorned the walls. The silence of the death-filled city was deafening, and every breath, every heartbeat, had the potential to betray a person’s location.
Chat Blanc prowled across rooftops, drying blood on his silver claws, white leather suit smudged with black and stained with crimson, and scanned the darkness with ice-blue eyes. Below him, a tall girl with long matted hair slipped quietly into a half-collapsed apartment building, a large drawstring bag of scavenged supplies on her back. Chat Blanc dropped from the roofs to the street-level, landing softly on all fours, sniffing the air. Even now, weeks after the disaster, beneath all the grime and the unwashed stink, the girl had a familiar scent, no matter how hard she tried to mask it from the akuma’s sharpened senses. Chat Blanc pricked up his ears at the sound of murmurs from within, voices he recognized from a former life.
He smiled, baring his needle-like fangs.
A mother, a sister, and a brother. A family of music lovers.
Tonight, the last name would be struck from the list of her classmates.
And then he would yowl at the sky, alone and supreme, king of a ruined world that fell, unasked for, at his feet.
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It's honestly crazy how many proana/ed tags there are on this site. I blocked a bunch of them back when I was recovering from an eating disorder and lookign back some of them are censored in absolutely insane ways. I kid you not my blocked tags list looks like a screenshot from the matrix
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The prodigal son returns
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8 - Adoption Isn't All It's Cracked Up to Be - Chapter 8
Words: 770
Ao3 Link
Previous - Next - Masterpost
Tw: death, guns, bombs, fire (?), let me know if I missed anything
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The whole world burned in a thousand shades of bright green fire.
The air was hot and carried the rancid smell of melted plastic and charred flesh. It hung heavy in the air, the slightest of breezes letting tattered lab coats flutter slightly, a clinical white flag of unconditional surrender.
It was loud, too. The fires crackled and popped and sizzled, building into a constant, unceasing roar that accompanied the shrill ringing that seemed to stretch on and on, a sordid reminder of the bomb that had gone off in a flash only moments before.
They were probably screaming, but she couldn’t hear them. Even if she had, she doubted she would be moved much by the final shrieks of those damned long before she ever even arrived. They had taken her brother from her. Again. This base hadn’t held him. None of the meticulously organized, glaring white bases that she had searched and razed had held him. She would keep going, though. She would destroy everything and everyone standing between her and Danny .
Even as she watched, a shriveled body, still blazing with a horrid green fire, stumbled disjointedly out of the wreckage. She traced the man’s (the monster’s) slow, unorganized path as he pitched and lurched all of, one, two, three steps before he fell. His body hit the ground hard, a bony and scorched hand stretched out before him in what, she didn’t know. A plea, perhaps? It wouldn’t be answered. She wouldn’t answer him.
In languid, loping steps that crunched over scattered glass, she smoothly crossed the distance between them, and with a swift stomp, she shoved his hand back down into the dirt.
The fire burned, and she stood there, gazing with cold, detached eyes over the wreckage. Slowly, slowly, the fire died down, shrinking into glowing green embers and leaving only air clogged with smoke and white ashes. She kept standing, and only when the world had finally faded into oblivion and quiet, burdened still by a layer of smog and desperation, did she move.
As she turned, black boots grating upon the littered ground, she saw a flitting shadow out of the corner of her eye, and within seconds had a large gun pointed at it. It was dark, though. Black. Not white, so she didn’t shoot quite yet. It remained in the shadows.
“Come out. Now,” she commanded, with a rigidness to her voice that spoke to the idea that she expected her orders to be followed. And they were. Confidently, the figure stepped forward, and now that it was in the light, albeit obscured by the remnants of flame, she could make out the form. Batman.
Keeping her gun expertly trained on his chest, she quickly drew another one and pointed it at Robin hiding against the other wall. He looked startled, like he wasn’t expecting to be seen, and to be fair many, if not most, would have missed him. Her eyes narrowed, and her chin jutted out, ever so slightly.
“And the rest. Come out or I’ll shoot,” she said, clipped and clinical, with a jab of the guns at both targets.
The rest filed out, begrudgingly, annoyed, from rafters and from windows. They wanted to attack, she knew, she could tell, she could feel the rage simmering underneath their masks and the protectiveness over their own. Good, she could use that.
Batman took a quick step forward, only to scrape to a halt when she readjusted her grip on the gun. He quickly regrouped.
“Who are you? Why have you done this?” he said, his voice a low growl, arrogant and hubristic, as if he was not standing amid a testament to her power. She holstered the gun trained on Robin.
“You don’t need to know any more than to call me Aconite. And as for why I’m doing this… well, I’m looking for something,” even behind her mask, the hatred and resentment were clearly heard as she spat out the next sentence, “Something that they took from me.”
She clenched her fist, and when she opened it, she got the satisfaction of watching several eyes widen behind dominos, as what was revealed was a quickly ticking bomb with garishly flashing numerals counting down the seconds until havoc was wreaked once more. In one smooth motion, she hefted it, lighting fires anew, and when the ringing had stopped and the Bats had all come out from the pillars and rubble behind which they had hidden, she was gone, leaving only a wake of destruction and decimation, and a single warning, behind her.
“Don’t get in my way.”
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Next - Masterpost
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Rogue Jazz is my favorite, and I'm not really sure if I did her justice, but hopefully it came across well. I was really trying to make her very cold and detached, just done and willing to do what it took to get her brother back. I also want yall to know that Aconite is a flower that can mean both a warning/caution and death, as well as courage and protection, which I thought was very fitting for Jazz in this. I also want you to know how I envision her costume, I would draw it but I cant draw (I tried drawing Jazz. It did NOT work).
I mostly think of a black outfit, to counter the white of the agents, with her hair free and a full mask. I also think that she has glowing purple accents, to go along with her name, and because I think it looks cool. Just imagine the most badass, coolest thing you can and you're there. If I'm being honest I was also imagining her demeanor to be a bit like Jinx from Arcane while she's fighting, just slightly (a lot) unhinged and willing to do whatever in order to protect Danny.
I also want to apologize for the lack of updates, my grandpa died so it's been kind of tough for me lately. The funeral is in a couple of days, so it might be a while again before another update, but yeah. Or maybe this will spur my writing. Who knows.
Anyway, I would appreciate any constructive criticism you have to offer, and I thank you for reading!
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Taglist: @tkiesai
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ooh dreambones sounds super cool and unique!
It does sounds cool, and I’ve used a bunny skull for my watermark, icon, signature and sort of symbol for a very long time now, even if that’s never been in my username.
These are my Patreon and itchio banners respectively, and I use the one on the bottom for game intros too as a splash screen (I think that’s what it’s called). I just gotta decide if I really wanna go through the whole process of changing it in social media and updating all the related art…
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