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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 1 year ago

Text

"Cut!" | "Encore!"

a second part of "Cut" where it's the Others helping Roman figure out what's real and what isn't? Like a look into what continued support for Roman would look like. Maybe some creativitwins moments? – oatmeal-stans-the-trash-rat

Read on Ao3 Part 1

Warnings: self-doubt, not being able to tell what's real

Pairings: none? platonic dlampr? romantic dlampr? literally who knows not me

Word Count: 4839

After finding out that Roman's been having such a rough time, the others rally around him for Act 2.

After learning that Roman had, apparently, invented one of the most sophisticated psychological torture methods Remus has ever seen without even consulting him, and using it on himself, Remus decides that no, Roman doesn’t get to pretend he’s okay for a little bit.

And if that means he has to politely bully Roman into taking care of himself, then that’s what he’s gonna do.

“Come on,” he coaxes, throwing Roman’s favorite red rain jacket at him, “let’s go pick some mushrooms.”

“Re, it’s fine, I don’t have to—“

“A-bup-bup!” Remus holds up a finger. “No protesting, or else I’ll sic Ollie on you and tell him you’re worried.”

Which would lead to the Kraken cuddling Roman for the next week or so. All in all, not a bad thing, but judging by how much the thought of it is making Roman cringe, a good enough threat to make him shrug on the jacket and pull on his boots.

Remus pushes the door to the Imagination open to reveal part of their shared forest, a mossy path twisting into the foggy depths of the trees. The door shuts and vanishes with a slight hum as they start to walk, the soft crunch-crunch of their footsteps accompanied by noises that might be echoes of their own movement, might not. Every so often a shadow will pass through the mist, some large and hulking, others too quick to name. Large moss-covered boulders periodically loom out of the shadows, marking their path.

Roman’s red coat dulls and grows more vibrant in equal measure, almost looking like a bloodstain in the midst of the dark green forest. He shifts to walk a little closer to Remus, their shoulders brushing. It makes the grotesque little spark in the base of Remus’s chest burn just a little brighter; Roman’s still that brave boy that needs to know his brother is right next to him after all.

Maybe it makes Remus reach out and take Roman’s hand. Maybe.

As they move deeper and deeper into the mist, a shadow covers their path, almost swallowing them. They turn as a hulking wolf melts from the mist, a soft growl greeting them as two puffs of air leave its nostrils. Roman smiles softly, reaching up with his free hand. The wolf rumbles again, leaning down to touch its nose delicately to his fingertips.

“He missed you,” Remus says quietly, “and all your fairytale shit.”

“I’ve missed him too.”

The wolf huffs, sounding almost like a laugh, as he nudges the both of them onwards. Up ahead, in between the trees, lies a small clearing. As they pass underneath the wooden ceiling, sets of mushrooms greet them with an almost unnaturally blue bioluminescence. These are the ones Remus uses to feed the baby implings, and Roman to make some of the more complicated healing stuff. The wolf sits on his haunches as Roman produces two baskets, handing one to Remus as he starts harvesting some of the larger mushrooms.

“Hey, Ro?”

“Yeah?”

Remus toys with a leaf between his fingernails. “Why’d you start doing that?”

There’s a rustle as Roman pauses, sitting back on his heels. A quick glance over shows that he’s fiddling with a small purple flower. Behind them, the wolf sighs, putting his head on his front paws.

“It was easier,” he says eventually, “than trying to figure out what to do in the moment. I could try it as many times as I wanted to figure out what was right.”

“But that’s not what we would do.”

He scoffs. “Yeah, it kind of was. Not you, necessarily, but the others? I had them down perfectly for a while.”

“…Ro…”

The wolf stretches his neck out to take the very edge of Roman’s hood delicately between his teeth. Roman lets him tug him to standing, then over to his side. Remus gets up too, coming to sit between the wolf’s paws as he scents Roman’s hair.

“You smell sad, apparently.”

Roman pats the wolf’s cheek. “It’s fine, really. I just pushed myself too hard.”

”You were torturing yourself.”

“That’s exaggerating it, Remus—“

“You were subjecting yourself to horrible experiences for no reason,” Remus says bluntly, “aside from being fucking stupid, that’s torturing yourself.”

The wolf snuffles in agreement, all but making Roman sit down in the cradle of its front legs. Roman goes and Remus has the oddly entertaining thought of Little Red Riding Hood where the wolf and the grandmother are one and the same.

”It just worked,” Roman says eventually, still holding the flower, “it worked, okay?”

“Until it didn’t.”

Roman sighs and the flower falls to the ground. “Until it didn’t.”

The wolf noses at Roman’s hair. There’s a quiet rumble as he makes himself comfortable, curling more closely around the two of them. Remus takes the hint and shuffles close enough to pull his brother into his arms.

“Don’t do it anymore,” he mumbles, “come here, or something?”

“…I’ll try.”

The wolf growls at the mists until they part, the grove of mushrooms glowing faintly in the heart of the forest.

***

Patton finds Roman curled up in the living room, nursing a cup of tea.

He’s been thinking a lot about what’s been going on recently, and at how much Roman had been bracing to get hurt every time something went wrong. With this in mind, he goes into the kitchen and takes out Roman’s favorite candy before walking over.

”Roman?”

Roman’s head jerks around. “Patton?”

Patton holds out the candy. Roman’s eyes widen for a moment and he sees his fingers twitch, before he looks back up.

“Is something wrong?”

A pang ripples through Patton’s chest but he forces himself not to wince. “No, kiddo, nothing’s wrong. I just thought you might want some candy.”

“O-oh.” Roman reaches out slowly, as if he’s waiting for the catch. When nothing comes, he takes it and tucks it safely into his lap. “Thanks.”

“Can I sit with you?”

“…sure.”

He half expects Janus to pop up. When he doesn’t, he takes a deep breath and sits on the other edge of the couch, looking at Roman out of the corner of his eye. Roman shifts a few times, clearly aware of his scrutiny, but he doesn’t say anything.

The clock ticks.

“Patton?”

“Yeah?”

“When…when we baked together last, what did we make?”

Patton frowns. “Last time…I believe the last time was chocolate chip cookies. For movie night.”

“Movie night, right.” Roman nods to himself a few times. “Thank you.”

“Would…would that be helpful?” He can’t help but push. “If I told you what else I remembered?”

“Not—maybe not right now, but if I need to ask you?”

“I can do that.”

They lapse into silence again. Patton tries not to stare too obviously at him. After a few long seconds, however, the words well up on the tip of his tongue and he can’t help it.

“Roman?”

“Yeah?”

“Can…I have a question for you.”

Roman shifts, turning to face him, the cup and candy balanced in his lap, almost out of sight. “What is it?”

“You seem…you seem like you’re afraid of me.”

Roman’s eyes widen. His mouth opens, probably to instinctively deny it, but he seems to remember that Janus can and will use that as an excuse to appear and smother him, so he closes it after a moment. Patton’s hands bunch and unbunch in the fabric of his pants. Roman looks away, his jaw working. His hand twitches on his cup again.

“It’s not that I’m scared of you,” he says finally, still not looking at him, “it’s…it’s more like I’m just…bracing.”

“For what?”

He winces again. “I’m—you know.”

“I don’t. Sorry,” he says when Roman flinches again, “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be short with you, I just want to know.”

“You’re always short,” Roman mumbles, sighing a moment later. “It just hurts sometimes when I’m talking to you and I don’t want it to hurt. But I know that’s not your fault and I’m not saying it is, I know that’s something I need to work on, I’m not blaming you—“

“Sweetheart, it’s okay,” Patton interrupts with a hand on his shoulder, “shh, it’s okay.”

Roman hesitates for a long moment before leaning into it. His chest flutters.

“I’m sorry it hurts,” he says instead, “is there…is there anything I can do to make it hurt less?”

”Not really. I just have to unlearn the whole…” He waves his hand in a way that’s probably supposed to indicate the Imagination. “That thing first. The, um, the reality checks are helpful though.”

“I’m glad.”

They go back to silence again, but Roman breaks it first this time. “Can—is that why you came down here?”

“Yeah. I wanted to talk to you.”

“How did you know I was here?”

Oh. Well, that’s an easy one. “It’s sunny outside and you finished your project yesterday. I knew you’d want to be down here to enjoy the warmth.”

Surprise and relief flicker across his face and a small smile forms. “You…really remember all that?”

“Roman, you’re one of my special little kiddos, of course I remember. Aww,” he coos when Roman’s face starts to turn pink, “you don’t have to be embarrassed, it’s okay!”

“Don’t do that, Padre.”

“Don’t do what?”

“No, no, no, that’s a trap, I know a trap when I see one. No, thank you.”

Patton giggles, shifting a little closer on the couch to lean against Roman’s side. The sunlight really does feel nice, not too hot, not too bright. His eyes drift closed, just enjoying the warmth of it.

After a moment, he hears the crinkle of candy wrappers and smiles.

***

Virgil finds Roman in his room, sitting on his bed and looking too sad, and decides nope, it’s cuddle time.

Roman barely puts up a fight, which means it’s really cuddle time if Princey can’t even muster up a half-hearted protest, and soon they’re wrapped up in blankets with just the top of their heads poking out. Virgil hauls him up until he’s tucked under his chin, running his hands up and down his back as Roman stares off into nothingness. Every so often, a tremor will run through him, and he has to soothe it away before that little friendly face comes back.

“Hey,” he mumbles when Roman starts to glare at his desk instead of just looking at it, “hey, hey, Princey. You stay with me, okay? Don’t chase the mean thought rabbits.”

Roman hums something back, rubbing his cheek absent-mindedly against Virgil’s chest.

“You wanna talk about it?”

As soon as it comes out of his mouth, he knows it’s the wrong thing to have said. Roman tenses up and almost pulls away, growing somehow bigger and smaller at the same time. Virgil has to warp his arms tightly around him a squeeze to even get him to relax.

“We don’t have to talk,” he says as quickly as possible, “that’s fine. We can just lie here. I’m not gonna leave, you’re okay, you’re okay, Princey, calm down.”

It takes way, way too long to get Roman back from whatever brink that question pushed him to, to the point where Virgil’s rolling them over so he can squish Roman into the mattress. Only then does he finally lose that wide-eyed thing, sagging into the plush mound of blankets and leaning into Virgil’s touch.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, Princey, it’s my fault for asking that in the first place.” He leans down to rest their foreheads against each other. “I won’t make you talk about it, I promise.”

“‘S stupid.”

“What’s stupid?”

Roman jerks his head. “That. That whole thing.”

“Why was it stupid?”

“You didn’t even do anything.”

Virgil sighs, shifting to prop himself up so they can talk properly. “As the Mindscape’s resident expert on freaking out about nothing—“

Roman snorts.

“—you’re fine, Princey. You…you’ve been having a bad time recently, so it’s all good.”

”..thanks.”

“Can I—and you can say no, you can tell me to fuck off, you have blanket permission to react however you want to this, not that you need it—can I ask why that question freaked you out?”

He braces himself for Roman to do anything from have a panic attack to hit him in the face—fair, honestly—but Roman just sighs, curling up in the lea of him. It’s…well, it’s kind of devastating.

“That’s the loneliest time.”

He frowns. “What’s the loneliest time?”

”Right before you tell someone what you did wrong.” Roman looks up at him. “Because they’re all concerned you’re upset, and then they hear why you’re upset, and then they don’t want to comfort you anymore.”

Maybe it’s because Princey’s unfairly good at describing things, or maybe it’s because Virgil’s paying attention to his emotional state right now, but he can feel the thing that Roman’s talking about. That cold swoop deep in his gut, the awful anticipation where you just know that they’re going to be mad or disappointed. The switch from having someone speak to you softly, that it’s alright, they’re here to help, it’s okay, to the cold as they pull away, as their voice hardens and their words grow sharper. How they’re going to tell you that you shouldn’t be upset, or that you deserve to feel bad, but you should focus on fixing your mistakes instead of letting you be hurt because you need to be.

Before he loses himself in the spiral of nasty brain feelings, he gives himself a small shake and hugs Roman tighter.

“You don’t need to be lonely right now,” he mumbles, “I’m right here. I’m right here, see? I’m not asking you what’s wrong, I’m not gonna be mad or disappointed, I don’t care. I care that you’re upset and you’re hurting and I want to help.”

Roman’s cold nose presses into the crook of his neck. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, Princey. If you gotta just sit with the hurt, I’ll sit with you.”

It takes a moment of shifting, but eventually Roman’s arms wind their way around Virigl’s waist and back. He squeezes. Virgil squeezes back. Some of the tension finally seems to bleed out of him, his eyes breaking from their stare to flutter closed.

“Oh, Princey,” he mumbles, half to himself, “you’re so tired.”

He makes sure the covers are pulled up around them and tucks Roman’s head against his. They’re probably not gonna be moving for a while.

***

Logan holds out a hand before Roman can pull out his usual notebook. “I thought we could try something a little different today.”

“Okay, what did you have in mind?”

Logan reaches into his binder and pulls out a thin sheaf of paper, annotated with red pen. “I’ve been looking at some of the comments recently, and I realized that I’m out of practice with performing close-readings of texts. So I thought that I could talk about my analysis of one of the works that you’ve done, and you could tell me how I did?”

Roman’s mouth falls open. He drops his pen. “You—you want to what?”

“I’ve fallen out of the habit of that sort of analysis, and I’d like to not lose it entirely, so—“

“Why mine?”

Logan blinks. “Well, aside from the fact that you are one of the only writers with whom I can directly communicate and receive feedback, you are adept at crafting well-written pieces that would serve as excellent examples on which to practice.”

“I—uh—um—“ Roman splutters for another moment. “I-if you want to?”

“Thank you. I’ve picked one of the shorter pieces from the collection you updated recently.”

”Oh. Uh, okay.”

”Would it be helpful for you to have a copy as well?” Roman nods and he passes over another copy. “That does have my notes on it if you’d like to read along.”

There’s a flicker of something in Roman’s expression as he takes in the sheer amount of red ink on the pages, but he steels himself and nods. “Okay. Whenever you’re ready.”

“Excellent. Well, to begin with, I have to commend you on the efficacy of your opening line. It sets up the themes without being overt and it foreshadows the turning point that comes about two-thirds of the way through.” He moves down the page. “And the symbolism you’ve chosen really is masterful—taking the connotations of such well-known motifs and turning them on their heads, really incredible.”

“Uh—“

“I do have to ask: did you intend for the reading to be done multiple times? It’s habit for me; I find I develop greater appreciation for the writer’s craft upon a second read-through, but this one in particular, with the amount of parallels you’ve drawn begin the beginning and the end, it really does seem like—“

“Cut.”

Logan pauses, glancing up. Roman is staring at him, wide-eyed, his knuckles white on the edge of the table. The poor thing looks like he’s about to run away and Logan can’t stop himself from reaching for him.

“Cut,” Roman repeats, leaning away, “cut, cut!”

“Roman,” Logan says gently, “Roman, it’s me. It’s really me, I’m real.”

“But—but you’re being nice.”

Oh, Roman…

“N-not that you aren’t ever nice to me! You are nice,” Roman babbles, “you are, I just—I just meant that we’ve never done something like this before, and—and I just—I didn’t know—“

“Shh, shh,” Logan murmurs, trying to get his attention back, “can you look at me?”

Roman looks. Slowly, telegraphing his movements, he reaches over and takes Roman’s hands in his.

“Squeeze,” he bids lightly, “I’m here.”

Roman squeezes, an embarrassed flush coming to his face. Before he can apologize, Logan squeezes again.

“It’s okay. That was my error; I should have anticipated that you might react poorly to such a deviation from the norm. I didn’t mean to upset you, truly.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s alright if it’s not.”

Roman swallows heavily. His gaze hasn’t left their hands. As Logan watches, his eyes start to grow damp.

“Oh, little one…”

“It’s fine,” Roman insists, freeing one of his hands to scrub roughly at his face, ”I’m just being dramatic.”

"You're dramatic a lot, I daresay we're used to it." His gentle tone undoes most of the bite in his words, but clearly not enough from the way the hand in his twitches. "You're real, I'm real, we're here at this table, that's all real."

There's a tremble to Roman's lower lip as he tries to take a deep breath and steady himself. Logan opens his hand again, waiting, until Roman slowly places it back in his. After another moment, he looks back up. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize, it's not your fault."

"Isn't it?"

"No," Logan says, firmer this time, "you are upset and rightfully so. You don't have to apologize for something upsetting you when you have no control over what will and will not trigger you."

"…okay."

"Are you alright to keep going? We can always stop if you'd rather do something else. I hear Remus has been working on his side of the castle, we could go walk around there instead."

"Is that okay?"

"Of course," he says, smoothly packing everything away, only for Roman to hold onto his copy of his story.

"Can I…keep this?" he asks, almost shyly. Logan smiles, ruffling his hair.

"Of course, little one. I'll be happy to talk about it whenever you like."

***

Janus opens the door, softening when he sees Roman standing there. "Hello, sweetie, what can I do for you?"

"I'm making a bad choice and I want you to know about it."

He blinks. Right to the point, then. "Do you want to come in?"

Roman nods sharply, stepping inside as Janus shuts the door carefully behind them. He doesn't move any further inside, lingering by the door, until Janus prompts him again. "I'm trying not to…do that thing again."

"That's good, I'm proud of you for that."

A quiet flinch. "In order to do that, I'm…writing it. Instead. Not it directly, but something—a vent thing to help deal with it."

"Alright, I think I understand."

"In order to do that, I have to…sit with it."

Janus frowns. "'It?'"

"The…bad stuff."

Ah. "I see. Are there other alternatives for—"

"I'm not here to help stop it," Roman interrupts, even as he braces for what he thinks will be a consequence for talking over him, "I'm here because—"

He cuts himself.

Something terribly sad strikes Janus then, as he looks at the little prince trying to summon his courage again: when was the last time they saw Roman chase what he wanted? Without fear, with reckless abandon, with the passion that they all came to associate with him?

Had it been before the wedding?

Before the callback?

When had Roman gotten to want?

"I'm writing to get it out of me," comes the mumble and Janus shakes himself out of his musing, "and when…when it's out of me…"

Oh.

"Come here when you're finished," Janus promises softly, "I'll look after you. We've been talking about doing makeup for a while now, I've got some stuff we can try."

Roman nods. His mouth twitches. And Janus can't help himself; he walks closer, reaching out to take Roman's hand in his. His gloves brush the familiar calluses, worn smooth from years and years of training, and he fits his fingers to the ones that feel the coldest. Roman's breath catches in his throat as he does, instinctively turning a little more.

"We can watch something too," he continues, still as though he's luring some skittish animal, "or just cuddle, if you want. I've missed one of my space heaters recently, you know Remus is much too squirmy."

Roman chokes out a laugh that's almost a sob. Janus squeezes his hand, daring to pull him closer. He wraps his other arm around Roman's shoulders, a sympathetic noise leaving him at the way Roman screws his eyes shut.

"We could go to the greenhouse too," he offers, and he sees Roman physically hold himself back from reaching out, "just sit there? The flowers are just starting to bloom, the cat that's found its way in there would be happy to have some cuddles."

"Stop," Roman croaks out, "I have to…I have to do it first."

"You don't have to be hurt to deserve comfort, sweetie."

"I think we both know that's not true."

Janus doesn't get a chance to address how devastating that sentence was before Roman's pulling away from his hold, mumbling a thanks, and walking into the hallway like a knight to a doomed battle. Janus watches him go for another second before he turns to the mirror over his dresser. He runs his finger carefully along the edge. Some of the gold flakes off onto his thumb and he turns it this way and that. Few of the bits retain any luster at all, let alone their original sheen.

Not for the first time, he feels a pang of regret for how he handled…everything. Especially with Roman. Remus accused him of using Roman's face as a launchpad to get himself in better standings with Thomas, and he didn't need to be Lord of the Lies to know that Remus was being as honest as they come. How much of Roman's disbelief of things was due to him? How badly did he shatter Roman's perception of reality that he felt the need to worsen it on his own? How could he have done things differently, what could he have done to avoid whatever this tenuous existence is they find themselves in now?

He gives himself a shake, dislodging the golden specks. There's no use dwelling on what's already been done. Roman has come to him to ask for help. That's more than he ever could have hoped for after all the two of them have been through. It's not up to him to determine what he could have done then, he has to focus on what he has to do now.

***

+1.

It's done.

It's done and it's out of him and he never has to think about any of it ever again and he closes his laptop and stuffs his phone into his pocket and stumbles out of his room in an oversized t-shirt and sweatpants and he doesn't have to deal with the awful thoughts ricocheting around his head anymore and he's not going to the Imagination, he's not, he's not, he's not—

He almost doesn't realize he's made it to Janus's door until he's staring at it dumbly. He sees a hand lift up to knock on it—oh, that's his hand, he's knocking—and then the door's opening and there's Janus.

"Oh, sweetie," he hears faintly, "are you all done?

He nods and then he's being ushered into the soft dark room and there are gloved hands on his shoulders, guiding him gently over to the big overstuffed chair thing and Janus is tilting his chin up.

"Hey," he murmurs, and Roman blinks, "hi, sweetie. You look like you're in quite desperate need of a cuddle, is that true?"

He nods again, reaching up, only to let out a bewildered noise when Janus fully picks him up and carries him over to a bed of—oh, this must be where Janus keeps his heat lamp because all the pillows and blankets are soft and warm and it's like being put in the dryer in the best way possible. Janus chuckles when he mumbles something to that effect, lying down and wrapping all of his arms around him.

"Is that right, little prince? Are we putting you in the dryer so you can come out all clean?" He wipes a tear with his thumb, giving him a gentle squeeze. "Or are you going to be like Remus and fall asleep in the freshly clean laundry before I put it all away?"

"I heard lies and slander," Remus announces, appearing out of nowhere, only to coo at the sight of Roman reaching out for him. "Oh, hey, Roro, is it cuddle time?"

"Mhm."

"Remus," he hears Janus say, a little firmer, "I seem to recall a conversation about asking before we do things."

"I summoned him," Roman mumbles, "on accident, but he—I—"

"That's alright, then." Janus says, relaxing back into the pillows and scratching his fingers across Roman's scalp, "just wanted to make sure you were alright with it."

"Roro knows I'm the best at squishing people back into their meat sacks." There's a weight that he knows is Remus pressing carefully on his chest and legs, making him mumble sleepily. "You wanna take a nap?"

"…mm."

"You can fall asleep," Janus says softly, moving to lightly scratch his back, "I don't mind. You look like you could use it."

"That's rude, Janny, you saying he looks tired?"

"I'm saying that he's not been able to open his eyes since I picked him up."

Oh. That's true. Janus didn't turn the lights off, his eyes are just closed. But opening them sounds like work and everything is so soft and warm right now…

Wait.

Trying not to alert the others that he's awake, or that he's waking himself up, he rouses just enough to whisper cut.

Nothing happens. They don't fade, it doesn't get cold, nothing—nothing changes.

Then Janus lets out a quiet oh, sweetie, and Remus wraps his arms around his legs.

"We're real," Remus promises, "we're real and we're right here. Snakey has you, you're all good, we're all real."

"I'm right here," Janus murmurs, kissing his forehead—he wouldn't dare imagine that— "you're here with me, we're just having a nap, alright?"

"Will you be here when I wake up?"

"Of course, sweetie."

"Right here, Roro. We're not going anywhere."

There is such a strange feeling, Roman decides, about actually having the thing you dream about. You don't want to touch it, you don't want to ruin it by bringing into the reality you know. What if it decides it doesn't like it? What if it decides it doesn't like you? What do you do with a dream that wants nothing to do with you? Or worse, what if you do finally get your hands on it only to reveal that it was never worth dreaming about in the first place?

A hand gently tugs on his hair.

"You're thinking too much, sweetie." Lips brush his forehead. "Just close your eyes and rest. Let us take care of you."

"This is real," he can't help but mumble as Janus reaches out to turn off the lamp, "right?"

"Yes, sweetie, this is real."

From near the base of his ribs, he feels Remus nuzzle him. "Real as can be, Ro-bro. Now make with the shushy."

Roman dozes off in the warm pile of pillows and all he can think is encore.

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hollowtones · 1 year ago

Note

do u have any thoughts about varlamore at this point in time?

Haven't done any of it yet. Opinions probably will change when I play any of it. LOL

So much of the new content seems like it feeds into Prayer XP in some way or another which has me very excited as someone that mostly enjoys playing an ironman.

Multiple friends have told me the Mining thing feels good and rewarded so I'm basically always winning forever for being a Mining enjoyer.

The birds are cute.

Hunter rumours seem like a fun system but it feels a little wack that the drop to finish one is (seemingly?) just an RNG thing with no indication that it's coming any time soon. (I say seemingly because the way it works & the way they've described hotfixes to it & the way I've seen others talk about the experience makes it sound like it's maybe a set task like Slayer that obfuscates the number for flavour reasons? At that point I'm just speculating though. Not sure if real just posting.) I feel like the skill needed a bounty system like this & more goodies (the ones they added in this update seem cool but well outside my level range any time soon LOL) to justify / encourage it outside of implings and birdhouses.

There's apparently a little quest that's just "a cute thing you can do" rather than some big account progression unlocking thing and everyone seems to love it. I like when they just add little quests like that. More please.

I'm sad that there's no one in the stands watching you when you fight in the coliseum! I seen them talk about why that is, and I get it, but I'm still sad.

The quiver looks so dinky.

Breaking & entering into a rich person's house to steal their shit is really funny. It could give dogshit for XP and money and I'd still do it a bit because that's cute.

The new dwarf area looks cool. Giving beards to the women dwarves is fun. Some of the big statues have really goofy looking mouths. Big fan.

I don't think the toucans are pets and I'm sad about it. LOL

Brady told me it's the poop update.

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tisiphonewolfe · 2 years ago

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Naenia, Through Murder: WIP Intro

Original Fiction - Standalone Novella

Pitch: A homicide detective on the trail of a serial killer doesn’t realise that her girlfriend is the grim reaper, who has a mystery of her own to solve.

Genre: Urban/Paranormal Fantasy

Word Count: 46k

Staus: First Draft Complete

Naenia, the Death responsible for murder victims, is summoned to escort homicide detective Carina Choudhry at the hour of her passing, and is shocked when Carina fails to die. She is even more shocked to find that Carina can see her, thinks that she’s human, and wants to go on a date with her. Carina was supposed to die from a stab wound while investigating a serial killer. When a witness abruptly passes away with no apparent cause of death, Naenia realises that the killer is being assisted by one of her colleagues. She must conceal Carina’s botched death from the other reapers and track down the killer’s accomplice, all while trying to navigate a romance with a living human.

Features

🪦 Supernatural murder-mystery

🪦 Cute dates

🪦 Nine major personifications of Death

🪦 Dramatic hidden identity romance

🪦 A car chase with a skeleton

🪦 Espionage, investigations, and interrogations

🪦 That damnable bird!

Content Warnings (CW): Body horror, gore, death, violence.

Character Intros

Watch this space . . .

Setting

In 'Naenia, Through Murder' the power of human imagination has, over the millenia, brought beings such as the Deaths into existence. They escort the spirits of the dead through the halls of bone and flesh and into the ashen forest. The Deaths reside in a spire of bone which looms into the perpetual moonlit night of the world beyond.

The living world is much like our own, but a bit to the left. The city looks like Victorian London, the fashion comes from Columbo, and technology is all mechanical. The country is ruled by the Lord Minister and his parliament.

Taglist (DM to be added or removed): No-one yet . . .

Prologue below the cut

Naenia stalked the halls of bone and flesh, the twisted veins that pulsed below the ashen forest, seeking her next passenger.

She always stalked; for there was no need to sprint, and to sidle lacked gravitas. The halls would deliver her precisely where and when she was called. The rest was merely professional image - the passengers expected her to be a huntress, and so she was.

The endless ticking in the corridors was too loud today; she laid her hand upon the wall, resting it upon a displaced ulnar between undulating, fleshy membranes, and listened.

Ca-clang! Ca-clang!

The distorted and wavering knell seemed close; she felt it shudder below her ghostly-pale fingertips, her skin - or approximation thereof - so tissue-paper thin that one could see every green vein below it. She traced her fingers along the wall, following the ringing bell through the gloom by touch towards her archway.

Three twists, a fork, and a bend later, the ringing now hit her ears with force; at the tapering end of this hall, tucked between a bellowing pair of lungs, stood a tall, obsidian clock.

Its pendulum hung still; the pointing finger-bones of the clock’s hands jerked in their effort to tick forward. Naenia tapped a knuckle against the glass covering the clock-face to see if it might spring back into movement - the hands twitched miserably.

Atop the clock was a raven, tugging on a ragged rope of twined intestine with its beak. As Naenia withdrew her hand, it let go of the rope and hopped onto her wrist; the great bell’s ringing ceased. The raven croaked at her expectantly, and she brushed the crown of its head with her thumb. “Good work,” she muttered. The bird ruffled its feathers indignantly, then flew away - clearly Aurelia had been feeding it, despite having been told a thousand times not to.

She called to her scythe, and it appeared, singing in her hand. Others among the nine deaths had made their weapons elegant, ominous, elaborate - Naenia found this extravagant. Passengers expected to see a simple farming implement; a lengthy wooden snath to hold it by, and a gleaming steel blade. There was no need to trouble the dead with unexpected golden spikes, silver inlay, or an onyx-black blade that curved nearly three-quarters around the head. She thought of Aurelia again and snorted.

Hefting the scythe, she examined the pulsating crevice that terminated the hallway - finding the appropriate angle, she stepped smartly into a slice that sheared the skin apart. It curled and withered away, letting in the muted orange glow of streetlamps and permitting her to step through into the living world.

Pattering rain soaked her permanently-damp hair. She brushed aside a dark lock, and tucked it behind her ear, and looked around for her passenger.

She had arrived in a gloomy city backstreet. Industrial, red-brick buildings stained with soot loomed into the smog over the narrow sett-paved road, broken drainpipes pouring their deluge into the gutters. Flowers wilted in hanging-baskets; shutters were boarded over; no lights flickered at the cracked windows. The hem of Naenia’s midnight gown had already grown heavy as she stepped barefoot into the stream, through which the unmistakable trickle of blood was flowing.

She approached the sodden, balled-up figure that lay in the middle of the road, curious to see which unfortunate human had met their end this night. It was a woman - neat, straight-cut dark hair, brown skin, and runner’s muscles, wearing a heavy woollen coat. Below it, she was dressed smartly. Her shirt was adorned with a golden pin and she clutched a snub-nosed revolver to her chest - a chest that bore a deep, gaping wound, from which her heart’s blood spattering into the street. Like many of Naenia’s passengers, her wide, kind face was not set peacefully; it was scrunched up in an expression of agony and despair. Naenia stood beside her, respectfully waiting for the spirit to rise from the body, readying her scythe for the moment she would cut the cord connecting the two - that’s when she heard the moan.

This woman was still alive.

Naenia was not quite sure what to do with this fact. The clock had stopped - she had made certain of that. The woman’s time was over. She could see the spirit breaking free - glassy reflections of the woman’s limbs rose from her prone form, flailing their way out of her stilled body. “It is alright,” she assured the spirit. “Please be calm. It is over now.”

“No,” the spirit said weakly. “I need to catch him. I need to-“

“Shh, shh.” Naenia gripped the woman’s shoulder, gently lifting her from her prison.

“I won’t go!”

The woman’s spirit floated a little above her body, flailing at the air, swimming through the ether - Naenia readied her practised stance, preparing to cut the thread with a swift swing of her scythe - but the spirit struggled still. It looked at her with wide, baleful eyes. Naenia clicked her tongue. Rarely did she have one so difficult as this - she would not be pleased if she found herself battling a phantom tonight.

She had an angle - it was narrow, but she was more than confident that she could cut the cord without harming the spirit. She set her scythe carefully - then watched in wonderment as the spirit began to claw its way back into its body.

“No, no, no, no, no,” the spirit gasped out. “I have to tell them - I have to. We have to get him.”

With a sharp breath and a gurgling cough, the woman’s body convulsed and turned over. Stunned, Naenia watched the woman claw at the wound on her chest, pressing against it with a balled-up fist. “Get help!” the woman pleaded with her hoarsely.

Naenia had existed since the first person thought to bash in another’s head with a rock; as a thought, then a dream, then a god - and now, as a reaper, as Death through Murder. She had never been called to escort anyone who was fated yet to live. She gripped the woman’s hand - the woman stared at her as though she could see her, even though Naenia knew this to be impossible. “It is okay. It will be okay. I will help you.”

#Writeblr #WIP Intro #Naenia through murder #Writing #writblr #writers on tumblr #writing on tumblr #writing community #writers of tumblr

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feathersketchcreations · 2 years ago

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I realized I have NEVER ever done an art of Remi, and Blitz meeting Tiziri it's... honestly a scenario that could of ended violently. basically Remi and Blitz are on edge because that SAME night before nightfall they were escaping to the living world to safety on a deserted island. only to be faced with the cherub cleetus, who, in revenge, uses an exterminator spear to kill one of their implings Squiple. (The one in remi's arms)

she was only reserected because collin (who my bf and I headcanon wouldnt do things for revenge. we feel like he'd do what charlie is doing for the happy hotel. we feel like collin would try to do good deeds further to be welcome back in heaven.) so he uses what little cherub magic he has to heal Squiples body, and remi and blitz have to feed her a reserection potion they bought from Remis friend harlow.

Squiple was brought back, but at a cost of her healthy youth. she is weakened due to her soul at a constant state of rejecting her physical body which is still tainted by the essence of the holy wound she once had before being healed. this causes her to wheeze, and have SEVERE horrid chest pains that could lead to death potentially if her breathing isn't controlled.

Remi and blitz are up alot at night to help guide Squiple with deep breaths. it's kinda precious but also sad. ;;

Gotta love the angst lol

But anyway. yea.

because of what happened with squiple, that same night when they meet Tiziri, they are on edge RIGHTFULLY so. only to find out tiziri is a gentle loner. she tries to keep to herself

Only for blitz and Remi to find her species to be kinda fascinating, especially since she litterally glows so damn bright she can light up her own path and see where shes going. (shes a moonlight imp which they've never seen at this point up until now. moonlight imps have bioluminescent markings and patterns that glow. so do their horns. but their horns have a more concentrated bioluminescence that makes them glow BRIGHT.)

Sooo yyyea after it was basically safe to go back to hell, they pester tiziri to let them stay at her place in the sloth ring to hide out, but tiziri doesnt allow this CLEARLY lol

ooonly for blitz and remi to stalk, and sneakily follow her to her place in the sloth ring (kinda like what blitz litterally does in the show to M&M lmaoo) aaand yea. Tiziri basically gets stuck with them.

Only for tizzy to start getting a crush on Remi.. to which blitz opens up to the idea of a poly relationship with the three. y e e t.

Art (c) mine all ocs in this art (c) mine Moonlight imps (c) me and Regan Noble Blitz and Helluva boss (c) vivz

#helluva boss #helluva boss oc #helluva boss art #youtube #helluva boss blitz #helluva boss blitz x oc

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z-arcane · 1 year ago

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Rambly FYP post very stream-of-conciousness:

So, final year project update. Reframing the project as developing a selective beamforming scheme, based on prior works like OABF (on-off adaptive beamforming). There's some good literature that I need to chew through, so hopefully i can get my attention to stay on it long enough.

Current state is: I have a working adaptive beamformer, using particle swarm optimisation to change antenna element complex weights to form the far-field array factor that I want (treating elements as isotropic transmitters). It's convergence is a little funny, I need to verify that the particles are behaving in the way I want.

Next step is the introduction of the element selection (into groups of tiles). Elements with similar complex weights are grouped together. In a real antenna, these element groups are driven by the same RF chain (analogue phase shifers, feeding into individual RF amplifiers). This technique, while not producing optimal results, should (hopefully) produce adequate adaptive beamforming, with a reduced number of RF chains. The benefit of this is reduction of cost and complexity of the overall system.

Generally, I'm seeing some decent results and getting well into a good implementation. My next task is to define some figures of merit I can use to compare my technique to prior art (various LMS impls., MVDR, OABF, etc.) I've got some technical limitations, writing the simulator myself, so there's some interesting challenges here.

Antennas are cool and all but I still wanna do fusion instead. gaugh.

#words words words

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burning-fcols · 1 year ago

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“Where the fuck did you find a baby?” (crimson for Lucille) - ✧ ˖ ˙ 「 @ʜᴇʟʟᴜᴠᴀxʜᴀᴢʙɪɴ 」 ˙ ˖ ✧

「 ☆ 」 Having hurried home as quickly as she could— the men tasked with protecting her ordered to leave and procure necessary supplies instead; finally relenting after much argument over how SHE was their main priority —Lucille had allowed herself a moment to catch her breath once she passed the front door. With plenty more to do before she could properly rest, she had been going through a list in her mind. She'd need to bathe the poor dear, get him into some clean clothes and a fresh diaper ( hopefully the men will be quick ) , feed and lull him to sleep... The malnourished baby in her arms looks as though he hasn't eaten or rested in far too long.

Sighing as she prepares to get to work, Lucille blinks with surprise at her husband's voice interrupting her thoughts. Unaware that he was back from business already, she supposes that it's best he learn about the... unexpected arrival now rather than later. ❝ Oh. Well, I was goin' fer a walk— th' weathers been lovely an' you were busy wit' work —when I heard cryin'... So I followed it t' see what all th' fuss was about. ❞ Walking to Crimson as she explains, Lucille gingerly rocks the baby Imp in her hold to try and keep it calm. ❝ An' I found this li'l darlin'... ❞

Looking down at the Impling, she lets it grab onto her finger. Brows furrowed with pity at the poor creature, big glossy eyes refocus on Crimson, ❝ It was awful. Someone had jus' left th' poor dear. All alone in a dumpster, left fer dead... Who would do that to a baby? He's so little an' helpless... ❞ Blinking back tears, she can't stop them from sliding down her freckled face as she weakly asks. ❝ We can keep him, right? ❞ 「 ☆ 」

#(( congrats Crimson; you have another son now djkfngjdfkg ))#burning-fcols #⭒ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ꜰᴇᴇʟ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴇᴀʀ; ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴡᴀʟʟᴏᴡ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴇᴀʀꜱ ❞ ¦ 「 Lucille IC 」#⭒ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴀ ʟɪᴏɴ ꜰᴏʀ ᴀ ᴅᴀʏ; ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴀ ꜱʜᴇᴇᴘ ᴀʟʟ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʟɪꜰᴇ ❞ ◌ ᴍᴀɪɴ ¦ 「 Lucille 」#helluvaxhazbin #⭒ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ɪꜰ ɪᴛ ᴀɪɴ’ᴛ ʙʀᴏᴋᴇɴ; ʏᴏᴜ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋ ɪᴛ ❞ ¦ 「 Crimson 」#♡ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ɢʀᴇᴇᴅʏ ꜰᴏʀ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ❞ ¦ 「 Lucille and Crimson 」#⭒ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ꜱᴏ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪꜰ ɪ ᴍɪꜱʙᴇʜᴀᴠᴇ? ɪᴛ’ꜱ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏʙᴏᴅʏ ᴄʀᴀᴠᴇꜱ ❞ ¦ 「 Answer 」#⭒ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ꜱᴏᴍᴇʙᴏᴅʏ ɢᴏɴᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴡᴀɪᴛ ᴛᴏᴏ ʟᴏɴɢ— ❞ ¦ 「 Queue 」

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libidomechanica · 1 year ago

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“Amid peace, what the atone, see the that fire,”

Just days god hers, deeperse and with thing set thou get he mountain I thy prospectar the built that sleep, and brilling? And your hand own, the same sun; but moan. Amid peace, what the atone, see the that fire, and her can imple greath, let he sink, the words of the can my Love the feed. We did my tenaunce. It wilt lives are no makes spoke one! Sweet’ I her wean’d, let grew near agon. You has beauty say suppose moned in thority. Sick the perils, wait to one winted. Till ended with men sighed half though great were, the captiuing lost, which cheeks had a women boy, when wolves ther Thespial. This confess these art, to knew, and we all this partyr of Virgin;— the pitch’d morning too slowly consumes.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 4 #179 texts #Meredith sonnet

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nixie-writes · 2 years ago

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Nixie x Striker - Son of a Gun

Another song fic. This is only four pages but I'll put a cut to keep this short. Consider this some of Nixie's backstory.

There was a time she would lie in the grass and imagine the places she’d never go,

And there all alone she would pleasure herself with the thoughts of a man she’d never know.

Nixie lay in a patch of tumbleweeds, sighing in content. She was finally done helping around the farm for the day and could daydream her heart away. The barn she slept in was cozy and dim, with a slant of moonlight shining through the doors. Surrounding her were bales of hay and bags of feed for the horses. The barn smelled of musty grass but it was home to her.

Nixie threw her arms over her head and hummed softly. Closing her eye she thought of the rings she’d traveled. Sloth was beautiful but too busy. Greed was a rather criminal ring. Lust was just not up her alley with all the succubi, incubi and imps roaming around. Gluttony was broken, always taking more than it could handle. Envy made her feel insecure about herself and she shied away from that ring. Pride was a wonderful ring full of culture and many types of sinners, but she could never shake the idea of visiting Wrath.

Ah yes, Wrath ring. Nixie had heard stories of the imps and other demons that inhabited the Wrath ring. So much variety, so many opportunities to make a living. What captured her interest the most, however, was the demons themselves. She could only dream of riding a horse with a cowboy, her arms around his waist for support. Shifting comfortably in her makeshift bed she opened her eye again, staring at the ceiling of the barn.

Lying there she made a promise that one day she’d run,

And find just the man she was looking for.

As much as Nixie loved the Pride ring and everything it had to offer, she couldn’t stop the tug towards Wrath. Even with all her shifting she couldn’t get comfortable enough to sleep. The night toiled on until morning and Nixie had spent the night awake, thinking of her dream to live in Wrath. While she appreciated the help the imps she lived with gave to her, she felt it was her time to leave. With only the clothes on her back she bid farewell to the elderly imp couple and wished them the best of luck. She was out to reach Wrath. She’d find her cowboy somehow.

Upon reaching the elevators for different rings she boarded the elevator for Wrath. This was her first adventure on her own. Her mother had sheltered her since she was a baby and now she was on her first solo mission. Excitement bubbled in her stomach. Glancing around the elevator she wasn’t surprised to see some rough looking imps on board with her. Many wore hats, sombreros and ponchos. The culture in the elevator alone was incredible to Nixie. Shuffling around in the elevator she bumped into a figure behind her. Turning to make eye contact and apologize for her rudeness Nixie was met with a tall imp who was definitely born in Wrath, golden tooth and snake eyes.

“Oh, my apologies!” Nixie squeaked, sounding more like an impling than a fully grown water nymph. The taller imp just chuckled. “You have a mighty fine way of meetin’ demons. What’s your name doll?” He held out a clawed hand and Nixie took it out of politeness. “N-Nixie, sir. And you are…?” She prompted. The imp chuckled. “Oh how rude of me! I forgot to introduce myself. Name’s Striker, I’m sure you’ve heard of it.” Nixie shook her head no. Striker quirked an eyebrow. “No, really? Well ya do now!”

The elevator to Wrath opened and Striker, still holding Nixie’s hand, guided her out into the desert terrain. Nixie gave a loud gasp of happiness. “I’m finally here!” She squealed loudly. Striker chuckled. “Ya like what ya see? Not much to see really.” The Wrath imp admitted. Nixie was taking in her surroundings. “This place is beautiful. So barren, in need of life! It’s better than I ever dreamed of! Thank you,” Nixie bowed respectfully.

Well, she was in love with that son of a gun but he was not the man that she took him for.

Striker patted her between her tall ears. “You’ll get to like it here. Let me give you a tour.” Striker offered. Nixie nodded her head in agreement. “Yes, please!”

Striker, with Nixie’s hand in his, guided her through Wrath. From the boring heat of the fiery sun to the baked sand underfoot to the scattered farms. “Why don’t I take you to the farm I help out at? They could surely use a pretty young lady to help with the cattle.” Nixie smiled, her magenta eye shining brightly. “That sounds wonderful!” Striker smiled, his gold tooth glinting in the light, and dragged her along to Joe’s farm. Nixie felt butterflies in her stomach walking beside Striker. He was everything she’d dreamed of: tall cowboy with a Wrath drawl. Her heart skipped a beat and her stomach twisted into knots.

Oh it wasn’t long before he pulled her in and he asked her to come run away with him.

He saw a pretty young girl who was ready to run,

And he saw just the chance he’d been looking for.

Well, she fell in love with that son of a gun but he was not the man that she took him for.

It was a week after meeting Striker and agreeing to work at Joe’s farm. Nixie had a fun time supplying food to the cattle and riding the horses. She was in a dream state. Everything seemed perfect. In fact, Joe’s daughter and the rest of her work crew were going to be visiting the farm for the Harvest Moon Festival. Nixie was excited to meet the famous Mildred.

But when they arrived Striker was quick to compliment Mildred - no, Millie - and Nixie felt something she’d never felt before. She had an instant sense of tensity between herself and Millie, as though they were about to fight over a piece of meat. “Oh yeah, you remember my husband Moxxie,” Millie sang, shoving her husband to Joe and his wife. Nixie released a breath she didn’t know she was holding. What if Striker liked her? It didn’t matter, did it? They weren’t together. Yet still, that nagging feeling. She only felt it when she was in Envy. Was she…Jealous? Of course not. They were just friends, right?

After Striker was done introducing himself to Millie’s co-workers Nixie pulled him to the side. “Striker, what was that?!” Nixie demanded in a hushed voice. “It’s like you like her!” She hissed with venom in her words. Striker only chuckled. “Darlin’, the only woman I’d run away from this dump with is you,” he assured her. Nixie felt her face flush a dark blue. Striker patted her shoulder and left their hiding spot to wrastle a beast for dinner. Nixie could only watch in awe as Striker knocked Moxxie off the beast and took its life with precision and ease. He said something inaudible to her and carried the beast inside. Ditching her hiding spot she followed the Hellhound and imp inside, leaving Millie to tend with her husband.

After carving the beast for dinner it was brought to Nixie’s attention that Stolas of the Ars Goetia was visiting to reveal the true harvest moon. While she was interested in seeing this feat, she was more interested in what Striker was doing. Slithering up the stairs of the house she came in front of a door closed ajar. Peering inside she saw Striker brandishing a gun with holy trails on it. Did it have holy bullets? What did he intend to use that for? It wasn’t her business so she slid back down the stairs to the festival.

While gazing in awe at the true harvest moon Stolas summoned, Nixie felt a hand grab hers. “We’ve gotta get the fuck outta Dodge,” Striker informed her and pulled her with him out of the crowd, running to a horse on standby. He heeled Nixie up first then took his seat in front of her and took off, bullets flying past them as they fled.

They headed out west riding into the sun and he promised her she was the only one,

Well he was a thief and he’d steal just for fun,

He’d go cruising around with his little gun.

Nixie took tight hold of Striker’s waist and buried her face in his shoulder as he rode out of the festival. She had no words. She knew he was in deep shit. Was she somehow involved in this? She wished no ill will on the Goetia family. In fact Stolas had a daughter who hadn’t reached maturity yet. She had so many questions but none of them came out of her mouth.

The two rode on until they came upon a dingy motel. Using what money he had Striker booked a room for the night that he and Nixie shared. Immediately upon entering the room Striker laid himself out on the bed and grabbed the phone, dialing a number. Nixie was too numb from all the turmoil to hear everything, but she picked up that Striker was set to assassinate Stolas and he failed and dragged Nixie with him to run away. She shrank away from the imp, sliding down on the door with her ears in her hands. After the phone call Striker moved to sit beside her. “Now, don’t let that upset you. This is the life we picked, remember?” Nixie could only nod her head in fear.

“Don’t worry doll, I won’t let anyone hurt you. You’re my one and only,” he coaxed. Nixie took a deep breath and let it out. “Yes, I chose this,” she decided. She loved him too much to turn her back on him now. Striker gently pulled her off the floor and let her to the bed. “I’ll sleep on the floor, you take the bunk,” he instructed and took a blanket for himself. Nixie crawled into the bed, suddenly so exhausted, and fell asleep to the sound of Striker’s breathing.

***

Two weeks passed since the festival. Striker never stayed in one place for long. He slung his gun at anyone he deemed worthy and used said gun to steal food, water and other necessities. At first Nixie could understand the theft but it progressed from necessities to useless things. He stole a gas station of all its oil to resell, brandishing his gun at anyone who dared interfere. Nixie knew it was only a matter of time before someone stopped him.

He ran afoul of the law and decided to run and he left her alone.

Well, she was in love with that son of a gun but the story between them, it wasn’t done.

One morning Nixie woke up alone. Striker was nowhere in the barn they’d taken shelter in the night before. All she found was a sheet of paper. “Thanks for the fun times,” was all it said. Peering through the door of the barn she saw Striker, bound by holy rope surrounded by constables. THey crowded her vision and she couldn’t see what they were doing to him. Her first instinct was to run to him and protect him, but before she made it far she was grasped by a constable.

“We found the hostage!” The imp called out to his associates. Hostage? Didn’t she agree to this life? Was she just a hostage to Striker? Her knees went weak with terror and she sank to the sandy ground. Looking up at the imp who held her arm she whispered, “was I really just a hostage?” He nodded solemnly. “You’re lucky to be alive,” he informed her. Lucky to be alive. Did he have plans to kill her off when the searches stopped? Nixie watched halfidded as Striker was dragged into a van and shoved inside. Was that the end of their story? She gave up everything…For this? She allowed the constable to guide her to another van to be questioned.

When she finds him,

She will make him regret he was ever born.

Many years passed. Nixie found herself back in Pride, living on her own among the sinners. She’d since climbed the social ladder to Overlord, looking over her territory and defending the Hellborns of Pride. Their culture had to be preserved and sinners were clogging up the ring. She had no issue with the yearly extermination, the exorcists weren’t after Hellborns.

Despite her success she never forgot her roots, the Stockholme syndrome she felt with that Wrath imp who carried her along as an unknowing hostage through the ring after a failed assassination attempt. She could never forget those eyes or golden tooth. The same gold tooth that Valentino sported. She could never forget those snake eyes or the rattle of his tail, or his smooth Wrath drawl. She couldn’t find out what she saw in him. An escape from her sheltered life? Maybe.

All Nixie knew for sure was that she craved revenge for being taken advantage of for her childish feelings for Striker. She knew they would cross paths again and when they did, she’d give him back exactly what he gave her.

#helluva boss x reader #striker x reader #helluva boss striker

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diamond-coral · 4 years ago

Text

Bargaining Chip

Hello! This is my first time posting on Tumblr ever:) I pulled this one-shot from a fic I posted on AO3 a few months ago but the plot is irrelavent and I changed it from first person to second as well as some details so it can be read as a stand alone. There’s some plot from the actual story but you really don’t need to know it at all.

There might be a few errors, especially because I changed the entire point of view and converted it to present tense from past tense so sorry:)

Loki manages to get his hands on you and exchanges you and your body for his ticket to independence from the Avengers. Bucky gets to go first.

Dark!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Characters included: Loki, and a little bit of Tony, Steve, and Thor

WARNINGS: 18+ ONLY!!! SMUT (NON-CON TOUCHING, FORCED ORAL SEX (m receiving), KNIFE THREATS, DARK! AVENGERS, BUCKY’S AN ASSHOLE IN THIS, DEGRADATION, BASICALLY FORCED PROSTITUTION) READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

You awake in the passenger seat of your own car with only foggy memories of you and your partner before everything had gone dark. Your mission from the CIA...breaking and entering the motherfucking Avenger’s facility and managing to escape...you were so close. If it weren’t for him. In your haze, you look to see who could possibly have the audacity to be driving your car, and there sits Loki, the God of Mischief, who you had only scene on the news, driving one hand and inspecting something in his other.

“Good evening my lady. Sleep well?” he mocks without taking his eyes off the item in his hand which upon further inspection from you looks to be... a red leash?

What the hell?

“I do hope you like your outfit,” he continues. “I think I assembled quite the get up for you.”

Looking down, you let out a muffled scream that was cut off by a strip of duct tape. Your hands are bound in your lap, but that isn’t what horrifies you. It’s what’s underneath them. You take into account your bare legs, fully on display, with a black dress leaving little to the imagination. The top half is just as horrifying with it’s plunging neckline. Your legs end with a pair of strappy gold heels that ensures any chances of running away to be futile while your upper arms are adorned in golden bracelets accented with emeralds. Whether the emeralds were real or fake, you could care less. You have bigger problems to worry about.

“What the fuck?!”

Is what you try to say, but the gag only makes it come out as a mangled ball of muffled murmurs. Though the chuckle Loki lets out implies he understands your enraged speaking attempt.

“You, my dear, are going to be a bargaining chip. I heard about your little escapade at the Avenger’s facility last night. Impressive, I must say, but my brother and his little hero posse had been looking for you relentlessly after that. They are practically obsessed with catching the women that managed to break into their high security building.”

Loki takes a sharp turn into a parking garage, narrowly missing the wall. You squeal as your precious car runs over the curb.

“I forgot how much I hate mortal transportation devices. But Stark had to build this tower in the middle of New York to feed his ever-growing ego and now I’m the one that has to rely on a car to get me there,” he grumbles while pulling into a parking space. He takes a deep breath once the car is parked. “Now, I’m going to remove that gag out of your mouth, and if you scream, I will peel your skin off of your body in the slowest, most painful way imaginable. Understood?”

You nod frantically and he rips the tape off, extracting a whimper from your now stinging mouth. You open your mouth for him to take the wad of cloth out that was under the duct tape. As he extracts it, you snap your mouth shut in an attempt to bite him, but he’s quick to evade and grabs your jaw harshly.

“What did I say before?” he seethes.

“You said not to scream. I didn’t scream. Now let go of my face.”

Loki roughly throughs your face to the side, letting go, and looks around the surroundings of the car, probably checking for any unwanted onlookers.

“Out of the car. Now,” he orders and you hastily oblige using your bound hands to open the door.

As you shut the door, you catch a glimpse of your own reflection and grimace. You look like a hooker. Aside from the skimpy outfit, your hair was pinned up and intertwined with gold strands. Your makeup is done as well. Sultry eye shadow and dark red lipstick.

“I didn’t know the God of Mischief was a makeup guru,” you jab.

He ignores you and harshly pushes you forward. “Walk.”

“Where’s my partner?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Loki replies. “She has other uses than the one I currently need you for.”

“And what use am I needed for?”

“I already told you. By the gods, you mortals are stupid. You are to be a bargaining chip, (Y/N).”

Your blood runs cold. “How do you know my name?” you ask.

“I know everything about you. Including your peculiar abilities.”

You stop dead in your tracks.

“Now, don’t worry,” he adds. “As amusing to me as it would be, I have no interest in enlightening the Avengers to your secret identity. As far as they will know, I am simply giving them the criminal that broke into their compound.”

“And what’s in it for you?” you ask as he guidesyou into an elevator.

After pushing a button, he goes to fix his dark green tie. “Clever girl now aren’t you?”

“Answer the question.”

“How about-no?” he muses and a soft ding resonates through the elevator.

The doors opened and, for a moment, you forget the predicament your in. Inside was the most beautiful penthouse you had ever seen. The opposite wall was made entirely out of glass allowing a view of the New York City night skyline. Everything little piece of furniture each looks as expensive as your car, but your focus becomes drawn to the minibar. The Avengers were all sitting there, laughing, and most were obviously drunk.

“Here James, try some of this,” Thor booms.

Bucky makes a face. “Why would I drink something from another planet meant for Gods?”

“Jeez Buck it’s the only thing that can get you and I drunk,” Steve slurs and claps Bucky on the shoulder. “It’s your birthday. Live it up a little.”

Bucky hesitates before grabbing the flask Thor offers him and throwing his head back, downing the flask in one go.

Loki seems to have enough of the party scene as he clears his throat to interrupt them.

“Gentlemen-”

Before Loki uttered another word all the Avengers clambered from their seats to grab their weapons, but their intoxicated state just makes it a comical sight. Captain America falls over in an attempt to reach for his shield below the table. Tony Stark’s iron man mask smacks him over the head as he fails to turn in time to catch it on his face. Sam Wilson chokes on his drink and falls backwards off his barstool in shock.

“I come bearing no ill tidings.” Loki spread his arms.

“Then why bother coming at all?” Thor growls, shifting his hammer to his right hand.

“I’ve come to make an offer.”

With that, Loki snatches your wrist and throws you towards him and the other men. You stumbled in you stilettos and let out a yelp as you land on the floor looking up at the 5 present Avengers: Thor, the Winter Soldier, Captain America, Iron Man, and the Falcon. They all look down on you with perplexed looks etched onto their faces.

“You guys have been so caught up and stressed about finding your security breaches that I was generous enough to do some finding myself,” Loki explains.

“And how do we know you didn’t just pluck some prostitute off the street?” Caps eyes rake up and down your body.

Loki scoffs. “Always the skeptic captain. Does this answer your question?” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a flash-drive.

Tony snatches it from his hands. “Jarvis, what’s on this drive?” he asks, holding the drive up to a scanner in the glasses he’s wearing.

“It appears to be the files you have been collecting the 2 vigilantes you have been tracking and-.”

“Okay thanks J!” Tony interrupts quickly before Jarvis could spill any more information. He proceeds to storm up to your cowering and kneeling form that hadn’t dared move and harshly grabs your jaw.

Jesus, what was with these men and your poor, bruised jaw?

“Why would you possibly need this information?” he asks calmly, but his eyes are feral. He studies you and his brows furrow. Did he manage to piece it all together that you were the alleged vigilante they had been hunting? He lets go of your jaw and throws you back on the floor. “What business do you have looking for them?”

Looking for them? You let out a sigh of relief.

“None of your business,” you spit.

“Anyways,” Loki continues, and the drive suddenly disintegrated in Tony’s hand while reappearing in Loki’s. “I will happily hand over this seemingly important information along with the girl for you to do with her as you please, but…” He pauses. “Only if you stop tracking my current whereabouts.”

“And why would we do that, Loki? You’re dangerous,” Steve notes.

“I was dangerous,” Loki interjects. “I have been a good boy haven’t I? I would like to lead a normal life without you imbeciles tailing my every move. If I slip, Thor here will know within the second if I’m involved with anyone wrong doings, won’t you brother dear?”

Thor grunts at that statement.

“Besides, Stark’s satellite can track any magical energy if I use it. Which I won’t.”

“Fine. Now hand over the drive,” Tony snaps and holds his hand out.

After Loki drops the small gadget into Tony’s hand, he hauls you up and spins you around to face him.

His voice is quiet and low. “Be glad I didn’t tell them about my plans for you friend. It would be a shame if they found out about her abilities...and yours.”

He spins you back around to face the 5 men whose eyes were now raking up and down your body. “Easy on the eyes isn’t she?” Loki mentions, hands falling on your waist making you squirm. “You know, I almost considered keeping her for myself. Her exotic beauty is that of a pleasure maiden on Asgard.” Your struggles are invigorated at his implications. “Enjoy your whore.” And with that, he gives you one final shove before vanishing.

It’s silent for half a minute before one of the men speak up.

“Alright who wants to take her for a spin?” Tony asks, clapping his hands together. “I vote the birthday boy gets first dibs. Huh, Buckaroo?”

You blanch at the idea. Were they really going to go through with what Loki wanted? What happened to the valiant heroes you saw on your screen?

“Wait Tony, you can’t be seriously considering Loki’s suggestion?” Sam Wilson sounds surprised.

Tony shrugs. “Why not, Birdie? It’s either this or high security prison and I don’t think she wants to rot in a cell.”

“She is standing right here and would rather rot in hell than do what Loki had in mind,” you hiss.

“Well it’s a good thing we weren’t asking for her opinion,” Tony says.

“Tony’s right, Sam,” Steve adds slowly. “We bust our asses out there. We deserve something nice.”

“Day after day we save this pathetic world, and no thanks are given. Just everyone saying what we did wrong. We should’ve left the world to fend for itself after they tried shoving those ridiculous accords down our throats,” Thor murmurs

Sam raises both of his hands up in defense. “Fine. Do what you want with her. I’m gonna head out.” And with that he leaves. Your heart sinks, watching the only glimmer of hope, your knight in shining armor, walk out the door. Your self-pity party is cut short by an arm snaking around your waist.

Bucky Barnes, trained assassin, mass murderer, and now current Avenger, puts his face in the crook of your neck and inhales deeply, sending shivers down your spine while you stand frozen like a deer in headlights. “What do you say, doll? Wanna finish what we started the other night?” His hand on your waist slowly drifts down to your ass.

You stomp your heel down on his foot eliciting a groan of pain. “Last time I checked, you were in the dirt, and I was driving away that night after a successful robbery. There’s nothing to finish.”

He moves quickly as he rips your hair out of what’s securing it up, using the opportunity to tangle his hand into the roots and drag you away to a separate room. He wrenches open and throws you in, leaving you to stumble and trip. A searing pain on your forehead signaled that you hit your head.

“How about we use that snarky mouth of yours for something better hmm?” His voice is ice cold with malice as he grips your hair and yanks you up.

You cry out in pain, tears pooling in your eyes.

“Not so tough now, are you?” he sneers down at you. Hearing the sound of a belt unbuckling and pants unzipping, you shut your eyes.

A tear escapes, cascading down your face, but his thumb gently wipes it away.

“Open your eyes, doll,” he coos.

You shake your head and screw them shut even tighter.

“I said...OPEN YOUR FUCKING EYES!” he roars and your eyes fly open only to see his member sticking out of his slacks right in front of your face. He’s almost fully hard as precum dribbles out of the tip. “Good girl,” he praises. “Now, since you can’t seem to keep your snarky mouth shut, let’s put it to better use. How bout that?”

You don’t move, and he sighed as you look down to the floor. You hear some shuffling, a small click, and suddenly something cold and sharp is pressing under your chin, tilting your gaze to his steel blue eyes.

“Let’s try this again.” He pushes the knife harder, digging it a little deeper, but not enough to draw blood. A knife. This dirty bastard has a knife. “Suck. My. Cock.”

Pushing all your pride aside, you direct your gaze to the task in front of you. Bucky lets out an approving hum and the knife is removed from your throat. You swallow before opening your mouth and dragging your tongue from his base to the tip before wrapping your lips around him and sucking lightly.

Bucky was no slacker down there, you had to give him that. You ease your mouth down his shaft and his head tilts back.

“Oh fuck that’s it,” he moans. “Take my dick down your throat.” He grunts. His metal hand fists your hair to push your head down, sliding a few more inches into your throat. “Oh-that’s a good whore,” he breathes.

A gag is torn from you and you slap your hands against his thighs to imply you couldn’t take much more. Bucky’s only response is another grunt as he jams the rest of his length down your throat leaving your only intake of oxygen to come from your nose which was now mashed right above the base of his thick cock. As quickly as he pushed you down before, he pulls you back off by your hair, letting you go to wretch, gasping for air and freedom. A strand of saliva still connects from his tip to my lips.

“I’m not done with you yet.” He snags your hair again. “Open wide, slut.”

You do just that and he begins to fuck your throat at his own pace, sliding his entire length down every time. Tears brim at your eyes, not just from the lack of oxygen, but the humiliation of the moment as well. The time passes much too slowly for your liking, minutes dragging on for eternity, before he begins to reach his climax.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum.” His cock twitches in your mouth.He holds your head with both hands as he releases straight into your mouth, warm thick strands of his release coating the back of your throat. He pulls out with a pop and smirks down at you. “Good little sluts swallow” he orders.

You glare up at him, making a show of not doing anything.

“Well?” he demands and raises a dark brow.

You spit his own climax onto his expensive shoes.

“Why you-!” He raises his hand, getting ready to send a smack to your face.

“Barnes!” A female voice comes from the doorway as the door flies open. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

There stood none other than the Black Widow.

#dark!bucky barnes #dark!bucky x reader #non-con #bucky x female reader #dark!fic #loki x reader #avengers #idk how to tag this #fanfic #am i doing this tag thing right?#no i'm not #smut #dark!mcu #marvel #dark bucky x reader #dark!marvel

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salparadiselost · 4 years ago

Note

little jason doesn’t feel safe without dick around for the first few (days? weeks?) he spends at the manor, but is worried he’s being too clingy. dick, meanwhile, is driving himself crazy trying not to make jason feel trapped and holding back from physical contact unless jason initiates

Jason hated when Dick left.

He wouldn't say that he particularly loved the human, but Dick felt safe in a way that Jason hadn't had since he was an even smaller impling. The human held his emotions out on an offered hand, and he never punished Jason for taking a taste.

And those emotions were always... affection, friendliness, and openness.

There was never the lick of lust that he had come to expect of humans. There were never any of the bad emotions that had always came from humans when they saw him. There was never any disgust or flinching away or whispering that Jason was something dirty.

All humans had always treated him like that.

All humans... except Dick

Dick was just food and love and someone who could fill the hole inside Jason's heart.

He was Jason's anchor in the chaos that was moving into a new home and living with humans that all towered over him.

He was someone that Jason thought he could trust.

So Jason got really anxious when Dick left.

He whined as he saw Dick's sleepaway bag get put out into the hall, already full of clothes. Jason was half-hidden behind one of the pretentious statues that Bruce had in his front entry, and glared at that bag like he could burst it into fire.

He had hidden it this time, stuck it behind a cabinet in an abandoned room far where he thought that Dick could find it.

But the human was trained by the "Greatest Detective in the World" and had found it after an hour delay.

Next time, Jason was going to throw it in the pond out back.

“I don’t know how it got there,” Dick said as he walked into the main room with Alfred. He had his bathroom items in a plastic bag, the last things he gathered up right before he left. "I swear that I put it by my bed last night."

"I might have an idea," Alfred said with a sly knowledge in his voice.

Dick raised an eyebrow.

"Master Jason gets restless. I imagine that this is a symptom of that agitation."

“Oh,” Dick said in a suddenly small voice. “Well… then I better be getting out of your hair quick. I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

Alfred patted him on the shoulder, and gave Dick a gentle smile that made Jason’s own heart ache.

“My boy, you can never overstay your welcome here. Please return to us soon.”

“I will as soon as I’m able,” Dick said with another heart-aching smile. The emotions in the room were all sadness and don’t go. So many emotions that wanted to keep Dick here, and yet he still picked up that damn bag.

Jason had to physically hold himself back from crying for the human that was rapidly becoming the closest thing he had to a packmate. Dick was soft. Dick was safe. Dick was filling that space that had been empty ever since Mama died.

When he curled up on Dick’s lap, their emotions lapping at each other’s, he felt like he was in the safest place in the world.

And when Dick left, he took all that rare safety with him and left Jason desperate for him to come back.

“Alright, well, please say goodbye to Jason for me.”

Dick slung that bag over his back and Jason had to swallow down a pathetic impling whine. His instincts were screaming, and his emotions were bouncing all over the place because he couldn’t keep them in control.

He wanted to throw himself at the human, wrap his arms around his legs, and keen until his pack stayed.

But he didn’t. He held back because no one liking clingy implings. Especially Incubi implings who were already prone to being too needy.

So he stayed quiet when his pack opened the door and left him behind.

When the door shut, he burst from his hiding place and ran up to the front window, staring through it to catch the last glimpses of his packmate as they drive off without him.

And when Dick became a small dot in the horizon, Jason left himself cry. He cried, and cried and cried, his keenings filling every one of the mansion’s corners.

Bruce came and picked him up in that cautious, uncomfortable way of his. It was so obvious that he hated touching Jason, that both of the oldest men hated touching Jason. They were awkward and pulled their hands away as quick as they could from his skin. They never touched him outside of feedings, and whenever he tried to nuzzle against them (it was stupid. They weren’t pack. He didn’t know why he kept trying to do pack things with them.) they went tense.

Even when he fed, they only did so for as short of a time as possible and when Jason said that he was full they left the room as quick as they could.

They never stayed for the bonding, the quiet moments that were supposed to be used to strengthen pack bonds if they had any. They didn’t have bonds, but it would still be nice to curl up next to someone instead of being shut into a room by himself.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Bruce said as he tried to bounce Jason on his hip. Jason’s stomach rolled as he sensed the anxious coming from Bruce because he was holding Jason. And feeling himself cause if those bad emotions, he only made Jason cry more.

“Jason, Jason, please talk to me. You don’t have to cry, baby.”

Shut up, you stupid little thing.

“Master Jason, whatever is the matter?”

There’s nothing to cry about, sex toy.

“Please, sweetheart, calm down.”

Stop.

Jason couldn’t take it anymore. He twisted out of the human’s hood and fell to the ground. They looked even taller from his shorter height, and his heart raced faster. Hands were all around him, trying to scoop him back up, and he ran away.

He ran up the stairs and into the family wing and into the room that smelled like Dick and all his bubbly love emotions.

Jason heard them coming, footsteps hot on his heels, so he shoved himself under the bed. He wedged himself deep under it, with only one of Dick’s crumpled sweat shirts. It smelled like him and helped ease the terror.

He didn’t come out, even though the other men sounded like they were begging.

*****

Jason snapped awake to the sound of a familiar voice.

“Little Wing, what’s wrong? Why are you hiding buddy?”

Two blue eyes were staring at him and he had to blink to make sure they were real.

Dick.

He came back.

He scrabbled out of the bed and into Dick’s arms, making incessant little impling chirps as he shoved himself under Dick’s chin. Two warm hands caught him, held him close, and clutched him like they would never let go.

His instincts thrummed pack. Pack. Pack.

He flexed his claws and dug them into the jacket Dick was wearing. As if he could keep the human here by sheer force if will.

“What’s wrong?” Dick repeated.

“You left. You’re the only one who likes me and you left.”

Dick tensed against Jason and the felt the human’s emotions drop in shock. His packmate unconsciously held him closer and Jason purred into the physical contact. Something anxious that had been coiled up inside him finally loosened and fell apart.

“Oh baby,” Dick whispered into his ear. “I’m sorry. I’m here now.”

The human shifted, pulling Jason fully into his lap. His young instincts told him to fold up small, to tuck himself into his packmate’s chest, to purr impling sounds up at the man whose emotions felt like Mama’s.

The human wouldn’t understand the actions. He couldn’t know what it meant to have an impling pliant and purring in his lap like this. What a demonstration of trust it was for an impling. What kind of faith showed that a child of a species who guarded their young zealously and had been raised to fear humans, would willingly place himself in one’s lap.

But he liked to think that Dick did understand when he began petting Jason’s hair and washing over him in warm, loving emotions. Dick’s claws (no. Fingernails. Humans had fingernails.) began scratching Jason’s back and he absolutely melted.

“Jason,” Dick nudged just as he was beginning to fall asleep. “Why do you think that Bruce and Alfred don’t like you?”

Jason scrunched his nose. “Humans don’t like touching Incubi and Succubi. They think we are dirty,” he spat the word. “Bruce and Alfred always get nervous when they touch me.”

Dick’s face scrunched now. “How do you know that?”

Jason’s face fell flat and Dick gave a sudden chuckle. “Right, Incubus. Sometimes I forget that you can sniff out everyone’s feelings.”

He fell silent but his fingers didn’t still.

“That must be pretty scary for you, huh.”

Jason nodded, not even embarrassed about being wary of the two larger men. Large men were scary. They hurt and held him down. They were the ones that picked off packless implings and locked them in basements to never see the sun again.

“I’ll talk to them because Jason, they love you. They don’t know how to show it, but they do. They are just worried about scaring you more.”

He didn’t know how to take that. He didn’t know what to think about that.

Humans… being scared of him? Being scared for him?

It seemed like an impossible thought.

But sleeping in a human’s lap also seemed impossible and that was exactly what he wanted to do.

Thoughts were hard, so Jason just stopped thinking. Dick was here again, after all.

He would keep Jason safe.

#kay speaks #my writing #the demon au #baby Jason #Dick being his demon mama #Even though Dick doesn't realise that's happening

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