#I hate that I had to desaturate these but | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bunji-enthusiast · 4 months

Text

Run, Run Far Angel

Note || I am obligated as a fanfic author to write this, sue me. I got attached to DogDay, and he deserved better in Chapter 3.

WC || 2,070

<(You are here)><(sequel part)>

Sypnosis || An unlikely shortcoming of a friendly entity, or, You get a new friend in spite of this hellish factory.

The noise that had buzzed in the far reaches in the depths of your ears had annoyed you to no end, insistent to remain with you. So many times over had your guilt marred your sense of peace, your sense of futility. Whatever control you felt you had in your life was completely gone the moment you had come back to the accursed place known as Playtime Co. Toy Factory. So many unruly things had gone here, things done and said that left you chuckling–few that had left you with regrets.

Regrets that had stayed with you for well over ten years, since your co-workers had disappeared. You always had a sinking feeling you knew well what had happened to the last of them, your friends and those that you had come to consider family.

Then you fell into Playcare, a place once filled with laughter and joy, something of which was indescribable. To know the children here and being able to hear such joyful playing and sometimes the odd cry, it was fulfilling, now the whole Factory–every floor there was to know–was devoid of the very same life you’ve come to know and love all those years ago.

Now the only thing that had tormented your mind, as it always had been since you first arrived, was your fight or flight. Instinctive you were, but you hated every minute of having to run and hide away from the monster that had presided reign over their domain, on of which the very one you had to be stuck with was-

“Catnap?” You muttered, thumbing the scarred fur that was blotched with ashy spots, as if it were burned by fire.

The small recreational stuffed animal looked so adorable for the most part, yet it disturbed you greatly, guilt was predominant in mind and body. In all of your years you had remembered working at the Factory you don't ever recall the name of Catnap, the creepy elongated mouth had stood out to you the most.

He was hunting you, toying with you for sport. You couldn’t really understand why he hadn’t just gunned you for killing you at a moment's notice, though you felt a breath of relief that you could buy yourself time.

Supposedly some of this relief is partial to the fact that this Ollie kid was guiding you on where to go, with how dark this place was is absurd to you–so the guidance was appreciated. A voice had finally snapped you out of your ever consuming thoughts, it was terribly the truth.

“Hey are you alright? Just press that button and you’ll be through in no time! The small critters cant seem to get you from up there so you should be alright.” Ollie, yes Ollie that is the kids name. Who is this strange person anyway?

Unfortunately you weren’t in a position to worry about that right now, you simply pressed the button with the help of your grabpack. Trying to remember all the hands you had now with you was troublesome, but you manage.

‘I suppose.’ You wonder if there is anyone in this place that won’t actively be out for your head, truth be told.

Maybe that was a miracle in mind, as you walked through the desolate rubble the air seemed to desaturate, a mist once permeated with dread and the iron taste of blood seemed to float away as you came across a surprising display. Gruesome but something nobody should have to see or experience.

It seemed to be DogDay, you could've sworn coming across a cardboard cutout of the very same character earlier.

He seemed to be so.. Sad.

“You…you’re Poppy’s angel. Come to save us. Nothing left to save, not here…You’re in CatNap’s home, angel. Their home.” His voice was broken, forlorn, vocal cords riddled with experience he never wanted to relive again. You felt saddened on his behalf, no doubt the pain he is feeling right now is tremendous. For a moment, silence had filled the comfortable atmosphere rendering you with a small pit of anxiety balling within your gut.

Still you feel as if you had to speak, but you allow Dogday to have his part, that much you could try to do for him.

DogDay’s head lolled about as if he were a ragdoll, the effort to make movement was extraneous. “A million pairs of eyes are on you now. Watching, waiting, hungry. They want nothing more than to crawl beneath your skin and eat away at you bit by little bit - fill what feels empty inside themselves.” Those words sparked an ire of curiosity inside your trodden heart, you wanted to help him now.

You needed help, especially answers too. He was in pain, and you wanted to help him, so to ease your guilty conscience a little; hopefully in the process of gaining a friend at the same time. “Catnap.. Just, I don’t understand him.” DogDay raised his head, looking at you wistfully as if he had expected the aforementioned cat to be brought up.

DogDay winced as he moved, each little rattle sending painful vibrations throughout his body–the phantom legs hadn’t brought any peace to him whatsoever.

“That thing…CatNap. The Prototype is his God, and this is what he does to heretics.” His words carried an aura of ominous spiels, as if you were to heed this warning. “These little toys follow CatNap to avoid that very fate- and in return, they are fed.”

In their place, you would take measures to avoid such a fate too if you would. To a point, you could sympathize with the small toys, not being able to do anything and the teetering possibility of being killed always hanging over your head. Knowing that alone is unfathomably terrifying.

“Would explain why they were hunting me previously..” You murmur, now tucking that thought to the depths of your mind. Still you wanted to hear out DogDay, for he knew better of what had gone on here then you did. His head had shagged, fur ruffled and dangling about as he had squirmed slightly.

“We tried to fight it, the Prototype’s control. I’m…the last of the Smiling Critters.” His tune was mournful, his friends really had been killed right before his very eyes. Catnap’s gas, you remember it well enough.

You had to take a moment – articulate your words. You were completely filled to the brim with anxiety and alert, you remind yourself to not let down your guard in spite of being with someone who has no intention of wanting to kill you. “You had tried to escape, and he… knocked you out with his gas?”

DogDay’s brows creased, confirming your answer. You felt so terrible for him, causing you to be firmly set on a decision.

You were helping him get out of here, in no way shape or form did you feel he should be left behind in shambles like this. “This is probably going to sound, insane. But I’m gonna help you get outta here.” Dogday perked up at this, nodding his head no.

He certainly didn’t want you to die, especially not on his account.

“Angel that is not wise! I will slow you down.” He persists, “Listen to me, you need to get out of this place. You need to live. You and Poppy can fix this, end this madness, the torment–” You didn’t want him to change your mind, so as immediate as you were, You desperately grabbed at his arms.

Quickly and surely enough the small critter toys had began crawling toward DogDay, you certainly would not put up with that. You fired a flare gun at the small critters, as much as you could so you could buy time to get DogDay out of his chains.

It seemed Dogday had sensed your determination to want to help him in spite of his warings, even with how much he had tried to convince you to leave. “You are doing well Angel, keep them away from me.. I will do my best to free myself of these.” His voice felt strained, cut off with a cough as he wriggled free–even if every brittle bone in his body had begged him to just lay there and rest.

You thanked him silently, continuing to work away at the critters who were highly determined in their goal to possess DogDay and resume their chase to kill you. “I am free! Quickly now Angel, quickly.” He ushered you forward to run right away, you picked him up as soon as he had done so and heaved him over your shoulders with a heavy breath as a display of your efforts. To say he was surprised at your willful strength was an understatement, he silently applauded you for your strength to keep moving.

Though, it hadn’t removed any of his worry for you as you continued to run forward, your muscles straining to keep up with your mind. From what he can understand of humans anyway, you were exhausted, though he felt it wasn’t right to speak out on it anyway–safety first before talking.

“Almost there, Angel.. You just need to get to that elevator over there!” He jabbed his finger in the direction you needed to go, and you went on instinct with his direction. Your muscles ached and burned, but you could rest as soon as you reached the elevator, you couldn’t risk DogDay being left behind helpless with the small critters.

Speaking of which, they were still chasing you and your new companion. You wished they stopped, but you had considered an aforementioned thought, they only do this to ensure their fate wasn’t like his. Since then this has wildly changed.

You were close to the edge.

Then, you leaped, everything seemed to slow down. DogDay held on tightly, hands wrapped around your neck secured tight, to you it seemed comforting in the depths of your sudden despair.

You dropped right onto the metal plate, which luckily had railing. The door shut right behind you as DogDay had quickly made action to press the button to start up the elevator nor long after you had succeeded in jumping to the elevator. He slumped with a sigh, something you could very much agree with, sitting down with a thump following in your wake.

Truth be told, you weren’t sure of how much more you could take much more of this nightmare. You may just as well be in a very long dream, and you were just actually sleeping at home, but no way however as the exhaustion had finally settled into your bones.

Weary bones creaked about as DogDay made an effort to check over your slumped body, wanting to ensure you were not injured anywhere before he spoke, “Whatever questions you have..” He paused for a moment as if he were considering his words, something of which seemed to happen to a lot of people and toys alike in this Factory. “I will answer, rest for now first.”

DogDay was being his typical self, always so worried over someone else before considering his own health. His own legs being severed must be a great deal of pain, you wanted to ask him to rest too. Yet, you were too tired to respond, only nodding curtly as sleep had stolen you away from your awakened consciousness.

A genuine smile seems to relax DogDay’s expression, you sorely needed rest. He would help you get that rest, things to talk about and things to face would come later. “You have done impossible things, you have run far. Thank you.” He quietly spoke, curling up to cuddle you.

His head laid to rest on the crown of your head, hands and arms elongating ever so slightly to surround you in his warmth. DogDay was a leader, a friend, but he was also a good napping buddy. That much was certainly no lie to be told.

Silence seemed to fill his ears now, sleep was creeping up to DogDay as well. Ah, he cannot sleep right now. You were in his care and vulnerable, especially considering you had gone through the trouble of freeing him.

To those tormented, the madness had enraged man and toy, you were their saving graces. Someone they could get behind, without the utmost support where would you be now?

“Night has fallen, but for you I will do my absolute best to help you, Angel.”

#poppy playtime #dogday #dogday poppy playtime #x reader #purely platonic #I like how he calls the player angel #it’s cute :D

1K notes · View notes

legally-allowed-to-slime · 6 months

Text

scar was literally “i have no mouth but i MUST scream” this session

-he had to kill the cows and not tell lizzie about the enchanter

-he couldn’t take off the helmet the more people told him to

-he had to TAKE SKIZZ’S HEART because he wanted to help (also the way it all went desaturated and the heartbeat?? editor scar needs a raise!! holy moly)

-he had to tell everyone he hated pearl because of the sign

-he had to leave bigb even though he wanted to see the cobble rooms

this task was so effective because scar is normally so easy-going that it effectively turned his usual wholesomeness against himself, ie turn bad

i can’t wait for the angst

#goodtimeswithscar #secret life spoilers #secret life #trafficblr #traffic series #traffic life

955 notes · View notes

darkenedurge · 7 months

Text

𝐁𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐌𝐞. (𝐎𝐧𝐞-𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐭).

CONTENT : Blood Kink | P in V Sex (Fem Durge) | Violence, Violent Language | Durge being a freak, Gortash eating it right up | Pre-Tadpole Durge & Gortash

˚ ✧.

“If I didn’t love you so, I’d drown in your blood. It’d be pretty, I bet. I can see it.” She says, as she lays – naked, head upon his chest, pointed nail tracing his chest hair. Disturbing it, coercing it into haphazard patterns. She has a habit of this, accompanying tender, gentle movements with deranged words spoken in her pretty, pretty voice. It had never frightened Gortash. Surprised him perhaps, when she had first enlightened him toward the notion – she was rolling her hips into his, palms cupping his jaw with an uncharacteristic softness, completely unbefitting to her, and the tandem of her hips.

“I wish I could slit your throat, and drive my tongue across the slash. Taste you, in ways I haven’t before.”

A minx, he’d called her, with a shake of his head – a tut, and a huffed chuckle.

“I am no General Thorm, dearest,” Gortash replies, finally, his hand trailing down to her thigh – repositioning her. She whines. “Cut me too deep, and I will not be resurrected.”

Silence, for a moment.

And then, a compromise.

“Let me cut your tongue, slice it.. I want to sup the blood as it spills, as we kiss.”

There was always a breathiness to her voice, a shuddering undertone of unadulterated, unhinged, excitement. Carnal desire, urge. There’s a tremor, in the very tips of her fingers, as she grips the blade – like a vice, furthered well beyond its limits. Gortash pretends to consider, pretends to have his debate – internal, between yes, and no. He pretends, and pretends, before simply sticking out his tongue.

She grins, giggles, raises her blade. Her blade was always close, always near. Within arms length.

She then shifts, onto her knees – resting on her heels, eyes flickering with want. Need.

“Only a little cut,” She specifies, and she’s honest, “I don’t want to ruin you..”

A half-tease. Gortash raises a brow.

True to her word, she makes the slit – immediate in tangling her tongue with his, succumbing to the sickly, sweet taste of iron. Copper, intermingling with the heady aftertaste of wine on his tongue. On hers. They always drank, always fucked. Always talked, always kissed. Bled, burned.

The downfall of one another, the detonation to one another’s ticking time bomb.

“Incredible,” She gasps, breaking them from their saliva stricken embrace – a string of desaturated red still maintaining a shred of connection between them. “You’re incredible.”

Gortash shakes his head, pinning her beneath him in one push – a press of his hand, fingers curling around her crisscrossed wrists, burying her bones in the mattress beneath them. “You are the incredible one, my dearest, dearest pet.”

“I hate it when you call me that.” She lies, spreading her legs – sinfully wet.

He pries her apart, sheathes himself inside of her – the fluttering of her walls greeting his cock, accompanied by her hellish, flaming heat. Her constrictive tightness, mouth falling open with a wiggle and a squirm. “No you don’t,” Gortash replies, with a grunt of effort, as he fucks into her hard. Harsh. Abusive and abrasive.

She moans, upon each thrust, thighs tensing and untensing, only to tense again.

“Bleed me again,” Gortash pants out, gaze dark – voice, low. Despite its strain.

His grip upon her hip, with his free hand, is blissfully bruising. “Kiss me,” She demands, commands, pleads – all at once. “Kiss me, and I will.”

And so kiss her he does. She bites his lip, drawing blood –letting it dribble, down, down his stubbled chin. She drags her tongue, efficiently cleaning up the mess. Her mess.

Gortash finishes, inside of her, not long after. She’d squeezed his throat, their first time together, thumb pressed hard – “You fill me up. Everytime. Don’t waste your seed, lordling. Don’t go claiming anyone else. No, you’ve claimed me now.”

He’d lost count, this was perhaps their third time of the night. Fourth, fifth, even.

Though, she finally seems tired – small, curled in his arms, nestled against him. He knows she doesn’t sleep much. Doesn’t like to, doesn’t want to. She’ll be up again, in the midst of the night – naked, hands buried in some poor unfortunate’s innards. He’ll cling to the smell of her skin, imprinted on the linen sheets.

#baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate iii #bg3 #bg3 durge #dark urge x gortash #durgetash #gortash x durge #bg3 gortash #enver gortash #dark urge #bg3 smut #smut #gortash x reader #bg3 x reader #x reader

1K notes · View notes

liyawritesss · 1 month

Text

𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎 — 𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚍:

𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜

—> SYNOPSIS

—> Being stuck in the Belfry while her siblings pour their time, efforts, and grief into solving Bruce’s last case, (y/n) is virtually alone. She has not spoken since the funeral and is often caught spaced out in thought or staring at the display of what is left of her father’s Batman suit. Upon expressing her grievances, her brothers Dick, Jason, and Tim, and honorary sister Barbara, concoct a plan to bring their beloved eldest sister back to them.

⚠️This Series Will Contain: canon-accurate violence with weapons such as guns, knives, batons, customized batman gear and other vigilante gear, hand to hand combat, mentions of blood, injuries, heavy talk about grief, depression, anxiety, major character death (bruce wayne/batman). Readers discretion is advised.

“The news is certainly having a field day this morning.”

The sound of hot tea being poured into porcelain china is one of few that echoed throughout the large and imposing tower in the early morning. The sun’s beams peak through the glass if the tower’s window, flickering across the hardwood floor, dethawing the hideaway from the cold of night. They even cast a halo around the tall and foreboding supercomputer that was nestled into the middle of the room, warm golding casted across matte onyx as morning protrudes its way into the Belfry.

Alfred Pennyworth pours the morning tea, five cups of white decorated with gold trim resting on the serving tray and he pours into each one. In the background, one of the many monitors of the Bat-Computer details the morning news, reporting the events of the night prior.

“What can you say,” comes the thick rasp of Jason Todd as he approaches behind Alfred, who hands him one of the five dainty cups, and the broad man accepts saucer and cup in his hands, albeit with hesitance, “it’s not everyday you get to see Gotham’s Darling break down like that.”

The video is of horrible quality, blurred and unfocused in some points with desaturated coloring, but it shows to the whole of Gotham City, clear as day, (Y/N) Wayne breaking down at the news of her father’s death. The shrill scream which tore through the surrounding crowd of paparazzi stilled every human being within proximity to the young woman. Just as it was that night, those tuning in to the news that morning saw (Y/N)’s form crumple into the arms of her eldest brother, Dick Grayson, another adoptee of Bruce Wayne, completely distraught and devastated.

It brought both men to discomfort, as they tore their eyes from the screen; Jason turning to sip at the brown liquid in his hand, Alfred attending to dropping sugar cubes into their respective teacups.

“I hate that video.” Dick Grayson enters, light as a feather on his feet despite the newly added weight of grief which lingers in his eyes. He wipes the towel around his neck across his forehead to rid of the sweat from his morning workout, bidding Alfred a nod of acknowledgement.

“What, ‘cuz they didn’t get your good side?” Jason taunts.

Dick delivers a look, one that feigned irritation, towards Jason as he accepts the cup of tea Alfred offers. Three sugars, mild sweetness, just as he had always liked it. “No,” he responds, finally, “because it’s got her bad side out for the world to see.”

(Y/N) Wayne. Gotham’s Darling. Bruce Wayne’s first child and heiress to the Wayne Family. Many had dubbed her to be the city’s saving grace. She provided a breath of fresh air and a sight of beauty to the city that had not been seen in the city since her father. Although never officially introduced to society, (Y/N) started her pursuits young and with a gift for all things art, put her passion to the test and began to introduce to the city numerous art programs and residencies involving hundreds of different art forms and mediums. While city officials would never admit it, her efforts, having started as young as fourteen, gave several opportunities for the underprivileged and marginalized communities of the city, from jobs to after school activities to possible career paths. All while doing so with grace, poise, charisma, and confidence instilled in her by the man who’d taken her in at twelve.

(Y/N) Wayne was truly Gotham’s Darling. She loved the city with everything she had, and regardless of blood relation, saw Bruce as her true father. One could only imagine the pain she was going through. Not even her adopted siblings, of which she was undoubtedly close to, could father the despair that clung to their sister's very heart; always full of joy and kindness, now aching with pain and loathing.

“She still hasn’t talked, has she?” Dick asks Alfred, who releases a baited sigh.

“Unfortunately so, Master Richard,” Alfred says, “not even at the taunt of her favorite pastries, I’m afraid.”

(Y/N), by all accounts, had fallen mute following the moment in which Dick had disclosed to her the god awful truth that Bruce was gone. Not a word left her lips since her arrival at the Belfry with Alfred in tow, with sentiments that all of Bruce’s children should convene under the same roof for the time being. While the weight in the room was already heavy with frustrations and disagreements amongst the initial four vigilantes, (Y/N)’s aura carried an air of solemness and devastation that speed into the wooden interior of the Belfry far more prominently than any childish fighting that ensued between the siblings. At the head of the congregation, Dick could only watch helplessly as (Y/N), suitcase in hand, rejected any attempts at comfort, trudging off to an unoccupied room that she would claim for the indefinite future.

“I-” Dick wants words to leave his lips, but the barrier of uncertainty controls his brain and provides him very little to speak on. After one sip of the tea he’d taken into his hands, he sits it on the desk in front of him.

“We’ve gotta do something,” he says, “we have to get her back- back to normal.”

Jason cocks an eyebrow and scoffs, “Normal?”

Dick turns to the younger, eyebrow cocked, as if gesturing for Jason to explain further.

“Yes, Jason,” he emphasizes, “or some semblance of it. Have you seen her?”

“Have you?” Jason retorts. His nose scrunches in vexation, the scar trail rippling under his intense frown. He rises from his initial seat in one of the many office chairs that surround the looming monitors, and his hands start to speak before the words leave his mouth.

“I don’t know if your head’s really wrapped around this whole situation here, Dick,” the larger man starts, hand gesturing in a swirling motion in the space before his temple to emphasize his wording, “but that girl up there was the closest to Bruce out of all of us. As far as any of us are concerned, there IS no kind of ‘normal’ anymore for her. What ‘normal’ can she ever go back to?”

“So, what do you say we do,” Dick counters, arms flying out at his sides, matching Jason’s frustrations, “let her rot away and become a shell of herself?”

Dick continues even though Jason has turned from the older, as arguments between the two have always held the same standpoint; where one tries too hard to fix it all, and the other challenges the notion of pushing too hard for a solution that would come in due time. “She’s our sister, and if anything, right now she needs us to help her-!”

“-and if she really wants the help, she’ll come to us!” Jason rebuttals. “(Y/N)’s got a mouth of her own she can use very well, Dick. It’s not like we’ve never encountered this kind of situation before!”

And maybe it’s that Dick Grayson pride that’s shadowing whatever truth may come from Jason’s words, whatever truth that he’s too proud to admit on. Or maybe it’s the helplessness that sinks into his bones whenever he’s seen you at your worst, and he couldn’t do anything about it, and yet it only pushed him harder to try. Yet, Jason would argue that he knew better. He knew better than to peck at a festering wound without allowing it time to register its identity, its origins, its truth. What good would any kind of ‘help’ they could provide, when the verity of your own pain had yet to make itself known?

Bruce’s death killed a piece of all of them, there was no denying that, even for Jason. From you, however, the old man took more than a piece of your heart. No, with the incineration of the Wayne Manor and everything within, Bruce and his death didn’t merely chip off a piece of you with him to the afterlife. His death broke you in ways he, nor the others, nor even yourself could ever understand.

The option was clear to Jason at the time; when you came to terms with the pain, when you would make the first move, then, and only then, would it be fit to provide whatever kind of comfort or support you required. On your terms.

“If she wants help, she knows where she can find it,” Jason reiterates firmly, “on her terms. Pushing it is only gonna make matters worse.”

Dick never listened to Jason, though, never gave his words the benefit of the doubt. Though the cold-shock of an ache in his abdomen told him that perhaps the raven haired man with the white streak of hair had a strong claim, Dick couldn’t back down. He wouldn't. He couldn’t sit by when the voice in his head screamed to knock on your door every morning, willing to risk being met with staggering silence if it meant you knew he was there, or have his ears strain for the slightest chance to hear your door creak open as a sign of life. He couldn’t sit by without at least attempting to try.

“I can’t do that, Jason,” Dick says straightforwardly, “I can’t sit by and watch for the possibility of things to get better on their own; not with her.”

The bickering grew so potent and consuming of one another that the presence of two other individuals had not yet caught their attention. Such has always happened whenever Dick and Jason’s spats grew. Though they rarely happened out of despise or resentment. Their passion lied with the care they had for each other as brothers, and a sibling love as trauma-bonded as theirs was bound to always reach intense heights.

“Well, maybe this experience will humble you,” Jason grumbles, “Golden Boy can’t solve every problem that he runs into-”

“Okay!” Bellows Barbara Gordon, her head-turning introduction silencing the bickering between the eldest boys. She, alongside Tim Drake, make their entrance into the center of the room. She pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose, the glint from the sun flashes across the lenses and reveals the stern gaze she holds that contrasts with the light lilt in her voice.

“Let’s take a break from your pissing contest,” Barbara says, voice decorated in a warning tone, “so we can talk about what Tim was able to uncover.”

There stands Tim Drake with a smile on his face that screams with pride, and for a second, Jason and Dick’s facial expressions shift into confusion when the younger boy struts towards the monitor display, parting the tension as well as Jason and Dick’s bodies from their close proximity. Tablet in hand, he taps the back of the black case with his fingers giddily. There’s a light in his eye that catches everyone's attention. “I decrypted it!”

“Decrypted what?” Falls from Dick’slips. Barbara allows Alfred to pour her a cup of tea, drinking the dark, warm liquid with gratitude.

“So remember that weird file that popped up after Batman’s last video? The one that was bugging out on the screen, and no matter how many times we tried to open it, it wouldn’t budge?” He doesn’t necessarily wait for an answer; connecting the screen of his tablet to that of the large monitor setup behind him. “So, I tried everything in the book to get it to open. Hex dump, breaking down the encryption algorithm, I even made my own program with a variety of inputs, outputs, passphrases, keys-”

“-you’re losin’ us, kid,” Jason droned, reeling Tim back to the original topic at hand, “just spit it out.”

“-okay, okay,” the young Robin took a deep breath, dramatizing the reveal of his findings, “turns out, it wasn’t encrypted at all! Well, not in the traditional way.”

“Traditional?” Dick raises an eyebrow.

“Remember when Bruce made us all learn Morse Code as part of the beginning stage of our Robin training?”

“Worse part of it, if you ask me.” Jason gruffs.

“Wasn’t particularly fond of it, but yeah, I remember.” Dick hums.

“Geez, maybe that’s why he left this part to me,” Tim muses, unable to shake the sly smile that creeps onto his lips, “he did say I caught on to it faster than you two.”

“The file, Tim! The file!” Barbara reminds him. “Before they start arguing again!”

“Okay, okay! I’m getting there, I promise!” Despite the urging to reveal his findings from all members in the room, Tim’s giddiness was just boiling over. He surely was making the revelation a dramatic endeavor; even Alfred began to tune in to the show. He sets down Tim’s cup of tea in advance for the younger.

“I had to really sit down and analyze the tricky parts of the encryptions - the binary code, the encryption algorithm, trying to find weaknesses in it - and I finally, FINALLY got it!”

Tim grabs one of the rolling chairs, setting his table to the side on the table and taking a seat. He picks up the teacup, takes a swig of the smooth, blended drink, honoring Alfred’s work before setting it aside. On the display monitors, it shows Tim dragging the mouse cursor over to the bugged-out file. Silence follows as mouse clicks fill the room. Dick approaches quizzingly, watching with squinted eyes. Then Jason. Then Barbara. Then Alfred. They all look on with suspicion.

“Bruce must’ve known that as the only Morse Code addict, I would try this at some point,” Tim explains, “and from the banged up passphrase code, I could catch some letters that were used, and so I did the process of elimination…”

He trails off, his careful clicking soon coming to an end. A second passes before the screen goes black. Then, a pop-up appears on the screen.

“Would you like to open this file?” Dick reads.

“Well, duh,” Jason scoffs. Dick and Barbara side-eye him, but he pays no mind to it.

“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen,” Tim clicks the ‘yes’ icon on the screen, and as the pop-up closes, the screen shifts as several pop-ups of other files open into different monitors on the setup. The three older vigilantes (plus one butler) step back, either impressed, in awe, or a state of confused wonder.

“Welcome to Operation: Brown Eyes.”

The other three vigilante look amongst themselves. There's an air of cautious curiosity that covers the room.

“So, on top of this ridiculous last case Bruce left, we also get assigned a side-quest?” Jason concludes.

Dick shoots Jason a cocky smirk, “Looks like my idea wins.” The words reminiscent of Jason's own previous ones spoken upon their first arrival at the Belfry, spoken out of frustration, makes the younger roll his eyes.

Attention shifts to Barbara as she struts past the two men, joining Tim at the desk. A few series of clicks and clacks on keyboard shoots pop-ups of images and description boxes. Alongside them also appear newspaper articles detailing charitable feats that (Y/N) had dedicated time, labor and money towards for the betterment of Gotham. Among them appear the establishment of an arts studio, book drives, and art exhibits, the pages liters with praise and gratitude for the young woman's efforts.

Then, there's the pictures of items also shown, and upon further examination, Dick recognizes at least one of them.

“That paint box,” he starts, once furrowed eyebrows unfurl into an expression of realization, “that's an antique. I remember Bruce getting that for her for her birthday.”

The pictured items, in fact, were all items that had some relevance or connection to (Y/N). Jason figures this out as he notes the hardcover novel amongst them, the jacket being distinguishable to him. From there, it doesn't take him long to figure out the objective of this surprise operation. “He knew.”

Jason grumbles. “The bastard, he knew what to have us do to help her.”

“What do you expect,” Barbara says with a raised eyebrow, “it's Bruce. He prepares for everything; especially the unthinkable.” She directs her gaze up towards the monitor display, biting the inside of her cheek. “As bittersweet as it is.”

“It's like the last case file he gave us,” Tim chimes in, “incomplete. He was probably writing this when Ra's Al-Ghul jumped him, too.”

The soft cluttering of porcelain against silver reminds the four of Alfred's presence, as he gathers the tea pot and accompanying condiment bowls onto the serving tray, “Another thing he'd want the four of you to work together complete, I'm sure.”

His words hold more meaning than what they may appear to have, and the four vigilantes know this for certain. As Alfred takes the tray and embarks towards The staircase to the second level, he can hear the gathering of the four of them, and a faint smile crosses his lips.

Alfred's destination is the one room far off to the southern part of the Belfry Tower. He drops three sugar cubes into the last remaining porcelain teacup as his feet slow, approaching the door. He knocks three times, only to alert the person on the other of his presence, as he did not expect a response.

“Your morning tea, Lady (Y/N),” he announces, setting the teacup and saucer on a smaller serving tray he had tucked under his arm. After rising, clears his throat and speaks again, “I'll return shortly for breakfast.”

Alfred then pads away, serving tray in hand, ears straining for the faint sound of her door creaking open.

Tag List: @punkeropercyjackson @insomniac-jay @neesieiumz @honeypotsworld @honeybleed @hellkaiserinphoenix @saintriots @agent-nobody-knows @badass-dora-milaje @sincerelyzee @anuttellaa

106 notes · View notes

lowkeyrobin · 3 months

Text

TUBBO ; colors

summary/prompt ; the world is mostly black and white until you meet your soulmate

warnings & mentions ; language, cheesey end, reader is described to get overstimulated and nonverbal in very excited situations, set in mix like late 2021 around bench trio meetup

word count ; 1.5k

masterlist

Meeting up with your friends in real life was like the plot to a corny fanfiction to you. It was so unbelievable, yet true now.

You'd been hoping and planning to make a trip over with Ranboo, but each time, something had gone wrong. Whether it be problems meeting at the same airport or having scheduled other important things prior, school, etcetera. It never seemed to work out until now. Ranboo already got to the UK yesterday, considering you guys sadly couldn't get tickets together so close to the departure date.

Boarding that plane was maybe the scariest thing you've ever done.

The anxiety courses adrenaline through your veins, causing you to nearly stumble over yourself.

The world had been desaturated for as long as you could remember. At least you could enjoy your video games, being in full color. God, it was almost yesterday that Tommy and Tubbo were teaching you all the colors you didn't know yet. It was like training a toddler.

Thank God screens were out of bounds of this weird infection thing. You didn't know what to call if. You loved color, you loved every shade of every color, really. It was that sense of driving out somewhere you don't go often, and you stare out the window to take everything in.

As you sit in your seat, your leg bounces rapidly, your carry-on backpack resting at your feet. You look out the window, seeing one of the wings up in front of you a couple of seats as you mumble to yourself.

"Oh, Jesus Christ, I hate this already"

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

Finally, after the longest, and probably most turbulent, flight of your life, you step out into the world, seeing the outside of Brighton airport and it's parking lot. Phil would be here soon to come pick you up, running late due to traffic.

You sit on a bench outside the building, next to the front doors with your nearly month's worth of luggage around you. Your backpack was filled with your laptop, other device needs, and some clothes and hygiene things. Your suitcase, thankfully big enough, heald all your clothes.

You see Phil wave out his window as he pulls up to the curb, shouting a happy hello. You stuff your things in the trunk with Phil's and Tommy's bags, also planning to stay down near Tubbo's at least for the weekend. You then hop in the passenger's seat, being jumpscared by Tommy who was hiding in the back seat.

"Holy shit!"

Tommy laughs, and Phil tries his best to hide the smile tugging at his lips. "Don't scare them to death, Tommy, please"

"Are you so excited right now?" The blonde asks you, you reply with a happy, silent nod, becoming overstimulated already due to the happiness and the chaotic nature of Tommy already, driving you nonverbal. The jet lag and tiredness also did some damage on you, being teleported to a new time zone.

"They're wearing red!" He smiles, "You're wearing red, we're all triplet-ing!"

You all laugh and giggle, which you assume the two were both wearing red. Tommy was wearing his usual red baseball shirt, and Phil had a supposedly red sweatshirt on.

Phil drives you three all the way down to Tubbo's house, maybe an hour of driving max. When you step out of the car and move the seat forward to let Tommy out, you're greeted with a warm hug from behind, gifted from Tubbo.

"Hi! Oh my fucking God, I can't believe you're here!" He smiles, jumping a bit as he looks up at you.

"Hi!" You smile, doing the same as him, wrapping him in another hug just to make sure he was real.

Ranboo, Aimsey, Billzo, and Freddie stand a few feet away, then wrap you guys in a group hug, Tommy and Philza included.

When you open your eyes, now not engulfed by your friends, the world around you was now painted with color. Tubbo's hoodie was painted a nice forest green color, you saw reds, blues, and yellows on Ranboo's hawaiin shirt, and Aimsey's beanie was the famous red it was over the screen.

"Holy shit" You mumble, looking around to take in all the new scenery.

The group look at you in confusion and see your bright stare, able to tell that you'd gained the wonderous sight of color. You hug Tubbo again, just excited to see him before you get your things from the trunk of Phil's car, and he pulls them inside, placing them in the room you'd be sharing with Ranboo.

Phil departs, needing to run some errands and meet up with some other friends before heading to his hotel. He does a little bit where he abandons Tommy and kicks him and his stuff out, and drives off, nearly late for his lunch with Jack, James, and Charlie.

The day is fulfilled with a Halloween stream, and your little friend group being titled the Cricket Crew. You were officially the third, after Aimsey and Tommy, of that group to gain sight of colors, and it was awesome. You never noticed how colorful your wardrobe was, other than outfits you wore on stream.

You don't think about it much, just too caught up with your friends. But the question of who gifted you your new colors stayed on your mind.

It wasn't until you were getting ready to change into pajamas to have a little movie night with Tubbo, Ranboo, and Tommy, who was going to be picked up around 11 by Wilbur to stay at the hotel nearby, that you thought about the color thing again.

Who the fuck is your soulmate?

Clearly it was one of your friends, but you didn't see any mixed emotions between any of them, at least you could mark off Tommy, obviously, Aimsey, and Bill, who made a joke about how he was thankful he wasn't your soulmate earlier. That left Freddie, Ranboo, and Tubbo. There was just so much happening in that moment that you really couldn't pinpoint one of them.

You decide to leave the detective work for later, wanting to enjoy showing your friends the true masterpiece that is The Breakfast Club. You sit down on the couch in next to Tubbo, who was laying sideways as per usual, whom also made sure to move his legs so you had room to sit. Tommy sat beneath you, leaned against the couch. Ranboo sat criss-cross in front of Tubbo, making sure not to block his view.

Tommy made remarks, jokes, and commentated throughout the movie, causing the other three of you to do the same. After the movie, Tommy leaves, leaving you, Tubbo, and Ranboo to watch Tubbo's choice for the next movie, The Lost Boys. He had it on his watch list for some time now and wanted to watch it.

During the first Act, he ends up making a little comment about all the colors and how cool they looked on the screen. You almost didn't catch it at first, but you did. Ranboo hadn't, though, making pulling Tubbo into the kitchen a little more discreet.

Tubbo tries to act dumb before giving himself up, unable to hide from your pressing nature.

"Uh, yeah, when we hugged, I noticed it. I just didn't say anything cause I was scared and I wanted to focus on us being friends and I don't wanna ruin that-"

"Tubbo..."

"Hm?"

You wrap him in a hug, "Sorry"

"For what?"

You shrug, feeling the apology was nessacary.

"You have really pretty eyes by the way" He smiles

You roll your eyes playfully, "Shut up"

"You're supposed to love me! You're my soulmate, you little shit!"

"That's not how that works!"

"Wow, drama" Ranboo speaks from the doorway, leaning against it while holding up his recording phone. "Sorry, I had to record this. I didn't know he'd confess so soon" They shrug.

"Ran!" Tubbo exclaims, cheeks dusting pink.

"You were in on it?" You ask them, which you recieve a nod in response. "You little asshole"

Ranboo raises his hands in defense, "Don't blame me! Tommy was the one to suggest making it special"

You shrug, patting Tubbo's cheek before you three return to the couch. "It was either you two or Freddie, glad it was the best option, I guess"

"Hey!"

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

The next morning, around seven or so, you sit on the back porch, enjoying the fresh air and the sunrise, which you could finally enjoy in all it's glory. Hues of blue, grey, pinks, purples, and reds fill the sky in which you stare at. You hear the door open and close with a click behind you, and the familiar brunette best friend sits next to you.

"Why are you awake?" He groans, rubbing his tired eyes, "It's too early"

"Says you. You wake up in the evening, if you're lucky"

"I- Quiet, I won't be taking Tubbo slander"

You look back up at the sky with a little smile, "Isn't it just so fucking pretty?"

"Not as fucking pretty as you"

...

"Get out"

"This is my house!"

#lowkeyrobin #tubbo x reader #mcyt oneshot #mcyt x reader #mcyt preferences #tommyinnit x reader #ranboo x reader #badlinu x reader #mcyt soulmate au #mcyt smau #soulmate au #cricket crew #cricket crew x reader #gender neutral reader #gn reader

59 notes · View notes

yourlocaltreesimp · 6 months

Text

All Chained Up

ACU masterlist

last chapter *ੈ✩‧₊˚ next chapter

Chapter 3: Derealise your woes

TW: For description of derealisation

The following morning was skittish. And that truly was the only word to consider the fear that curled around your heart. You slept lightly and for short hours and spoke to no one as you walked. Even if anyone had decided to speak to you, you doubt you’d have even heard them anyway, your inner monologue being far too active to consider the word or people that surrounded you. The Old man -Time, as you’d come to learn- was understanding of your situation, albeit weary of you. He gave you no tasks and despite the fact he only had one eye, you could feel him watching. The others fell into their own categories of dealing with your addition to their crew, avoidance and awkward confrontation. You’re honestly not sure which you hated more. The quick glances and turned backs as if you were a curse or the untrusting talks as if you were rabid. Something waiting to break. You felt so watched and yet so ignored in a way so reminiscent of your normal life it was alarming. You were close to just collapsing on the ground as Time called the group to set up camp. You were unaccustomed to walking for such long periods of time that your shins felt brittle. But alas you walked, unwilling to make your presence more known to them as pain shot through each step. You found a suitable place to sit down where ‘coincidentally’ Time sat right behind. Watching with one cold, blue eye. You did not allow yourself to shrink as you wanted to, to curl up and cry. You focused on the fading light of the sun, the sky desaturated purples and yellows. Hills rolled on and on for as far as you could see, little houses dotted sporadically. It had a charm to it, a memory you’d be sure to revisit when this time passed.

“Hey Old man!” One of the others called, instinctively you looked over. Time passed you a look, not one you could particularly interpret, but one nonetheless as he went to talk to Legend. Their conversation was tense to say the least, including Time sighing with disappointment and pointing to you. Legend walked over and sat beside you, eyes trained on the horizon. You nodded your head and raised your hand and went back to looking at the world before you. “How’s the sickness treating you?” His voice sounded uninterested, but he looked at you, as if testing your answer.

“What?”

“It’s normal to get sick passing through realms. Disorienting at best and nauseating at worse” You found it in you to smile and nod. You had felt overwhelmingly nauseous when you first came, but it’d since past. “I remember I was always bad when I started” He smirks to himself before letting the silence settle.

“It’s not bad now. But it never is when you’re dreaming” You shrug but his eyes searched yours and his face paled a shade “It’s just weird. I can't grasp what’s real” He was enraptured by every syllable of your words and he nodded shakily. He remembers waking up and ripping out chunks of hair, choking on his breath after being alone- so painfully alone. He’d woken up to find Koholint was never real. And nor were the people and nor was his guide. He was alone. No soft light or softer touch to comfort him, no distorted voice reminding him to breathe, nothing. He remembers that day so clearly. “It’s just getting increasingly harder to feel as if the world around me is real” His expression was paranoid and sorrowful. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” His words are harsh as he stands. “But it’s real telling that that’s all we are. To anyone. Just some… character” That got personal awfully quickly.

“That wasn’t my intention-“

“Doesn’t change what happened, what’ll continue to happen” He rants to open air now and you find yourself catching on quickly that this man is incredibly unstable.

“I doubt they meant it so personal, Vet.”

“Oh easy for you to say Champion. You got to forget everything after you had to leave it all behind. But I didn’t get that luxury”

“It was still painful” Wild flinched and his left arm grazed the right where you could assume his scar travelled down to by the haunted look. “But it’s a part of the title. Sacrifices none of us wanted to make”

“Oh so that’s all your friends are? Sacrifices?” A silence overcame everyone. A tense, shocked silence. Legend sucks in a breath, You don’t see the way he pinched himself when he walks away.

Dinner was quiet and tense, no whispers or idle chat. Just eating. With exception to Legend who did not attend dinner. The whole affair only served to make you feel worse. You felt the bubbling nausea now, eating at you, setting each nerve alight. There was a lot of fuel to the fire, memories you regret, bruises yet to heal. The crackle and pops of the campfire in front of you were enough to keep your mind from eating through itself. The burning glow gave you something to focus on and the warmth gave you little soalice. You’re not entirely sure how long you spent inside your own mind until someone settled beside you. You glanced over to see a boy, 14 if you had to guess.

“Hey” His voice was a thankful break from the silence you’d been given. They called him Wind, perhaps it was because he too was mischievous and ever changing or met be there was more to it. If there was, you didn’t know. “The Old man said we shouldn’t talk to you. Something about spirits or whatever- I don’t care” You laughed in spite of yourself, amused by his antics. It seemed no one else was up. Well aside from the wolf. That was weird. But he was cute and didn’t bite.

“Oh? Beyond me. I didn’t think I had a soul until now” You elbowed him and you both shared a laugh.

“Don’t worry about Legend by the way, he’s just an asshole”

“I figured”

“Well not all the time, but it’s his thing.”

You laughed.

“I figured.” The night is calm between the two four of you. “I have so many questions after… that”

“Counts two of us” He admits and looks at you with a question burning in his eyes. “You don’t seem too bad” You smiled before you could stop yourself.

“Neither do you” You ruffle his hair as he tries to claw at your arm to stop you.

#all chained up #linked universe #legend of zelda #linkeduniverse #yandere linked universe #linked universe x reader #link x reader #link x you #yandere linked universe x reader #x reader #yandere link x reader #fir’s library

147 notes · View notes

room-surprise · 7 days

Text

Dungeon Meshi Anime Review, Season 2, Episode 19 review

Izutsumi arrives! And Marcille has a nightmare.

This is an interesting episode but I know my spouse and I had desperately hoped that they would re-organize things somehow. Marcille's plot in this feels painfully tacked on and unrelated to Izutsumi's introduction, and the concept of the nightmare is so good, it could have easily been expanded to be an entire episode on its own. I wish they'd done that. They could have paired Izu's intro with the ice golem story to have one all-Izutsumi episode and then one all-Marcille episode... alas.

Those are changes I would have LIKED to see, but here's some changes I didn't like:

(MAJOR MANGA AND ANIME SPOILERS BELOW THE CUT!!!)

Trigger removed Laios' mother's only speaking line in the manga. It would have taken SO LITTLE to have someone read this single sentence, and removing it, in my opinion, has a negative impact on the story as a whole.

It SOUNDS like a generic thing when she asks Laios "When will you give us grandchildren?" But this is actually really important. Laios is afraid of being forced to make a family and participate in society. This is unusual because he's a man, most men in a historic time period of this don't really care about such things, but Laios is so afraid of it, it's a recurring nightmare!

This is also why he acted so weird seeing a loving father/baby scene in the magic paintings chapter. He hated seeing a father talk about how much they love their baby.

Laios is named after a story about murdering your children before they can hurt you. Like an Oedipus Complex supposedly means that a son wants to have sex with his mother, a Laios Complex means a man wants to kill his sons. Kui did not pick this name and then have Laios repeatedly be uncomfortable with children, marriage and fatherhood for no reason.

Obviously Trigger didn't make any of these connections and so they didn't think it was necessary for Laios' mom to speak this line out loud, but I vehemently disagree.

This is similar to my beef with them removing Yarn Floke's only dialog in the story and removing her from the scene with the Island Governor. That moment told us that Mr. and Mrs. Floke were equal partners, and now anime watchers assume she's just his wife who doesn't do anything. That sucks.

The addition of paintings of Marcille's father in the nightmare. Woof. I really don't care for this, if they wanted to do it i would have preferred it if they'd obscured the paintings somehow so it wasn't obvious that Marcille's father wasn't an elf.

I think this makes the later reveal of her half-elf status WAY less surprising.

Also, in the manga, the complete silence around her father created a strong subtext that Marcille's mother was her only parent that mattered. They could still accomplish this but I think it won't be as shocking.

People reading the manga probably thought "her dad was an elf and he died young and that traumatized her" (this is what Laios assumes I'm sure)

People watching the anime will think "her dad was a tall-man and his natural death of old age is what traumatized her" which is true, but they aren't supposed to actually know that yet...

Overall the episode was good aside from these issues. I liked that the nightmare sequence was in black and white, and the transition to color at the end was spectacular and very impactful... But part of me wishes they had done something else to differentiate the nightmare state from the normal animation. The black and white was good, but almost too subtle because the DM palette is already so desaturated.

#dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #dunmeshi #review #spoiler #spoilers #laios touden #laios thorden

29 notes · View notes