Aro-in-danyl - Sarcasm Is My Name. Sincerity Is My Game.

quirky wizard petrigrof.

the lore:

simon never found the crown. he and betty found marceline and raised her together, but eventually their travels took them to settle near an ancient artifact unearthed by the fallout. its power has seeped into the ground, and when simon and betty's first crops were harvested, it cured them of their radiation poisoning- and turned them into wizards, both of them. I'm on the fence as to whether or not marcy was effected, but I've moved ice punk (ice crown marceline) to this universe.

flash forward a thousand years, and simon and betty are currently the owners of a business dedicated to nullifying, breaking and cleansing curses and harmful magical artifacts. they hoard stuff from times of the world long past, and are terribly enraptured by humans, and study them. they also dispel demons and ghosts if needed. their goal is to protect others.

simon is less affected by the symptoms of MMS than betty, but both are rather sane. the both of them are known to be eccentric and simon is a curse magnet, to the point where when he is cursed he's just like "oh, ok, we'll fix it." betty and simon are a bit unnaturally cheery because they have seen a lot of stuff in their time and sort of know that somehow, things will turn out just dandy.

side note, their universe's marceline was attacked by a vampire and the two of them responded by wiping out the species. do not mess with their baby.

Betty's got more experience with magic and magical artifacts than simon, and simon tinkers a lot in his spare time. they both are researching the crown to un-ice punk marcy, but they are still on good terms with their crazy daughter.

simon and betty are married (had their own little wedding during the apocalypse, marcy helped) and very frequently flirt with each other even with it having been a thousand years. they rely and trust each other, and they communicate in a healthy manner!!

bonus: my first concepts of them, which are largely the same + their info is relevant

Angelic Alastor AU

The throuple's types:

Lilith: Gentlemen who drinks respect women juice, and can make her laugh, lil silly and goofy at times, who values her choices and decisions as an equal regardless of her standing as a mortal or a woman ahem Adam

Lucifer: Tall lmao headstrong individuals with elegance and a sharp wit and maybe has a sadistic streak lmao

Alastor: Powerful, defiant dreamers who sees beauty and potential in the most unlikely places, brimming with hope and wonder

*two days into Husk’s contract*

Alastor: Husk, about your soul-

Husk: No returns

Alastor: Please, it’s making me sad

What’s with the trend in comics of Jason going on this long, insightful rant on Bruce’s behaviors and shortcomings only for B to respond like “but murder bad” and that’s considered a valid counter argument?

au where when darth vader declares that he’s Luke’s father Luke comes to the (entirely reasonable) conclusion that darth vader and anakin skywalker were married

Some doodles that turned into a tiny drunk story 🦌📺

... So this is the 50s AU idea I had of Alastor being a well-beloved radio host having quarrels with an executive for a major television studio all because he rejected the Television host offer.

Bleeding Out, Bleeding In - the Start

This is the start of the resulting fic from the winning poll option of 'Crime Boss is a Dangerous Job'. And boy did it go places.

A solid 40 of you wanted to wait for ao3, but the other 59 are feral gremlins who want a part now! Those who want to wait, don't feel pressured to read. This might be up on ao3 this week or if not then next week! (Yes, that doesn't add up to 100, one vote is me so I can see the poll results.)

wc: 1059 Content Warnings: canon typical violence, blood, blood drinking, mentions of death and dying, brief mentions of human tracking, so much cussing.

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Brainless motherfuckers.

Every single one of them, brainless motherfuckers.

One would think that eight heads in a duffel bag would have been enough.

One would think that people would learn his fucking rules. They were easy rules. Don’t hurt kids. Don’t sell to kids. Don’t hurt sex workers. Don’t traffic people. Don’t fuck with him.

And these motherfuckers had fucked with him. They had fucked with his rules.

Red Hood stared down at the lifeless eyes of the traitorous lieutenant.

Ex-lieutenant.

Brainless motherfucker.

Hood was insulted that someone that incompetent had managed to make him bleed, even if it had been eleven against one. And fuck if he wasn’t bleeding badly. Hood pressed his hand tighter to his wound with a hiss and let himself slump back against the grimy wall of the ally that he had slunk into. His hand became wet with warmth.

He must have already bled through the hasty field bandage that he had slapped on the wound.

Numbers slipped through Red Hood’s foggy mind as he tried to calculate about just how bad of a fact that was— about how heavily he must be bleeding out. Fuck if he wasn’t bleeding out.

Could he make it to his safe house in time? No. Could someone make it to him in time? Maybe, but who could he call? He wasn’t going to turn around and let another lieutenant stab him in the other side. B— maybe it would be better to just bleed out than deal with B and another lecture. As if this hadn’t been in self defense. As if he hadn’t acted to stop kids from being sold. As if a moment of hesitancy about killing a man he’d been working closely with for a year had been what got Hood in this spot.

And Dick was off world.

Dick was always off world when he needed him.

That wasn’t fair. What did Dick owe him? It’s not like they had ever been family. Dick had never wanted him. The last person who had wanted him didn’t even want him enough to stay sober.

Blood loss made him maudlin, apparently.

Dying by explosion had been easier.

“You know, not what I expected to find dumpster diving tonight.”

Hood’s hand dropped to brush over the grip of his gun. It was up and aimed before his head even had time to lull towards the voice. The hand holding the gun was steady even as his vision swam staring down the sight.

“Not that I’m doubting you can use that, Boss, but would rather you didn’t,” the stranger said, hands up in the air. One large duffel sat at their feet. Another smaller duffel was slung over their back. A hoodie at least three sizes too big swamped the slim figure— hiding both their form and face. The steel toed boots looked comically large at the end of stick thin legs.

Hood knew better than to think they weren’t a threat.

Anyone could be a threat in Gotham.

“Really, Boss, I’m just out here dumpster diving for supplies,” they continued, motioning to the warehouse district around them. “Not going to lie and say I won’t happily loot your corpse if you keel over right there, but would rather you stay breathing. I can help with that, if you let me.”

“And if I say no?” Hood asked, his voice a breathless rasp even through the modulation of the helmet.

“If you say no to the help, I’ll just be on my way. There are other dumpsters to go through like the feral raccoon that I am.”

His arm dropped down to hang limply at his side. He didn’t take his finger off the trigger. He shouldn’t trust this stranger. “Look more like a street rat to me.”

“We’ll compromise to possum then,” they said, slowly lowering their arms.

He shouldn’t trust this stranger. Did it mater if he did?

He was bleeding out.

The gun slotted back into its holster.

“There you are Boss, we’ll get you patched back up.”

Hood blinked. They were tucking themselves under his shoulder, leaning him up off the warehouse wall.

Hood blinked. They were disabling security on a heavy, cast iron door set into a concrete floor.

Hood blinked.

“Not going to lie, Boss, you’re in a bad way.” The words were distant— like listening to them through a thick wall. Static ran under the words. Static that burrowed under his skin and into his blood.

Static that burned at a part of him he tried to ignore.

“Think they got something pretty vital with that knife.”

He didn’t want to burn.

“Stitched you up but…”

He didn’t want to die.

“Oh Boss.”

Not again.

“I know, Boss.”

A cold hand brushed over his temple and he couldn’t hold back the whine at the sensation. He strained to arch up into the touch. He wanted it. He wanted to feel. He didn’t want to slip away again. He didn’t want that void of death. He didn’t want to die again.

The voice shushed him. “I know.”

He trembled. The static sang in his veins.

“There’s something I can try, Boss, but it will change thing.”

Things were always changing.

“Not like this. You’re not on the knife’s edge yet. You’re still living. If you die you right now you tip over to the other side.”

He’d done that before.

“I know, Boss. But if we do this, you’re not going to tip over anymore, you’re going to balance on that knife’s edge. Not dead but not alive. It’s a fine line to walk.”

Everything in his life was a tightrope: hero, villain; son, enemy; brother, stranger. What was one more thing? Alive, dead.

He didn’t want to be dead again.

“Okay, Boss, okay.”

The hand pulled a whine from his throat as it moved away. A soft coo hushed him quiet again. The sound rumbled in with the static untill the soothing noise sat inside him.

His head tilted up as something slid under his neck. Hands guided his head to lay back down onto a soft surface.

Something wet dripped against his lips. Spice bloomed across his tongue.

“There you go, Boss,” the voice soothed. The coo rumbled in his chest like a fluttering bird. “Drink up.”

Cold skin and wet warmth pressed against his lips.

Jason drank.

I am the Ruler of Divine Strength!!! Fear my noodle arms!

Tom Riddle & His Name

Alright this one’s going to get disturbing very quickly. WARNING: Pureblood inbreeding shenanigans. 

This isn’t going to be another post explaining why Tom hated his name because it’s a muggle name or because it’s common. I think that’s part of it, but I haven’t seen anyway address this angle:

Tom hated his name because of his mother. 

Alright, so at some point someone in Hogwarts likely tried to slip Tom a love potion. Let’s say, in his Seventh year. It doesn’t work, Dumbledore finds out and mentions this one study about how those conceived under a love potion are immune to its effects...and also incapable of love. (I think that last part is bs but that’s a different post). 

In his last year at Hogwarts, Tom is already aware that his mother was a witch and his father was the muggle. He’s already pinned the blame on his father for leaving, and placed his mother into the role of victim. He saw his father as having the power, and his mother as being weak. His father, the strong Slytherin-like Muggle who conned the weak witch Merope into sleeping with him. 

But this changes things. 

All of a sudden his mother is the one in the role of the abuser, and his father in the role of victim. It’s his Slytherin, Pureblood Mother who forced his oblivious Muggle Father into marrying her. 

She kidnapped and raped Tom’s father, and then when he escaped, and Tom was born, she named her son after her victim. 

And what were her first, and last, words for her son? She hoped, “that her son would turn out to look like his father.” 

Alright here’s where shit gets real.

What were the Gaunt’s known for again? Rampant and extreme inbreeding and incest. Cousins marrying cousins, sisters marrying brothers, etc. 

So mothers marrying sons? I do not find that hard to believe for this family.

When you replace “father” with “victim” the ickiness really shines through. So here’s Merope giving her child the name of her victim (and her father, who abused her, now those implications I like even less, if that’s possible) and the first thing she does is express a wish that he’ll look like her victim. What the Fuck.

So here’s the very real possibility that Merope could be thinking about grooming her small child into becoming her replacement Tom Riddle 2.0 husband, or at the very least a Tom Riddle that was dependent on her, had no other choice but to love her, and could not run away because there was nowhere to run. 

Tom probably pieced this together, promptly threw up, and very aggressively doubled down on his new chosen name.  

 TL:DR

canon Merope Gaunt would not have been a good mother, no matter what Dumbledore believed, and Tom dodged a bullet on that front.